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THE
CABINET
THE
CABINET
GEORGE WASHINGTON AND THE
CREATION OF AN AMERICAN
INSTITUTION
L I N D S AY M . C H E R V I N S K Y
THE BELKNAP PRESS OF

HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS
cambridge, massachusetts
london, england 2020
Copyright © 2020 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College
All rights reserved
Printed in the United States of America
First printing
Jacket art: This image, created for a 1910 Van Dam Cigar Co. box label,
depicts (from left to right) Thomas Jefferson, Henry Knox, John Adams,
George Washington, and Alexander Hamilton. Titled First Cabinet, it
erroneously includes Vice President Adams and omits Edmund Randolph.
Private Collection / DaTo Images / Bridgeman Images.
Jacket design: Jill Breitbarth
9780674245549 (EPUB)
9780674245556 (MOBI)
9780674245570 (PDF)
Cataloging-i n-Publication Data available from the Library of Congress

ISBN: 978-0-674-98648-0
To Jake and JQDA
Contents
Introduction 1
1 Forged in War 13
2 The Original Team of Rivals 56
3 Setting the Stage 93
4 The Early Years 126
5 The Cabinet Emerges 163
6 A Foreign Challenge 193
7 A Domestic Threat 236
8 A Cabinet in Crisis 264
Epilogue 309
citation and abbreviation guide 325

notes 327
acknowle dgments 401
index 407
THE
CABINET
Introduction
At eleven thirty in the morning on August 22, 1789, a large cream-

colored coach pulled up to the front door of Federal Hall at 26 Wall
Street in New York City. Six matching, perfectly groomed horses pulled
the elegant carriage with sparkling gold trim. The coachman, outfitted
in crisp white-and red-trimmed livery, jumped down from the back
of the carriage and opened the door. An elegantly dressed man with
powdered hair stepped down with a portfolio of papers under his arm.
He towered over his companion, Henry Knox, the acting secretary of
war, and his slaves tending to his h orses. His ornate coach and his im-
posing presence drew curious stares from strangers passing by on the
street. He walked up to the front door of Federal Hall and was imme-
diately announced to the Senate. George Washington, the first presi-
dent of the United States, had arrived for his first visit to the United
States Senate.
This was no ordinary meeting. Two years earlier, the delegates at
the Constitutional Convention in Philadelphia had agreed that the
Senate would “advise and consent” on treaties and other questions of
foreign policy. But in practice, how the president and the Senate would
interact remained for the first officeholders to work out.
1
THE CABINET
Washington’s relationship with the Senate was just one of countless

governing details that he had to establish as the first president. Estab-
lishing precedent for e very presidential action consumed his thoughts
in the first few years of his administration.1 Not only would the Amer-
ican public and an international audience judge his every action, but
his successors would be guided by his choices. The stakes could not
have been higher; the f uture of the Republic rested on Washington
making the right decisions. He approached every new situation with
caution and took action only after consulting with his advisors. His first
visit to the Senate was no different.
The tense relationship between Native American nations and the
United States posed an immediate challenge a fter Washington’s in-
auguration on April 30, 1789. Most Native American nations had
sided with the British during the Revolutionary War, recognizing the
threat that American settlers posed to native land.2 On September 15,
1789, representatives from the national government, North and South
Carolina, the Creeks, and the Cherokees planned to meet to discuss
the controversial treaties signed between 1783 and 1789, and to nego-
tiate a new treaty. Washington had to select the representatives to
send on behalf of the federal government—another important first for
the new president.
At his August 22 meeting with the Senate, Washington planned to
seek advice about what instructions he should give to the commis-
sioners. B ecause he considered Native American relations to fall under
the heading of “foreign policy,” he followed the constitutional guide-
lines calling for him to meet with the Senate. On May 25, 1789, less
than one month after his inauguration, Washington sent to the Senate
all of the United States’ previous treaties with Indian nations, along
with a number of supporting documents.3 A fter a brief discussion, the
Senate postponed its consideration of these papers. At the beginning
2
Introduction
of August, the Senate created a committee to meet with Washington.

The committee planned the minute details of the upcoming meeting,
down to where Washington would sit and how he would enter the
chamber. On August 20 and 21, Washington nominated commis-
sioners to negotiate with the “Southern Indians.” On August 21, he sent
an official note to the Senate announcing his visit the next day to dis-
cuss the terms of the proposed treaty.4
When Washington and Knox arrived at Federal Hall at 11:30 a.m.,
the doorkeeper announced their arrival. Washington sat at the front
of the chamber, and Knox took the chair to his right. Washington
handed his remarks to Knox, who in turn handed them to Vice Presi-
dent John Adams. Adams read the statement, but as Senator William
Maclay from Pennsylvania recalled, the senators could “not master . . .
one Sentence of it.”5 Adams w asn’t known for his public speaking skills,
but the senators’ struggles w
eren’t entirely his fault. The Senate gath-
ered for their work in the large chamber that occupied the first floor
of Federal Hall. Because of the August heat in New York City, the door-
keeper had opened the windows in search of a cooling breeze. But
along with fresh air, noise from Wall Street’s pedestrians, carriages,
peddlers, and h orses flowed into the Senate chamber. The clamor
overpowered Adams’s voice, so few senators could make out the words
that Washington had carefully crafted. A fter a few complaints, Adams
repeated the speech from the beginning. Washington’s remarks offered
a brief synopsis of the current diplomatic state between the United
States and the Southern Indians, and posed seven questions for the
Senate to answer with an aye or a no.6
Adams finished his recitation and sat. The seconds ticked by as the
senators remained in awkward silence. A few shuffled papers or cleared
their throats. Maclay speculated in his diary that his colleagues were
so intimidated by Washington’s presence in the Senate chamber that
3
THE CABINET
they cowered in shameful silence. Eager to show that they could be ac-
tive participants in the creation of foreign policy, Maclay stood up and
suggested referring Washington’s seven questions to committee for dis-
cussion in detail. Washington lost his temper, stood up, and shouted,
“This defeats every purpose of my coming here!” The senators fell into
a stunned hush before Washington acquiesced to Maclay’s suggestion
and offered to return to the Senate a few days later.7 Although he did
return the following Monday, his first visit to the Senate was an inaus-
picious start to the executive-legislative relationship. As he returned to
his carriage, Washington muttered u nder his breath that he would
never return for advice. He kept his word—August 22, 1789, was the
first and last time he visited the Senate to request guidance on foreign
affairs.8 Unfortunately, the diplomatic challenges facing the United
States during the Washington presidency were just beginning.
More than two years later, on November 26, 1791, Washington in-
vited the department secretaries and the attorney general to the first
cabinet meeting. Secretary of War Henry Knox, Secretary of State
Thomas Jefferson, Secretary of the Treasury Alexander Hamilton, and
Attorney General Edmund Randolph convened in Washington’s pri-
vate study on the second floor of the President’s House in Philadelphia.9
The cabinet met a handful of times in 1791 and 1792 before the threat
of international war with France and Great Britain forced the cabinet
to meet fifty-one times in 1793. By mid-1793, the cabinet served as a vis
ible, central part of the executive branch.
Despite the important role that the cabinet would come to play, the
United States Constitution actually does not mention a cabinet at all.
Article II permits the president to request advice from the department
secretaries, but specifies that the secretaries must provide their opin-
ions in writing. Nor did Congress pass any legislation to authorize the
cabinet or regulate its meetings. On the contrary, in 1787, the delegates
4
Introduction
to the Constitutional Convention rejected several proposals for an ex-

ecutive council, including a proposal by Charles Cotesworth Pinckney
that would have established a cabinet almost identical to the one that
Washington eventually created.
So where did the cabinet come from? Washington designed the cab-
inet to provide advice and support during crucial diplomatic crises
and constitutional conundrums. He did not enter the presidency in-
tending to create the cabinet, and he explored many alternatives be-
fore establishing this new institution. In fact, Washington did not con-
vene the first cabinet meeting until November 26, 1791—more than two
and a half years into his administration. Yet as he grappled with the
threat of international invasion, domestic insurrection, and challenges
to presidential authority, Washington became convinced that the op-
tions outlined in the Constitution w ere insufficient to get the job done.
The first cabinet developed organically in response to these governing
challenges.
Washington selected experienced politicians and diplomats for his
department secretary positions. But he also chose individuals whose
advice he trusted: he intended to listen to their opinions, at first indi-
vidually and then collectively in the cabinet. Washington selected Ed-
mund Randolph as the first attorney general based on his lengthy legal
career, his extensive state experience in Virginia, and their decades-long
friendship. Washington chose Alexander Hamilton for secretary of the
treasury and Henry Knox for secretary of war b ecause of their loyal
serv ice to him in the Continental Army. He also valued Hamilton’s
state service and the expertise Knox acquired as secretary of war under
the Confederation Congress. Washington picked Thomas Jefferson as
the first secretary of state thanks to Jefferson’s stint as the American
minister to France and his expansive diplomatic knowledge. Wash-
ington placed g reat weight on his secretaries’ opinions.
5
THE CABINET
Washington and his secretaries were shaped by war, politics, cul-

