The Power of the Herd (13 page)

Based on historical writings alone,
Chernow finds it “astonishing”
that the army didn't “disintegrate or revolt en masse.” He remarks that he can only explain Washington's success by emphasizing, once again, that the Revolutionary War hero

projected leadership in nonverbal ways
that are hard for posterity to recreate. Even contemporaries found it difficult to convey the essence of his calm grandeur. “I cannot describe the impression that the first sight of that great man made upon me,” said one Frenchman. “I could not keep my eyes from that imposing countenance: grave yet not severe; affable without familiarity. Its predominant expression was calm dignity, through which you could trace the strong feelings of the patriot and discern the father as well as the commander of his soldiers.”

As I pored over numerous books and colonial-era documents, looking for clues to Washington's extraordinary presence in the patterns of his actions, it struck me that his unique combination of fierceness, fairness, and compassion kept the troops together at Valley Forge and beyond. The general didn't coddle deserters or looters, ordering severe floggings of men caught stealing food. On rare occasions during his tenure, he executed soldiers planning widespread revolt. And finally, after months of tolerating profiteering by local farmers and merchants, hoping to resurrect their failing patriotic instincts, he allowed Nathanael Greene (considered one of the Continental army's most gifted officers) to organize a regional confiscation of all cattle and sheep fit for slaughter. Washington found this option innately reprehensible, however. He gave the order to forcibly obtain food for his starving troops only after two thousand men had perished not in battle but through widespread neglect from Americans who had charged him with raising an army in the first place.

And yet Washington never sacrificed empathy for effectiveness. Letters to trusted allies, friends, and family members reveal that he
felt
the plight of soldiers and settlers he encountered.
“I see their situation,
know
their danger
, and participate in their
sufferings
without having it in my power to give them further relief than uncertain promises,” he had written earlier to British superiors, in 1756, asking for assistance during the French and Indian War. “The supplicating tears of the women and moving petitions from the men melt me into such deadly sorrow that I solemnly declare, if I know my own mind, I could offer myself a willing sacrifice to the butchering enemy, provided that it would contribute to the people's ease.”

Martyring himself might have been an easier, seemingly courageous, though grossly less effective, option: the fear-management and emotional-resilience skills he mastered in hopeless situations ultimately gave him a razor-thin edge to win the most important battle of all, the War of Independence. Luckily for posterity's sake, Washington's talent for survival won out, allowing him to further develop the no doubt painful, eternally frustrating skill of appealing to the upper classes on both sides of the Atlantic for help through numerous conflicts to come.

Though he was able to renew himself in Mount Vernon's pastoral embrace after the French and Indian War, rest and success did not make him complacent. As Washington repeatedly reentered public life, supporting one desperate cause after another, the turmoil he endured
voluntarily
is truly staggering. Rather than shield his heart against the disappointment, anguish, and sheer
horror he witnessed, Washington remained steady and thoughtful in the midst of feelings that would have short-circuited the average person's nervous system. His was not the coolness of the sociopath who felt no fear, but the authentic, hard-won calmness of a man whose emotional stamina was so great that he was willing to accompany people into the depths of despair, and
stay with them,
offering hope through sheer presence
because he had been there before and had come out the other side.
After all, by the time the Revolutionary War erupted, Washington was living proof that personal and professional tragedy could be accompanied by loyalty, love, and prosperity, that a brave, openhearted man could ride life's roller coaster with gusto — and even find a mate willing to share the journey.

In the dismal winter of 1777–78, he stayed, once again, with a group of brave though impoverished, weary souls at Valley Forge, doing what little he could to ease the pain of an impossible situation. The British were comfortably settled in Philadelphia with their servants and mistresses, their warm fires, soft beds, and silver place settings, waiting until spring to take up arms and finally quash that troublesome little colonial rebellion once and for all.

Washington was fronting his own money for war expenses and struggling to keep his plantation financially viable from a distance during a dangerous economic climate. His wife, Martha, was grieving the recent loss of her sister and one of her closest friends as the couple's second grandchild arrived on New Year's Eve. For a woman who'd already lost three of her own four children — one at age three, another at four, and most recently, a seventeen-year-old daughter who died from a violent epileptic seizure — birth was not a light and carefree occasion but a cause for continued hypervigilance. Washington could have delegated authority during the break in combat and gone home for a few weeks. Still, the general must have known that he possessed an extra “something” crucial to keeping the army together at Valley Forge. He deferred a much-needed, thoroughly justified trip to Mount Vernon and sent for his wife.

Here's what you need to know about Martha Washington: she was one of the Revolution's secret weapons. The general hadn't called for his spouse exclusively because he was worried about her. He was enlisting the support of his most trusted confidant at a time when his considerable physical and psychological resources were taxed to the limit. And, as numerous historians have emphasized, he just plain missed her, terribly. As Chernow reports,
“He pined
for her presence” when family obligations delayed her trip to Valley Forge that winter.

If the long carriage ride on bumpy, frozen roads didn't exhaust her completely, what Martha saw upon arrival at this legendary encampment must have chilled her to the bone. Though she had visited her husband at previous military installations, she was visibly taken aback by his humble quarters. What's more, the general had lost his baggage a few months earlier, including his kitchen utensils, managing to hang on to a single spoon. But it was his haggard face and deeply troubled demeanor that unnerved her the most.
“I never knew him to be so anxious
as now,” she confided to a friend.

