Profiles in Character #19 - George Washington Quiets the Newburgh Conspiracy

George Washington faced a critical meeting with his officers.  In late February 1783, fifteen months after the Battle of Yorktown, there was no peace treaty with England.  To prevent a British resumption of fighting, Washington’s army was encamped at Newburgh, above New York City.  His officers were restless.  They had not been paid for years.

In 1780, Congress had promised half-pay pensions for life instead of back pay, but could not get states to contribute the funds.  Even a lump-sum payment seemed unlikely. Washington counseled patience to his men and pleaded with Congress.  His supplications failed.

In late December 1782, two officers carried a petition to Congress in Philadelphia. “We have borne all that men can bear,” it said, “[A]ny further experiment on their [the army’s] patience may have fatal effects.”

General Henry Knox, Washington’s confidant, and nationalists in Congress including Alexander Hamilton saw the petition as a way to pressure reluctant states.  They encouraged it, but it led nowhere.  The officers and the nationalists decided to ratchet up the threat of mutiny. 

Hamilton felt that under the leadership of Gen. Horatio Gates, Washington’s second in command, these angry young officers could force the funding out of Congress.  He was playing with fire, believing he could use Gates who had once before been disloyal to Washington but make sure Gates could never seize power. 

On March 8th, Walter Stewart, a former aide to Gates, met with him.  On March 10th, an anonymous letter called for a meeting of all field officers and company representatives for the next day.  The letter urged the officers to forget “The meek language of entreating memorials” of their earlier petition. The letter obliquely attacked Washington, urging readers to “suspect the man who would advise to more moderation and longer forbearance.”

Washington was not surprised (Hamilton had tipped him off), yet he faced a dilemma.  If he sided with Congress, he could lose control of his army.  If he sided with the officers, he risked destroying civilian rule of the military and his (and its) reputation.   He issued an order calling the meeting “disorderly” and “irregular” and postponed it until March 15th.   He requested a report after that meeting from Gates, who planned to chair it.   

Yet Washington fully planned to attend, knowing he could not trust Gates.  He kept his plan secret.  When Gates opened the session, Washington abruptly entered and asked permission to speak, which of course Gates had to allow.

Nothing exemplified Washington’s character more than his commitment to honor and duty.  Reflecting on the choices presented in the anonymous letter – that officers abandon the army or refuse to resign, even after a peace treaty, until paid – Washington chided his men about:

“this dreadful alternative, of either deserting our Country in the extremest hour of her distress, or turning our Army against it, (which is the apparent object, unless Congress can be compelled into an instant compliance) has something so shocking in it, that humanity revolts at the idea”

He again counseled patience and promised “to the utmost of my abilities” to do all he could to get their pay.  He ended with an appeal to their honor, “patriotism & patient virtue:”

“And you will, by the dignity of your Conduct, afford occasion for Posterity to say, when speaking of the glorious example you have exhibited to mankind, ‘had this day been wanting, the World had never seen the last stage of perfection which human nature is  capable of attaining.””

Whether calculated or not, his next step was pivotal.  Perhaps sensing his speech had not moved the men, he wanted to add a personal gesture to his formal remarks.

He took out a letter from a Virginia friend and Congressman, Joseph Jones.   He intended to read it, he said, to show Congress’s good intentions. Yet, after a few lines, Washington stopped.  He reached into his vest and took out the spectacles he had recently begun, only in private, to wear. 

“Gentlemen,” Washington said, “you will permit me to put on my spectacles, for I have not only grown gray but almost blind in the service of my country.”

The response was immediate.  Many of the men were ashamed; some wept.  Resistance crumbled and Gates looked on helplessly.  Washington read the rest of Jones’s letter and left without saying another word.

Knox took command of the meeting and, within short order, resolutions were passed to affirm the army’s “attachments to the rights and liberties of human nature” and its “unshaken confidence” in Congress.

For Washington, the character of a nation was inextricably tied to the virtue of its people.  His behavior, he always knew, must be an example.  “The first transactions of a nation, like those of an individual upon his first entrance into life, make the deepest impression, and are to form the leading traits in its character,” he later wrote fellow officer and member of Congress John Armstrong in April 1788.   This was his real message to the officers at Newburgh.  Thankfully, they listened.

Photo Credit: U.S. Mint