tural exchange, and foreign sojourns in the eighteenth century. They
were products of an intertwined Atlantic world, just like the new na-
tion they represented. As they created institutions and customs from
scratch, they relied on their previous experiences to inform their
decisions.
Washington did not design the cabinet in a vacuum. Once he deter-
mined that he needed a cabinet to govern the new nation, he drew on
several existing institutions to shape his interactions with the depart-
ment secretaries. As commander in chief of the Continental Army
during the Revolutionary War, Washington had summoned councils
of war with his officers and aides-de-camp. He relied on councils be-
fore entering major military engagements, selecting locations for
winter quarters, or undertaking controversial retreats. As president of
the United States, Washington used cabinet meetings for similar pur-
poses. He called a cabinet meeting before establishing constitutional
precedent, responding to a domestic rebellion, or signing a potentially
unpopular treaty. Washington also employed many of the same strat-
egies in both councils and cabinets. He often sent questions to the par-
ticipants in advance and then used those questions as the meeting’s
agenda. If the attendees disagreed with each other, Washington re-
quested written opinions after the end of the discussion. These opin-
ions allowed him to consider everyone’s position and make a final de-
cision at his own pace.
Washington’s secretaries also left their own stamp on the creation
of the cabinet. The secretaries were well-regarded, elite, prideful gen-
tlemen. They expected to be treated with respect and to have their ad-
vice considered by the president. They w ere also stubborn and opin-
ionated. In short, they would not have engaged in frequent cabinet
discussions u nless they w
ere willing to participate. Once gathered in
6
Introduction
Washington’s private study, their outsized personalities shaped the cab-

inet and its goals. While they all agreed that Washington had the final
say, the secretaries brought their own unique perspectives to each
cabinet debate.
Although Washington remained the unquestioned leader of the ad-
ministration, his relationship with the cabinet developed in a symbi-
otic way. If the cabinet unanimously opposed an approach he wished
to take, he would not adopt it. At the same time, the secretaries did
not pursue initiatives without his consent. As Washington and the
secretaries toiled in the cabinet, they pursued two shared goals. First,
they strove to protect and assert executive jurisdiction over both
foreign and domestic issues. To preserve and expand presidential au-
thority, they sidelined Congress and the state governments. Even Jef-
ferson, who later criticized Washington’s expansion of executive power,
initially opposed congressional attempts to interfere in diplomacy.
Second, the president and the secretaries viewed the cabinet as a tool
to bolster and defend executive power, not to limit or compete with
the president. In the summer of 1794, when violence erupted in western
Pennsylvania over excise taxes on whiskey, the secretaries persuaded,
berated, and threatened state officials to ensure that Washington and
the executive branch would lead the federal response against the rebel-
lion. The department secretaries promoted the powers of the execu-
tive, but they did not seek to expand their own authority at the expense
of the president.
Washington and the secretaries were committed to ensuring that
the president had sufficient power to lead the nation, but they never
expected the cabinet to serve as the g iant administrative institution
that we see in the twenty-first c entury. Instead, they expected cabinet
meetings to provide private support and guidance for the president.
The secretaries maintained their bureaucratic roles and consulted
7
THE CABINET
individually with the president on most department m atters. When

they gathered for a cabinet meeting, they provided Washington with
support and guidance on larger, more complicated issues that defied
categorization in one department. As a result, the cabinet was inher-
ently idiosyncratic. Washington convened frequent meetings when it
suited him and ignored the cabinet in favor of one-on-one consultations
when he felt that approach would provide better advice.
Many of these characters and moments will be familiar to both his-
torians and those reading about the Early Republic for the first time.
Scholars have rightly covered Washington’s inauguration, the feud be-
tween Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton, the Neutrality
Crisis, the Whiskey Rebellion, and the Jay Treaty debates as defining
moments in the Early Republic and the formation of the nation.10 But
these stories have all been told assuming that the cabinet existed from
the very beginning of Washington’s presidency and that it occupied an
immutable position in the executive branch. It d idn’t. The institution’s
beginnings remain obscure and its relationship to the larger executive
branch unexplored. Henry Barrett Learned wrote in 1912 about the leg-
islative origins of the nine executive departments then in existence;
amazingly, this was the last work published on the creation of the
cabinet.11
I have built on the excellent scholarship exploring the political in-
stitutions and social life in the Early Republic. Scholars have examined
the political culture of the Early Republic, emphasizing how honor and
reputation provided strict guidelines for discourse and public behavior.
With such high stakes for personal reputation and the f uture of the new
nation, anxiety pervaded every social interaction.12 Others have done
innovative work on the Republican Court—the semi-private gatherings
hosted by women to provide space for informal discourse on theater,
culture, and above all politics.13 Recent scholarship has also analyzed
8
Introduction
the formation of state institutions, including the custom h ouses u

nder
Treasury Department supervision and the fiscal-military complex that
enabled the growth of the government and the nation during the Early
Republic.14
I bring together t hese discussions of political culture and institutions
to offer the first comprehensive study of the executive branch. The
growing state institutions and the broader cultural themes in the Early
Republic depended on a small group of p eople showing up to the of-
fice e very day and engaging in social rituals. While the larger social
and political developments are critical to understanding society in the
Early Republic, so too are the personal stories that led the institutions
and crafted the sociopolitical trends. The emergence of the cabinet is
the story of a few individuals who operated under unique social pres-
sures to build the beginnings of an influential new institution.
Many historians believe that federal governance took an “executive
turn” late in the nineteenth c entury. Contrary to that narrative, the ori-
gins of the president’s cabinet in Washington’s administration demon-
strate that the executive had developed significant authority long be-
fore the nineteenth century.15 While the federal government and all of
its bureaucracies certainly expanded after the Civil War and up through
the New Deal, this book shows how George Washington and his cab-
inet asserted presidential prerogative, claimed authority over diplo-
matic and domestic issues, and rejected challenges from the states and
Congress that aimed to diminish executive authority. The president
was no mere figurehead during the Early Republic.
m
We w ill begin our story in the Revolutionary War, following the
wart ime experiences of Washington’s cabinet members as patriots,
reformers, state representatives, and finally federal officials. The
9
THE CABINET
chronological development of the cabinet is critical for three rea-

sons. First, exploring the 1780s shows what Washington, the secre-
taries, and the nation faced during the Revolutionary War. Second,
by tracing the gradual evolution of the presidency, we can see how
events in the Early Republic shaped the national government’s interpre-
tation of its own power and Washington’s creation of the cabinet within
the new federal framework. The cabinet, the presidency, and the rest of
the government emerged reactively in response to the challenges faced
by the new nation. Finally, working our way through the first few years
of Washington’s presidency emphasizes how the cabinet emerged slowly
in response to the pressures of governing, and only near the end of
Washington’s first term. Most p eople incorrectly assume that the cabinet
existed from day one of Washington’s presidency or that its development
was inevitable—especially since the original cabinet members occupied
their offices starting in the fall of 1789. On the contrary, Washington cre-
ated the cabinet only a fter he had tried other options.
The book opens with Washington’s experience as commander in
chief of the Continental Army. Washington convened councils of war
with his officers and aides-de-camp, where he learned how to manage
the outsized personalities in his officer corps. He also established a so-
cial life in camp to boost morale for his soldiers, host visiting digni-
taries, and foster relationships with civilian authorities. He drew on all
these experiences as president.
The wartime experiences of the future department secretaries
were equally important. All of Washington’s appointees served in the
military, in the state governments, or in the Confederation Congress.
Their frustrations directly shaped their contributions to the presi-
dent’s cabinet a few years later.
We then explore the political culture in the 1780s leading up to the
Constitutional Convention, including Americans’ efforts to grapple
10
Introduction
with their Anglo-A merican heritage. The new nation struggled to de-
fine its character, especially in relation to the British Empire. We will
consider how the delegates at the convention tried to respond to these
concerns in the Constitution by providing elected advisors for the pres-
ident, and w ill examine the expectations for the new executive leading
up to Washington’s inauguration on April 30, 1789.
Drawing on his previous military experience, Washington spent the
first two years of his administration establishing a working atmosphere
that befitted a virtuous republic and negotiating interactions with the
other branches of government. In tracking the cabinet’s eventual emer-
gence as the president’s advisory body, we will see Washington’s pre-
ferred cabinet practices, how the secretaries interacted, and how the
public responded to the emerging institution.
In the Neutrality Crisis of 1793, we w ill trace the cabinet’s efforts to
keep the new nation out of a dangerous international war. The cab-
inet fought to establish the president’s control over the diplomatic pro
cess and ensure that foreign nations respected the president’s au-
thority. Faced with its first major diplomatic crisis, the cabinet gathered
fifty-one times—the high-water mark for cabinet activity in Washing-
ton’s presidency. In another moment of crisis, the Whiskey Rebellion
in 1794 underlined the cabinet’s central role in formulating the military
response to the insurrection and ensuring that state and federal author-
ities complied with the president’s o rders. Finally, we will examine
the debates over the Jay Treaty in 1795 and 1796, and the cabinet’s
further development, including the first major cabinet scandal and
Washington’s return to individual conferences with trusted advisors.
The book concludes with a consideration of the short-and long-term
consequences of Washington’s cabinet precedents. He intended for the
cabinet to serve as a personal advisory body and for each president to
craft his or her own relationships with their advisors. Washington’s
11
THE CABINET
successor, John Adams, struggled with that flexibility, while Jefferson,