Long after the war, the historic image of Martha as a dowdy, genteel grandmother comforted populations craving a benevolent and benign parental figure, but to the Revolutionary War general, she was a vital source of quiet power, empathy, practical wisdom, and stamina.
“Not enough historians have recognized
the importance of this portly, affable woman in George Washington's life,” notes Thomas Fleming in
Washington's Secret War: The Hidden History of Valley Forge.
Her stalwart dedication to the cause in general — and to his well-being in particular — provided a crucial boost to the entire army's morale. As one admiring Frenchman put it,
“She well deserved to be the companion
and friend of the greatest man of the age.”

These days it's common, and considered understandable, for couples to divorce under the pressure of losing a child or going off to war. What allowed George and Martha to face a relentless series of tragedies and continually jump back into the fray, together, literally betting the farm and their very lives on the slimmest possible chance for success — even when the vast majority of people around them were complacently standing by or unabashedly profiting from human misery?

We'll never really know enough about their relationship to answer that question definitively. Honoring her husband's request, Martha destroyed the vast majority of George's letters to her after his death, suggesting their correspondence revealed some painful, potentially embarrassing material, perhaps some rants and moments of indecision that could be taken out of context. But oh how valuable that information would have been in understanding the interpersonal difficulties they faced, the mistakes they made, and the complex emotional challenges they surmounted. For the eighteenth century, George's reliance on his wife as a confidant was unusual. Equally noteworthy was Martha's own leadership experience.

Even by modern standards, the couple exhibited an unusually high level of mutual respect and teamwork. Certain commonalities in personality and
background suggest this was no accident: Neither George nor Martha went to college, yet both continually educated themselves. Both also possessed a strong work ethic as they managed the intricacies of several plantations together. An affluent, attractive widow at twenty-seven, Martha Dandridge Custis had clearly been a catch for ambitious young Colonel Washington when they'd married in 1759, but she was no dilettante. Her first husband had died two years earlier, leaving her in charge of a large working agricultural estate. A biographical sketch of her by the National First Ladies' Library reveals that
“evidence of her business acumen
in the lucrative tobacco trade is found in letters she wrote to the London merchants who handled the exporting of the large Custis crop output.” Though Martha had been trained at home in music, sewing, and household management, the knowledge she later acquired in plantation management, homeopathic medicine, and animal husbandry “suggests a wider education than previously thought.”

When she joined forces with her second husband, Washington, the responsibilities grew, exponentially.
“With her extremely large inheritance
of land from the Custis estate and the vast farming enterprise at Mount Vernon, Martha Washington spent considerable time directing the large staff of slaves and servants. While George Washington oversaw all financial transactions related to the plantation, Martha Washington was responsible for the not insubstantial process of harvesting, preparing, and preserving herbs, vegetables, fruits, meats, and dairy for medicines, household products and foods needed for those who lived at Mount Vernon, relatives, slaves and servants — as well as long-staying visitors.”

So while Valley Forge was certainly no vacation, Martha's own sense of responsibility, her tenacity, and her problem-solving skills were already well established.
“I never in my life knew a woman so busy
from early morning until late at night as was Lady Washington,” one wartime observer wrote, noting that she organized “the wives of the officers in camp, and sometimes other women” in offering various forms of assistance. (The extreme conditions at Valley Forge were endured that winter by more than five hundred women, mostly wives and sisters of the soldiers. Prostitutes were less common than most people suspect — an army lacking funds for food and clothing deferred salaries as well; hence no discretionary funds for extracurricular activities.)

A coddled, dominated woman could never have provided the fearless companionship and flexible, good-natured, activism on demand that Martha showed at Valley Forge. A spicy mistress could have relieved a bit of tension, but a man in Washington's increasingly tenuous position needed his own advanced emotional support system, someone with the nerve to face the truth of
a situation while remaining centered enough to help him explore all the options, someone who was more concerned with the long-term, greater good of a project than with revenge, comfort, or obsessive social climbing. Martha's significant wealth and business experience were also balanced by humility and devotion. As the marquis de Lafayette revealed,
she was a “modest and respectable”
woman, who loved her husband “madly.” That combination ensured she would travel to the ends of the earth for her heroic mate — as an asset, not a clingy, fawning fan.

Historians often marvel that, despite ultimate victory in the American Revolution, Washington actually lost more battles than he won. In
His Excellency,
Ellis contends that
“especially in the early stages of the war”
the general's “defeats were frequently a function of his overconfident and aggressive personality.” Close associates reported that they could feel him wrestling with strong emotions, a battle he sometimes lost in private displays of anger and frustration, suggesting that his legendary composure and patience were hard won.

Experts also agree that Washington had a rare talent for learning from his mistakes. When something went wrong, he didn't waste a lot of time and energy defending himself. According to Chernow,
he “never walled himself off from contrary opinion
or tried to force his views on his generals.” He analyzed the situation, researched new options, and revised his approach, sometimes modifying his own beliefs, even altering long-entrenched personal habits that had been clearly beneficial in previous contexts. In this respect, his horse-training experience gave him a palpable edge. Throughout his life, Washington continued to refine his own potent instincts as deftly and methodically as he schooled the most volatile of stallions.

In
Dressage in the Fourth Dimension,
horse trainer Sherry Ackerman emphasizes that when both horse and rider exhibit self-mastery
and
responsiveness, their combined genius becomes fluid and adaptable. Even standing still, an expertly trained mount radiates power and suppleness as
“the halt, in immobility, contains the energy
of every movement. The horse is catlike, ready to spring from soft-jointed hindquarters through his coiled loins. As long as we do not disturb the collection, he remains prepared — powerfully positioned — for instantaneous movement in any direction, at any gait.”