the nation’s third president, thrived with the opportunity to create
his own cabinet practices. We w ill also explore how the power of
Washington’s precedents and the cabinet tradition continues to guide
modern presidents.
By centering our exploration of Washington’s administration on his
cabinet, we will better understand several pivotal moments in the early
years of the new nation. By 1793, Hamilton and Jefferson hated each
other. Yet as fellow members of Washington’s cabinet, they found
themselves confined in a small room for hours on end, several days a
week, stifling in the Philadelphia summer heat. Their participation in
the cabinet exacerbated partisan tensions and accelerated the develop-
ment of the first party system. The cabinet supported the growth of
executive power and greatly expanded the role of the president in both
domestic and diplomatic issues. Cabinet machinations also ensured
that Congress and the state governments w ere kept out of t hese crit-
ical moments. Finally, Washington’s relationship with the cabinet sheds
new light on the precedents established by the first president. Wash-
ington tinkered with cabinet practices throughout his administration,
summoning regular meetings at certain times and preferring written
advice and individual conferences at o thers.
The cabinet stood at the center of almost e very major development
in the 1790s and reveals the power and importance of the executive
branch in the Early Republic. It was the product of the first officeholders
and reflected their backgrounds and governing experience. It emerged
in response to the international challenges, domestic pressures, and
pervasive anxieties about the f uture of the Republic. The formation of
the cabinet thus embodies the emergence of the United States. And—
like the United States—it might not have survived at all.
12
1
Forged in War
During the revolutionary war, the thirteen rebelling colonies

experienced violence, disruption, and expansive change. Families lost
loved ones, rummaging soldiers and cannon fire damaged farms, and
naval warfare on the high seas destroyed businesses. Many individuals
who survived the war found that their perspective on society and gov-
ernment had changed dramatically. Each state produced its own new
constitution, and in 1781, the Continental Congress adopted the Arti-
cles of Confederation as its governing charter. George Washington’s
role during the war offered him a unique perspective on the nation’s
evolution—he experienced the loss and devastation firsthand, but the
war also prepared him for f uture leadership.
Washington began his military c areer as a major in the Virginia mi-
litia. In 1753, he experienced his first g rand adventure when he com-
pleted a 300-mile journey to report on French military movements in
the Allegheny River Valley.1 The next year, in his new rank as colonel,
Washington led 300 men to attack the French at Fort Duquesne (now
Pittsburgh). This mission was a complete disaster. On July 3, 1754, Wash-
ington signed articles of surrender and was forced to abandon the
newly constructed Fort Necessity, and the skirmish accelerated the
13
THE CABINET
outbreak of the Seven Years’ War between France, Great Britain, and
their respective allies.2 Despite the defeat, Washington was appointed
as an aide-de-camp to General Edward Braddock. While serving with
Braddock, Washington again faced b attle, this time serving bravely to
organ ize the British forces a fter Braddock’s death on the battlefield.
In recognition of his serv ice, the Virginia House of Burgesses pro-
moted Washington again, and at just twenty-three years old he be-
came the commander of all V irginia troops. For the next few years,
the Virginia forces u nder Washington’s command fought admirably,
including at a b attle that captured Fort Duquesne from the French. In
1758, Washington resigned from the military out of disgust for poli-
ticians’ lack of support for the war and the troops. But he did not dis-
card his uniform.3
On May 10, 1775, Washington attended the first meeting of the
Second Continental Congress in Philadelphia as one of the selected del-
egates from Virginia.4 John Adams, a delegate from Massachusetts,
noted to his wife, Abigail, “Coll. Washington appears at Congress in
his Uniform and, by his g reat Experience and Abilities in military
Matters, is of much service to Us.”5 A few weeks later, Adams spear-
headed the effort to appoint Washington “general and commander
in chief of the army of the United Colonies and of all the forces raised.” 6
At the pinnacle of his military career, Washington understood the
high stakes of the war better than anyone—if he failed, independence
would fail. Furthermore, if Washington lost the war, he and all of the
other rebel leaders would be executed. He observed firsthand the vio
lence and destruction of the war. Washington gained invaluable leader
ship and managerial experience during the war. He developed leader-
ship strategies to manage his officers, obtain advice, and navigate the
sometimes conflicting political aims of the army, civilians, and Con-
gress. When Congress struggled to supply the army or oversee the war
14
figure 1.1 George Washington, Charles Willson Peale, 1776. White House
Historical Association
THE CABINET
effort, he urged government reform to meet the demands of the new

nation. Washington witnessed Congress’s attempts to professionalize
the executive committee system, and he became convinced that the
new nation needed a strong central government to survive.
Once Washington assumed leadership over the executive branch,
he used his experience as commander in chief as a template for gov-
erning, creating social environments, and managing complex person-
alities. He faced similarly high stakes as he had during the Revolution—
if he failed, the nation would fail. Washington drew inspiration from
his leadership experience as commander in chief of the Continental
Army during the Revolutionary War in four ways. First, he modeled
cabinet meetings after his councils of war. Second, he developed an ad-
ministrative system that allowed him to monitor important develop-
ments and correspondence, delegate the details to subordinates, and
employ his department secretaries as ambassadors for the executive
branch, just as his aides had represented his authority as commander
in chief. Third, he recreated a social environment similar to the one
he had enjoyed at headquarters. Fourth, he supported government re-
forms that produced independent executive departments in the Con-
federation Congress. The First Federal Congress adopted these depart-
ments in 1789, creating the positions that would become Washington’s
secretaries. His presidential leadership cannot be understood without
first analyzing his military experience.
m
Washington’s councils of war and their collaborative atmosphere were
an integral part of his war command and the first leadership element
that he replicated as president. As commander in chief, Washington
convened councils of war when he wished to consult multiple officers
before significant decisions.7 These councils served several purposes:
16
F orged in Wa r
they provided advice, helped Washington build consensus among his

officers, and offered political cover for controversial decisions. Wash-
ington usually hosted the councils in his dining room at headquarters.
If he summoned a council during a b attle, the officers would gather at
a local house or tavern. When the Continental Congress appointed him
to the Continental Army, they instructed him to follow the British tra-
dition of consulting with councils of war, but expected Washington to
put his own spin on the institution.8 Congress directed Washington to
“use your best circumspection and (advising with your council of war)
to order and dispose of the said army under your command.”9 Wash-
ington initially interpreted Congress’s instructions as orders to secure
the council’s approval for all major measures.10 A fter his defeat in New
York in the summer of 1776, however, Congress encouraged him to
follow his own judgment and noted that they intended councils simply
to advise. John Adams explained that the instruction meant “only that
Councils of War, should be called and their Opinions and Reasons de-
manded, but the General like all other Commanders of Armies, was
to pursue his own Judgment after all.”11 Thereafter, Washington con-
vened meetings less frequently and occasionally issued o rders against
his officers’ advice. He never dictated policy at his councils, however,
instead preferring to gather advice from his officers before making his
own decision. Washington called councils before commencing almost
every major engagement, establishing winter quarters, or adopting a
controversial position throughout his tenure as commander in chief.
Washington employed a few strategies to manage his councils of
war. Prior to summoning his officers, he almost always developed a
series of questions. He often submitted t hese questions to his officers
in advance of the council to give them time to consider the issues and
offer thoughtful advice. For example, on October 8, 1775, Washington
asked seven questions, including “What Number of Men are sufficient
17
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for Winters Campaign,” “Can the pay of the privates be reduced & how
much,” and “What Regulations are further necessary for the Govern-
ment of the Forces?”12 He then used t hese questions to control the
agenda of the meeting. If the officers failed to reach a unanimous deci-
sion, he requested written opinions from each officer at the comple-
tion of the meeting.
These written opinions served two purposes. First, some of the of-
ficers possessed big personalities and dominated council debates.
Charles Lee, for example, usually entered a room flanked by a rowdy
pack of hounds baying at his heels. As one of the most experienced of-
ficers, he was quick to assert his sen iority and his opinions. He cared
little for h
uman companionship, so he rarely considered how he offered
his wisdom or whether his words offended the other officers.13 By re-
questing written opinions, Washington ensured that more reserved of-
ficers had the opportunity to share their positions, and he was able to
gather as much advice and information as possible. Second, he preferred
to consider all options and come to a final decision slowly, which he
would then implement immediately and decisively. The written opin-
ions gave Washington more time to consider each position in private.
Washington used councils of war for many purposes. From the be-
ginning of his command, he employed councils to build consensus
for an upcoming campaign. Washington found this strategy espe-
cially helpful during his first year as commander in chief, when he
was building relationships with an officer corps that did not know
him or have much reason to trust his leadership. In several councils of
war held during the fall of 1775, he proposed an attack on the British
troops in Boston. As the new commander in chief, Washington was
eager to prove himself. The first round of army enlistments was about
to expire and he believed a full frontal attack was necessary. Each
time, his officers wisely opposed an attack, citing the British camp’s
18
F orged in Wa r
strong defensive position and the American troops’ inexperience.

General Nathanael Greene agreed that an attack was not practicable
unless “10,000 Men could be landed at Boston.”14 At a council of war in
November 1775, Washington secured the officers’ approval for a bit of
decisive action. The officers agreed to bombard the British troops
from Dorchester Heights, but regretfully informed Washington that
the Continental Army lacked the necessary artillery for such an attack
to succeed.15 Not to be deterred, Washington instructed Henry Knox
to travel to upstate New York to get more cannons. Knox departed
almost immediately and spent the next several months transporting
sixty tons of cannons and other artillery from Ticonderoga to Boston.16
A fter Knox returned, Washington called a council of war on Feb-
ruary 16, 1776. He updated his officers on the recent reinforcements
from Massachusetts, Connecticut, and New Hampshire, and shared
intelligence regarding the depleted British forces. He suggested an
all-out attack on Boston, taking advantage of the recent shift in weather.
During a cold spell, Cambridge and Roxbury Bay (now filled in and
part of Boston) had frozen over, so rather than rounding up thou-
sands of vessels to transport his soldiers, Washington planned to march
the army across the ice. Envisioning thousands of American troops
slipping and sliding across the ice—easy targets for British sharp-
shooters—t he officers politely rejected Washington’s proposal: “Re-
solved that an Assault on the Town of Boston in the present circum-
stances of the Continental Army is . . . Judged Improper.” Although
Washington’s discipline and training had improved the appearance of
the army, most of the soldiers were still woefully inexperienced and
could not be trusted to follow orders in the face of British fire. Fur-
thermore, the war effort was less than a year old. Some states favored
independence, while others were still on the fence. An overwhelming
defeat might end the war before it had truly begun.
19
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Washington then asked if the council would support “a Cannonade

& Bombardment with the present stock of powder.” The officers agreed
to a bombardment as soon as “a proper Supply of powder” arrived. In
the meantime, the council recommended taking immediate possession
of Dorchester Hill with Knox’s new cannons, which they thought
would draw out the British from their encampment in Boston. Wash-
ington finally adjourned the council with a plan of action in hand.17
On the night of March 4, Washington deployed 1,500 men to drag
the Ticonderoga cannons up to the top of Dorchester Hill. When the
fog burned off the next morning, the British woke to formidable de-
fensive works atop the hill and American artillery pointed at their navy.
British general William Howe offered a temporary truce to Wash-
ington: If the British army was allowed to leave unmolested, he would
leave the city of Boston intact. Otherwise, he would burn the city to
the ground. At this point in the war, Washington was willing to trade
the city for an army and accepted the deal.18 At each council meeting
leading up to this victory, Washington had yielded to the officers’ judg-
ment and found a compromise plan of action. Upon entering Boston
after the British abandoned the city, he expressed gratitude for his of-
ficers’ caution. It turned out that the British had installed barricades
throughout the entire city, making the roads nearly impassible. Any
attempt to recapture the city would have resulted in a bloodbath.19
Washington also convened councils of war to provide political cover
before adopting a potentially controversial decision. For example,
Washington sought support for a series of retreats from New York to
New Jersey during the summer and fall of 1776. While the retreats w ere
sound military decisions, he believed Congress expected him to defend
the city, and he allowed pressure from congressional delegates to color
his judgment. In May, John Hancock, president of the Continental Con-
gress, had politely summoned Washington to “consult with Congress,
20
F orged in Wa r
upon such Measures as may be necessary for the carrying on the en-
suing Campaign.”20 No record remains of Washington’s conversation
with Congress once he arrived on May 23, but he left fully persuaded
that Congress wanted him to stand and fight for New York City.21
Later on in the war, Washington relied on his own judgment and
the assessments of his officers rather than the political motivations of
Congress. Allowing Congress to influence policy was one of many
mistakes he made during the New York campaign. When he first ar-
rived in New York in the summer of 1776, he immediately broke one
of the cardinal rules of military command—he split his forces between
Brooklyn and Manhattan. General Greene commanded the Brooklyn
forces, entrenched on high ground on eastern Long Island, while Wash-
ington oversaw the Manhattan forces. General William Howe, the
British commander, did not make the same mistake. Instead, he worked
in concert with the enormous British navy. As a result, the British
troops were highly mobile and could easily flank American positions.
Although holding New York forever was likely impossible, Washington
hoped that the defensive obstructions installed around the city would
slow down the British.
On August 27, 1776, the British forces attacked the American posi-
tion on Long Island and inflicted an overwhelming defeat.22 The re-
maining American troops hunkered down behind fortifications on
Brooklyn Heights. British forces blocked the escape on land to the north
of Brooklyn, and the British navy controlled the East River, eliminating
the escape on water. Washington knew an immediate retreat to the is-
land of Manhattan was necessary before he lost half his army. He rec-
ognized, however, that the decision to retreat in the face of British vic-
tory would be controversial. A few days later, Washington convened a
council to discuss next steps with his officers. As the sun went down,
the officers straggled into Washington’s headquarters. Most had not
21
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slept since before the battle on Long Island and were exhausted, wet
from three days of torrential downpour, and covered with mud. As a
thick fog settled over the harbor and crept over the American defenses
on Brooklyn Heights, the officers debated their f uture and the f uture
of the Continental Army. The ominous weather outside matched the
mood of the council inside headquarters.23 Very quickly the officers
resolved unanimously in favor of a retreat b ecause the “g reat Loss
sustained in the death or Captivity of Several valuable Officers,” had
resulted in “great confusion and discouragement among the Troops.”24
A fter the council of war, Washington reported the decision and the
retreat to Congress: “I have Inclosed a Copy of the Council of War
held previous to the Retreat, to which I beg leave to refer Congress
for the Reasons or many of them, that led to the adoption of that
measure.”25
A fter the council of war on the night of August 29, Washington is-
sued immediate evacuation orders. Under the cover of the thick fog,
the troops piled into ferries, boats, and any other floating device they
could find. Over the next six hours, Washington and his aides super-
vised the retreat from the shoreline and followed in one of the last boats
that escaped to Manhattan. When the British inspected the American
lines the next morning, only five lonely cannons w ere left guarding the
26
empty defensive works.
The new American position provided scant haven from British
might, however. Much like Long Island, Manhattan could easily be sur-
rounded by British warships. If the British army landed on Manhattan
Island north of the city and blocked the land escape, the army could
be trapped. On September 15, Washington discovered this potential
nightmare scenario when the British troops landed at Kip’s Bay. He
quickly pulled his troops back to Harlem Heights, abandoning New
York City to the mercy of the British.27 For a few weeks, the Americans
22
F orged in Wa r
Harlem
Heights
Harlem
r
ve
N
i
Flushing Bay
nd
R
la
n
so
Is
ud
Astoria
an
ive r
tt
R
N E W J E R S E Y
ha
ck
a ckensa
an
Bergen
M
H Greenwich
r
ve
Ri
Paulus
st
Hook
Ea
New York
City
Bushwick
Brooklyn
N e w Yo r k L O N G I S L A N D
Bay
ian Bedford
Gu
of
ts
igh
He To Jamaica
Flatbush
STATEN
ISLAND
Denyse
Ferry
The Narrows New Utrecht
Flatlands
Gravesend
AMERICAN
4 miles Ja m a i c a
BRITISH 0
4 km Bay
figure 1.2 The Battle of Harlem Heights, September 16, 1776.
enjoyed a small reprieve. Washington established his headquarters

in the elegant Morris Mansion, now the Morris-Jumel Mansion, on
top of the bluff in Harlem Heights. From this site, the army had an
excellent view of British movements in New York City and the harbor.
The American troops also won a small victory in the Battle of Harlem
Heights, in which they withstood an attack and drove back the British
troops.28
23
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Just a few weeks a fter the American victory at Harlem Heights,

Washington and his officers received intelligence that the British
planned to land north of Harlem and trap the Continental Army. On
the night of October 16, Washington gathered the officers in the formal
parlor at the Morris Mansion. Perhaps some of the officers stood around
the ornate fireplace to warm their hands and feet a fter riding to head-
quarters. O thers may have peeked out the windows to inspect fortifi-
cations or look for signs of an impending British attack. Washington
opened the council on a somber note. He read aloud accounts by de-
serted British soldiers that revealed the British army’s plans to circle
behind American lines and surround the Continental Army. After much
deliberation, Washington and the officers agreed to retreat further to
White Plains to maintain an escape route.29 After another defeat at White
Plains, Washington finally led his troops to safety in New Jersey.30
While Washington’s retreats in New York were technically sound
decisions, they called his abilities into question. When the army re-
treated to New Jersey, it left New York City and the valuable harbor to
the mercy of the British. Philadelphia remained the biggest city and
port in the new world, but New York City was growing rapidly. The
deep harbor provided an excellent stop for warships, and the city’s im-
portance as a trade hub increased daily. Additionally, the Americans
abandoned valuable artillery and supplies to complete a hasty retreat
out of the city.31 Finally, losing the large and wealthy city of New York
to the British inflicted an enormous psychological blow to the army
and the country. Washington worried about public backlash and gath-
ered the officers’ opinions. On September 12, 1776, he called another
council to make sure he retained the support of his officers before aban-
doning Manhattan entirely to the British.32 Although Washington
never faced a formal inquiry from Congress, he possessed the written
support of his officers if he needed it.
24
F orged in Wa r
Washington also convened councils of war to learn from the exper-

tise and judgment of his officers. On December 25, 1776, Washington’s
forces famously crossed the Delaware River and inflicted an over-
whelming defeat on Hessian forces hired by the British and stationed
at Trenton, New Jersey. A few nights later, on January 2, 1777, Wash-
ington held a critical council of war. A fter his Trenton victory, Wash-
ington had planned to retreat quickly back across the Delaware River
to safety from a British counterattack. However, he longed to strike
again at the British while they were reeling from the Americans’ sur-
prise victory, so he postponed his retreat into Pennsylvania. Suddenly,
British reinforcements under the command of General Charles Corn-
wallis advanced more rapidly and in larger numbers from Princeton
to Trenton than Washington expected. On the morning of January 2,
American forces had defended their position against initial British at-
tacks. Washington’s sources revealed that Cornwallis planned to attack
the next morning: the British would try to ford Assupink Creek north
of the American defenses, attack the right flank of the American posi-
tion, and pin Washington against the Delaware River. The American
army risked entrapment in a vulnerable position. The Delaware River
hemmed in the rear of the American army, and the British forces
blocked Washington’s escape to the north.
Cornwallis had pursued Washington for months but had failed to
inflict a fatal blow. At last, Cornwallis believed, he finally had the Amer-
icans cornered. Cornwallis had every reason to be confident, perhaps
even arrogant: he was the most aristocratic of all the British com-
manders, he had succeeded to his family’s title in his early twenties,
and he came from a long line of distinguished military serv ice. His
military record spoke for itself; he had been awarded significant pro-
motions by age twenty-three and served as a privy councilor to the king
by age thirty. Cornwallis had received the finest education at Eton
25
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To Princeton
N
d
Pennington Roa
Del Old
a w are Ri
ve
ike
C ree
r
np
Bear Tavern
Tur
Jac obs
Taylorsville Night
2–3 Jan.
2 Jan. 1777
Assunpi nk Creek
Sh y Run
Birmingham eb Mir
o kun
kC
Penning
Old R
Scot
ree
ch R
i ve r R
k
ton Road
Sandtown
un
R oad
oad
D ld
e la Go
wa
re
Ri
ve
r
ee k
Yardleyville
Cr
nk
pin
ssu
2 Jan.
A
Trenton
AMERICAN
1.1/2 mile
BRITISH 0 3 km
figure 1.3 Trenton and vicinity, January 2–3, 1777.
College and Cambridge before serving with distinction in Frederick

the Great’s army during the Seven Years’ War. Once in America, he
had racked up victories in New York against the Continental forces,
often capturing cannons, provisions, and—most embarrassingly—the
personal baggage of Washington’s officers.33 Only Washington had
eluded him. On January 2, Cornwallis confidently predicted a British
victory and boasted that he would finally bag “the old fox.”34 The Con-
tinental Army appeared to be cornered.
Washington met the officers at General Arthur St. Clair’s quarters,
a modest two-a nd-a-half-story clapboard structure known as the
Douglass House. The Douglass House sat on the outskirts of Trenton,
just next to the army’s camp. It was significantly smaller than the
council’s usual settings, but Washington had yet to establish a new
26
F orged in Wa r
headquarters in New Jersey. On the night of January 2, Washington

hastily gathered his officers to address the British threat and the pre-
carious American position. Just after dark, the officers stuffed into the
living room on the first floor of the Douglass House and crowded
around the small fireplace. They w ere followed by their aides-de-camp
and local citizens Washington had invited.35 The aides removed the
chairs and much of the furniture to make space for the dozens of
people in attendance. The participants were on edge as they consid-
ered the possibility of b attle the next morning.
Washington opened the meeting by apprising the officers of their
situation. He praised the army for its recent victory in Trenton and their
stalwart defense against Cornwallis’s troops that morning. He then
turned to the current dilemma. As he saw it, the army had two options:
attempt a dangerous and hasty retreat over the Delaware River in the
middle of the night in freezing temperatures and high winds, or en-
gage in a “hazardous general engagement” by directly attacking the
British defenses.36 The Continental forces had already tempted fate
once by crossing the Delaware River at night in the m iddle of winter.
He was not eager to repeat the experience. The winds had picked up,
and Washington no longer had the element of surprise on his side.
British forces were carefully watching the American lines. If American
soldiers tried to cross back over the Delaware, they would be easy tar-
gets for British sharpshooters and artillery.
Directly attacking the British line seemed like a poor alternative.
Cornwallis had entrenched his defensive position and lined up his ar-
tillery to face the Americans. At best, Washington knew, his forces
would sustain devastating casualties. At worst, Cornwallis’s troops
would defeat the Continental Army once and for all. With retreat over
the Delaware impossible, Washington would have to surrender—an
unthinkable outcome.
27
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Arthur St. Clair suggested a third alternative. St. Clair held the ex-
treme right flank of the army, and his men had patrolled the country
lanes just beyond camp. They discovered that the army could escape
to Princeton if the troops swung southeastward around the British
forces. A few of Washington’s officers from New Jersey confirmed
St. Clair’s report of the country lanes. Adjutant Joseph Reed, who had
been raised in Trenton, reported that he had patrolled the back roads
earlier that day and they were clear of British soldiers. Encouraged by
this new option, Washington asked his soldiers to consult with local
civilians nearby to confirm that the path would take his army to
Princeton. The locals offered their encouragement and even volun-
teered to guide the army through their farmland.37 The civilian sup-
port convinced Washington to move forward with the plan, so he is-
sued o rders with unanimous approval from his officers.38
To disguise the American escape, Washington had work parties
build g iant fires and make a g reat show of improving their fortifica-
tions as if preparing for an attack. Behind the diversion, the other sol-
diers packed up camp, wrapped wagon wheels in rags to muffle any
noise, and began marching silently toward Princeton. British soldiers
on duty reported the troop movement, but Cornwallis mistakenly as-
sumed the Americans were planning a frontal attack, just as Wash-
ington hoped. Instead, Washington evaded Cornwallis yet again.39
The next morning, Cornwallis realized the Continental Army had
escaped and gave chase to Princeton, but Washington’s army had al-
ready surprised the British forces u nder Lt. Colonel Charles Mawhood
and inflicted more than 450 casualties. The B attle of Princeton provided
a numerical and ideological victory for the Americans.40
On the night of January 2, Cornwallis himself had held a council of
war. Cornwallis’s council was a much smaller, more intimate affair
than the one Washington held. Most of the attending officers came
28
F orged in Wa r
from high aristocratic families, had attended prestigious boarding

schools together, and served in Parliament. Cornwallis treated coun-
cils as his own personal court and ruled over them. The officers ad-
dressed him as “my lord,” and he called the officers by their old nick-
names from their boarding school days. At the council, Cornwallis
presented his own plan and expected his subordinates to heartily
agree. One subordinate, Sir William Erskine, did venture a contrary
opinion. He suggested that if Cornwallis “trust[ed] t hose people to-
night you w ill see nothing of them in the morning.” Cornwallis dis-
missed Erskine’s concerns and assured him that “he had the enemy
safe enough, and could dispose of them next morning.” 41 He was
wrong.
The cultures fostered by Cornwallis and Washington differed
greatly. The officers in Washington’s councils of war deeply respected
him, but deference did not restrain their conversations. Washington
sometimes invited local citizens to attend—from the poorest farmer
to elite plantation o wners—which meant that the councils w ere much
more representative of American society than the aristocratic enclave
at Cornwallis’s court. Observers also noticed that the officers spoke like
civilians rather than well-educated military officers. They spoke with
regional accents instead of in posh English, and they used colloquial
phrases rather than military terminology. During the January 2, 1777,
council, Knox described the American army as “‘cooped up’ like a flock
of chickens.” 42 While not always the case, the bluntness of American
officers sometimes offered a sharp contrast with the behavior of the
aristocratic officers in Cornwallis’s army.
Not all British councils of war were dominated by aristocratic yes-
men. During the Seven Years’ War, Washington convened and attended
many councils of war with the British army, each with its own prac-
tices and ethos. In the spring of 1754, Washington led 150 men to the
29
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forks of the Monongahela, Allegheny, and Ohio Rivers to protect the

new British fort located on the bank of the rivers. While marching
west, Washington received news that French forces had seized the
fort with little resistance. On April 23, Washington convened a council
of war with his officers and Indian allies. The council determined
that attacking the French without additional reinforcements would
be foolish and instead proposed that they march for a fortified store
house on Red Stone Creek. This location would make a good defen-
sive position to wait for additional troops from the Carolinas and
New York.43 In this council, Washington proposed the plan and the
attendants appeared to readily offer their approval.
The next year, Washington attended several councils as an aide-de-
camp in Major General Edward Braddock’s official family. Washing-
ton’s records suggest a few of Braddock’s strategies for governing his
councils. On May 30, Braddock presented a dilemma for his officers’
consideration: t here w ere simply too many wagons and too much bag-
gage for the army to march quickly. According to Washington, the
officers agreed to send back as much “of their Baggage as they could
do with[ou]t . . . w ith g reat chearfulness and zeal.” 44 Apparently this
cheerfulness evaporated rather quickly, b ecause one month later Brad-
dock summoned his officers again. He appealed to the officers’ sense
of duty and encouraged them to act “laudably” by further reducing
their baggage. Washington wryly noted that the officers reduced the
number of bags from 210 to 200, which “had no perceivable effect.” 45
Compared to Cornwallis’s council of January 2, 1777, Braddock’s coun-
cils appear almost democratic and demonstrate the g reat variety of
practices among British officers.
While not all Washington’s councils were so successful, his January 2
council showcased his greatest strengths as commander in chief. In-
heriting a vague British council of war practice, he modified his gath-
30
F orged in Wa r
erings to reflect his circumstances and the talents of his subordinates.

Washington received little formal book training and never authored
political treatises, but he possessed rare social intelligence. He accepted
his weaknesses and sought out advisors and subordinates who brought
different skills and knowledge.
Finally, Washington used councils to protect his reputation when
he avoided direct engagement with the British. Throughout the war,
he often surveyed the state of the army and concluded that an attack
would fail due to lack of artillery, supplies, and clothing. He understood
that he had to preserve the army in the short term to win the war in
the long term, and he relied on councils of war to support that strategy.
For example, before the British forced Washington to abandon New
York City, he proposed a counterattack on the British camp on Staten
Island. At a council held on July 12, 1776, the officers unanimously op-
posed an attack, as he probably anticipated.46 In his next report to Con-
gress, Washington wished “to acquaint them that by the advice of
Genl Mercer and the other Officers at Amboy, It will be impracticable
to do anything upon a large Scale for want of Craft, and as the Enemy
have the entire command of the W ater all round the Island.” 47 When
congressmen desired action, Washington used the advice of his offi-
cers to deflect potential criticism.
Similarly, in the late fall of 1777, Washington contemplated attacking
the British troops occupying Philadelphia. Greene described Washing-
ton’s unenviable task of having to choose between two unpleasant al-
ternatives: “To fight the Enemy without the least Prospect of Suc-
cess . . . or remain inactive, & be subject to the Censure of an ignorant
& impatient populace.” 48 Over the next several weeks, Washington re-
quested input from his officers.49 On October 29, Washington sum-
moned a council of war at headquarters in the Dawesfield Mansion
(also known as Camp Morris) in Whitpain, Pennsylvania. In the council
31
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minutes, Hamilton noted sixteen generals present. Washington likely

welcomed the officers into the parlor. The Dawesfield parlor was opu-
lent, but considerably smaller than some of Washington’s previous
headquarters. With at least seventeen men in attendance, the room
would have been a tight fit and chairs scarce. Once again, the officers
found themselves huddled around a fireplace in a too-small room
tasked with determining the army’s f uture. American forces suffered
embarrassing defeats at the Battles of Brandywine and Germantown
on September 11 and October 4. These defeats left Philadelphia open to
the British army and forced the Continental Congress to flee to avoid
capture. The f uture seemed dire. At the conclusion of the meeting,
Washington requested written opinions from the officers.
On November 24, Washington still felt compelled to attack Phila-
delphia. He convened another meeting and again requested written
opinions a fter the conclusion of the meetings. A week later, Wash-
ington sent a circular to the officers requesting their opinions one last
time on w hether they should engage in a winter campaign or enter
winter headquarters.50 On all three occasions, most of the officers op-
posed a winter campaign and encouraged Washington instead to rest,
supply, and train the troops. In his opinion, Greene wrote that to at-
tack would
make a bad m atter worse and take a Measure, that if it proves

unfortunate, you [Washington] may stand condemned
for . . . [I]n pursuing the other [winter quarters] you have the
Approbation of your own mind, you give your Country an
opportunity to exert itself to supply the present Deficiency,
& also act upon such military Principles as w ill justify
you to the best Judges in the present day, & to all f uture
Generations.51
32
F orged in Wa r
Washington agreed, but not before securing written support from his
officers—t hree separate times—for a choice that he knew might be
unpopular.
m
Washington created a process to manage the business of commanding
and administering an army, which he would go on to recreate a de
cade later as president. His command required the support of several
brilliant and talented aides-de-camp whose abilities complemented his
own. He held high expectations for his aides. In his mind, they o ught
to have been men from respectable middle-class or elite families so that
they could comfortably mingle with the dignitaries at camp. He re-
quired them to have a solid education so that they could read and
write effectively. And they needed to have a calm demeanor to with-
stand the pace and anxieties of war. In January 1777, Washington wrote
to his former aide Robert Hanson Harrison and asked if Harrison’s
brother-in-law would be interested in serving as an aide. In the letter,
Washington listed the qualities he valued: “A Man of Education. I be-
lieve him to be a Man of Sense—t hese are two very necessary quali-
fications; but how is his temper?” Washington went on to assure
Harrison that he did not expect his aides to have military knowledge,
but “if they can write a good Letter—write quick—are methodical, &
deligent, it is all I expect to find in my Aids.”52
Washington emphasized writing skills beyond all other factors
because the aides spent the bulk of their time on paperwork. During
the eight years of the Revolutionary War, Washington’s headquarters
produced more than fifty thousand documents.53 Aides read incoming
correspondence, drafted outgoing letters, compiled reports of man-
power, and maintained expense accounts. They also kept these docu-
ments relatively organ ized while traveling thousands of miles across
33
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the American countryside, often lodging in different headquarters from

one week to the next or sleeping in tents on the battlefield. The aides
produced this voluminous correspondence on top of the social obliga-
tions of hosting dignitaries at headquarters and delivering Washing-
ton’s o rders on the battlefield u
nder e nemy fire. Washington kept a
close eye on all correspondence, but the aides completed most of the
writing: “The General’s usual mode of giving notes to his secretaries
or aids for letters of business. Having made out a letter from such notes,
it was submitted to the General for his approbation and correction—
afterwards copied fair, when it was again copied and signed by him.”54
This arrangement allowed Washington to monitor all developments
at headquarters without getting bogged down in minutiae or wasting
time writing thousands of letters himself. T here w
ere simply too many
details to track, letters to write, o rders to issue, reports to read, and
defenses to inspect for Washington to take care of everything himself.
Overseeing and administering the Continental Army required
delegation.
Washington also deployed his subordinates as ambassadors for his
agenda, cultivated their connections to curry favor, and assigned tasks
to make the most of their abilities. He refined this strategy as com-
mander in chief and took the same approach with his department sec-
retaries as president.
During the Revolutionary War, Washington’s aides w ere indispens-
able. He conducted most of the daily business in headquarters with
his aides. They drafted and delivered instructions to the subordinate
officers, and on any given day, a few officers would also stop by Wash-
ington’s lodgings to discuss upcoming marches, fortifications, or battle
plans. Washington also relied on his aides to survey territory and gather
intelligence before b attle. In the m iddle of the disastrous New York
campaign, Washington used his aides to survey the damage inflicted
34
F orged in Wa r
by British attacks. On September 9, 1776, Tench Tilghman described

to his f ather how he climbed up to the battery at Hell Gate, which had
been attacked by two British ships: “The General set me up last Night
to see what Situation things were in, when I found our Fortification
but l ittle damaged, not more than could be repaired in an hour.”55
The Battle of Monmouth Court House on June 28, 1778, demon-
strated the important trust that Washington placed in his aides during
a b attle. The previous fall, the Continental Army had suffered several
embarrassing defeats before abandoning Philadelphia to the British.
A fter a long winter, Washington was spoiling for a fight to redeem
himself. As soon as the British Army left winter quarters in Phila-
delphia and marched north into New Jersey, he planned to order an
attack at the back of the British troops. At 5:00 a.m. on June 28, Wash-
ington received reports that the British troops w ere on the move. He
sent Richard Kidder M eade to instruct General Charles Lee to under-
take an immediate attack on the rear of the British army.56 While Lee
led the initial attack, Washington planned to bring up the rest of the
army from the camp in Penelopen and meet up with Lee in Monmouth.
Meanwhile, he instructed John Laurens and James McHenry to inspect
the terrain near the courthouse. As part of the plan, Lee expected
backup from troops u nder Washington’s command. Instead, Wash-
ington inexplicably delayed his march u ntil later in the morning and
left Lee without support. Faced with much larger British forces, Lee
ordered an immediate retreat. Washington received the first reports
of Lee’s retreat at 12:35 p.m. and immediately dispatched Robert Har-
rison and John Fitzgerald to ride ahead of the troops and gather
intelligence.57
When Washington finally met up with Lee at 12:45 p.m., they were
both far west of the town. The commander in chief was irate. Despite
his best efforts, Lee could offer no explanation that would excuse his
35
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“What’s that?” I pointed to the evidence he had forgotten he was
carrying.
“Well, hardly any,” he corrected; “just a little now and then to oblige a
friend, when I ain’t busy.”
Ruth had warned me of this. The independent son of the Puritan
Fathers on Cape Cod will only work as a favor, and out of kindness
charges you more than if he were drawing union wages.
“What do you do when you are busy?”
“Oh,—boats.”
“Wouldn’t you have time in the fall?”
“In the fall I won’t be here,” he answered, with a relieved sigh.
Mr. Turtle gave a guffaw, but when I looked at him sharply he was
methodically cutting a piece of cheese. “Will you have a sample?” he
asked me, holding a sliver out to me on the end of a knife.
I slammed the screen-door.
As soon as I arrived in the hospitable back-yard of Mrs. Dove, I
asked her what was wrong with them, or with me, that they should
rebuff me so. Stout and red-faced with exertion, she was laboriously
washing on a bench under the trees and kept on splashing the suds.
Being the only laundry in town, she could not waste time on
explanations. Mrs. Dove contracted to do the summer people’s
clothing by the dozen, and, counting almost everything that was
given her as not rightfully within that dozen, supplied herself with
sufficient funds to hibernate for the winter. During the dull season
she prepared for the next year’s trade by making rag-rugs and mats
with button-eyed cats, the patterns for which had traditionally been
brought back from Newfoundland by the sailors. After she had
listened to my story and hung up the stockings, she took the clothes-
pins out of her mouth long enough to answer.
“You’ll have a hard time all right, getting any one to go near the
place. They’re all against it.”
“But why?”
“Well, it has a bad name around here.”
That was what the judge had said. That was the reason he was
willing to sell it cheap.
“Do you mean it is haunted?”
Mrs. Dove held a child’s rompers up to the sunlight, soaped a spot
on the seat, and rubbed hard again.
“Well, not ghosts, precisely, but there’s always been strange goings-
on there, things a person could not understand and that never has
been explained. All the men is down on it, because the New Captain
didn’t hire none of them to work on the wing he built.”
“But that was years ago!”
“Fifty, maybe. The house was put up in the first place by ships’
carpenters from Boston, and there’s some is still jealous of that. Still,
when the New Captain added to it, seems as if he might have hired
folks around here. Instead of that he was so stingy that he built it all
himself, him and Mattie. He had her working around there just like a
man. Pretty near killed her carrying lumber. I’d ’a’ seen myself
hammerin’ and climbing up and down ladders for any of them
Haweses!”
“Did she really do that?”
“She did anything he said. Anything at all! From the time that he
used to chase her barefooted in and out of the drying-frames on the
shore lot where the cod was spread, she just worshiped him. And
what good did it do her? Mis’ Hawes was so set against her that she
made her life a torment, trying to keep her busy and away from him.”
“Why wouldn’t she let him marry her?”
“How did you know about that? Oh, you seen Caleb Snow! People
that talk all the time has to say something. I bet the judge didn’t
mention it!”
“He said that Mattie was picked up out of the sea.”
“Oh, as for that!”
“And that Mrs. Hawes came from Maine.”
“Did he? Well, she did, then. And she always thought there was
nothing good enough for her in Star Harbor. There was hardly a
family on Cape Cod that she would associate with. Her father was
one of them old sea-captains, pirates, I call them, who took slaves
up there in his own vessels, and she just naturally had it in her to
make Mattie into a slave of her own. She would no more have let her
son marry that orphan girl than if she was a nigger. I was a child then
myself, and I used to hear her hollerin’ at Mattie. She was bedridden
the last six years, and she used to lie by the window, downstairs in
the front room, and call out to people passing in the street. Stone
deaf, Mis’ Hawes was, and so as she could hear the sound of her
own voice she used to shout loud enough to call the hands in off the
ships in the harbor. Yes, ma’am, her lightest whisper could be heard
all over the bay.”
“Did she live longer than her husband?”
“Oh, years and years! He went down with the White Wren—they got
his body off the point. It was after that she had the stroke and was so
mean to Mattie and the New Captain. They was young people then,
and just the age. She wouldn’t let him have a penny of the Old
Captain’s fortune. I suppose it was because she wouldn’t give him
any cash to do it with that he had to build the new wing himself. She
was dead set against it. But it served her right. Mattie got so wore
out with it that she had to go to a hospital in Boston and get laid up
for a while. Some say she fell off the roof, but I used to be right
around there watchin’ them half the time and I never see her fall off
any roof. And Mis’ Hawes, she had a miserable time of it while Mattie
was gone. Once you get depending on any one, it’s them that is the
masters.
“I don’t believe Mattie ever would ’a’ come back after that, she was
so long away, only one day the New Captain hitched up his horse
and went and fetched her. His mother simply couldn’t do without her
another minute. It was winter and there was no ships plying. The
harbor was ice from here way over to the lighthouse-point; I
remember it. And we didn’t have trains clear down the cape in those
times. So what did the New Captain do but drive all the way down to
Boston and back in his square box-buggy. He was gone days and
days. I saw them coming home that night, the horse’s coat all
roughed up and sweaty and his breath steaming into the cold, like
smoke, the side-curtains drawn tight shut and the lamps lit. I was
bringing back our cow, and I drew to one side of the road to let them
pass, and I could hear her whimpering-like inside. He must have
thought a powerful sight of Mattie to have made that journey for her.”
“Were they happy after that?”
“Not that anybody knows of. There was old Mis’ Hawes so set
against his marrying her that she would fly into a passion if she saw
you was even so much as thinking of such a thing; and yet, what
could she do about it? Or what did she even know about it, shut up
in one room? Yes, ma’am, there’s been strange goings-on in that
house, and there is still. That’s why the men they won’t go near it.
When the New Captain wanted the roof shingled or the pipes
mended from time to time, he had to do it himself.”
“Well, I’m not going to paint the house myself,” I said. “After I get in
and have it all opened up, they will feel differently about it.” I held up
my chin defiantly.
“That is, if you ever get in,” rejoined Mrs. Dove.
I walked on down the back street with my clean white skirts, that she
had washed, over my arm, and thought things over.
To every house, as to every human being, is granted two sorts of life,
physical and spiritual. These wear out. To renew the physical life, all
that is needed is a few shingles and a can of white lead and a
thorough overhauling of the drains. The regeneration of the spiritual
is more complex, requiring a change of occupant. The deterioration
of a family within the walls of a house leaves an aroma of decay that
only the complete relinquishment of the last surviving occupant can
dissipate. Even then, the new tenant, in order to be exempt from the
influence of past psychological experiences, must be unaware of
them. I was learning too much about the House of the Five Pines. I
determined that I would inquire no further, but brush these
revelations from my mind and make a clean beginning. I would go
back to New York now, remembering the house only in its external
aspect, impressing that alone upon my husband and forestalling his
reaction to the side of the situation that lent itself to fiction, which
was his profession, by not telling him all of these legends that I had
recently unearthed. Jasper was more sensitive to such suggestions
than myself, and I felt that if he knew what I did we should have no
peace. To protect myself from exhaustive argument and speculation,
it would be wiser to repeat nothing.
The road where I was walking led across the rear of the premises of
the House of the Five Pines, which extended a block, from what was
always called the “Front Street” to the “Back Street.” From here one
had a view of the garden and the four-foot brick walls that held up
the precious earth hauled from such a distance. The century’s
growth of the five pine-trees had burst open the wall along one side,
and their roots, extending into the next yard, had been ruthlessly
chopped off. I hoped that these new neighbors would not extend
their animosity to me. The land sloped gradually down from the
house until it rose again in a wooded hill on the further side of Back
Street. This incline had necessitated the placing of piles, topped with
inverted tin pans, as they are in country corn-bins, to hold up the rear
of the captain’s wing. The space thus formed beneath the house,
called the “under,” was filled with the rubbish of years. There were no
doors at the back of the house, nor did this one-story addition have
any entrance. There was a big chimney in the center of the end-wall
and windows on either side. No barns or outbuildings fringed the
road. The needs of seafaring folk demanded that they keep their
properties in sheds upon their wharves.
At first there was no sign of Mattie, but as I lingered in Back Street,
lost in speculation, a little old woman came around the side of the
mysterious house. She was dragging two heavy oars behind her
which she propped against a tree, and, setting down a wicker fish-
basket beside them, lifted out a live green lobster.
She wore a yellow oilskin hat, with the brim bent down around her
withered face, and a dirty sailor’s middy over a bedraggled skirt.
Holding her freshly-caught lobster in a way that would have been
precarious to most people, she talked to it like a pet, and as I
continued to watch her, fascinated, she carried it tenderly away. I
wondered if she would drop it into boiling water, which was its natural
destiny, or take it into the kitchen and feed it a saucer of milk. She
did not appear again, but realizing that from behind some shutter she
might be observing me, I became self-conscious and moved on.
Judge Bell was leaning against the door of the Winkle-Man’s loft and
greeted me like an old friend as I passed. I knew that he had strolled
up there this morning to find out what had transpired after I left him
the day before.
“Are you going to take the house?” he asked.
“I hope so. I’m going back home this afternoon and tell my husband
about it.”
“Oh, ye’ve got a husband, have ye?” said Caleb, appearing with his
winkle-fork in his hand.
“What would I want that big house for if I didn’t have any husband?”
“Give it up! What do you want it for anyway? The judge and me have
give up wondering what summer people wants anything for, ain’t we,
judge?”
Judge Bell would not answer; he was afraid Caleb was going to spoil
the sale.
“They always pick out the worst ramshackle down-at-the-heels
places that they can get for nothin’, and talks about the ‘possibilities’
of ’em, like a revivalist prayin’ over a sinner, until you would think the
blessed old rat-trap was something!”
“The House of the Five Pines isn’t a rat-trap,” said the judge,
touchily.
“No, it ain’t,” grinned Caleb, shouldering his long fork and picking up
his bait-bucket. “It’s a man-trap!”
He slouched off down the bank.
“Don’t you worry,” I reassured the judge, who was looking sour. “I’ll
take the house if I possibly can. You put your mind on getting Mattie
moved out of it, and I’ll write you.”
I told Ruth about my interviews when I reached the cottage. “You’ve
found out more about that house in the last twenty-four hours,” she
replied in her leisurely way, “than I’ve ever heard in the five years
I’ve lived here. I only pray you will take it now. The town-people won’t
like it if you don’t; you’ve got their hopes aroused.”
“I have my own aroused,” I replied. “I have more hope now for the
future than I have had for the last six months.”
Ruth saw me off cheerfully on the afternoon train, but I knew that in
her kind heart were forebodings as to what might happen in my life
before she could see me again. Her whole family would migrate
soon now, and our winters would be spent in cities too far apart for
us to help each other. If she could have known how much I was
going to need her, she would never have left Star Harbor.
CHAPTER V
“THE SHOALS OF YESTERDAY”
AFTER I had been back in New York for a month I had about
decided that Mrs. Dove was right.
Jasper had greeted my idea about buying the house with
enthusiasm, but, when it came to details, with a stubborn refusal to
face the facts and sign a check. To my entreaties that he go down
and look at it, or write to Judge Bell about it, or arrange to move
there soon, I was constantly met with, “Wait till after the play.”
We lived in four rooms in the old arcade near Columbus Circle which
we had originally chosen because artists lived there, and at that time
I had thought of myself as an artist. I did, in truth, have some flair for
it, and a little education, which had been laboriously acquired at the
School of Design associated with the Carnegie Technical Schools.
Two years of marriage had seen the dwindling away of my
aspirations by attrition. The one room that we had which possessed
a window facing north, which by any stretch of good-will might have
been called a studio, had been given up for our common sleeping-
room, and Jasper, because of the constant necessity of his
profession to keep late hours, was never out of bed until long after
the sun had slid around to the court. I bore fate no grudge because
of this. It was quite true, as he often pointed out to me, that I could
paint out-of-doors or in some one else’s studio, but the day that I felt
free to do this never came. When, after two years of married life, our
finances still necessitated the curtailment of every extravagance,
paints and canvas seemed one of the most plausible things to do
without. It was only when prompted by the exhibition of some woman
painter, who had evidently managed these things better, my husband
would ask me why I did not paint any more, that I suffered
momentarily. For the rest of the time his own work seemed to me
much more important.
This was the night at last that my husband’s play was to go on, the
plot of which he had developed from a mystery that I had suggested
one morning a year ago, when I used to wake up so happily, full of
ideas. I did not rise as exuberantly now. I hated to get up at all. Our
studio was crowded with things and with people that we did not want
from morning until night, and from night until morning again. It had
become my chief duty to sort out all the component parts of our
ménage, producing just the influences that would further the work of
my husband and suppressing all others. To-day I had been
answering questions constantly on the telephone, from complaints
about the box-office, with which I had nothing at all to do, to
reproaches from the ingénue because she could not find the author.
It seemed to me, thinking it over while pressing out the dress I was
going to wear, that Myrtle was spending altogether too much time
looking for my husband. Just because he wrote the play and she
was acting in it was no reason that I could see why she should lunch
with him every day. I sometimes wished that all of these young girls
who thought it was part of their education to flirt with him could have
the pleasure of getting him his breakfast every day, as I did, and of
waiting up for him for a thousand and one nights.
I did not reproach Jasper; I loved him too much for that. When one is
jealous it is the contortions of a member of his own sex, of whom he
is suspicious, not the dear one upon whom he is dependent for
happiness. A woman will drop her best friend to save her husband,
without letting him know she has done so.
I blamed the city in which we worked for most of the confusion. Had
we lived in some other place, it would have been in a saner way. And
Jasper could have lived anywhere he chose; he carried his earning
capacity in his imagination. Nowhere are conditions so mad as in
New York, so enticingly witless. In this arcade building, cut up in its
old age into so-called living apartments, with rickety bridges
connecting passages that had no architectural relation to each other,
whispers followed one in bleak corridors and intrigue loafed on the
stairs. We had outgrown unconventional (which is the same as
inconvenient) housekeeping. Jasper was getting bored and I was
becoming querulous before our married life had been given any
opportunity to expand. Dogs were not allowed in our arcade; children
would have been a scandal.
Thinking of the big rooms in that cool, quiet house on the cape
during the hot month of September, I could not help longing to be
there, and I had written several times to the judge. Thus I knew that
Mattie “Charles T. Smith” had once more refused to vacate, and
unless we were coming up there immediately, the judge would not
evict her before spring.
“We ought to decide something,” I was saying to myself, when I
heard my husband coming down the hall, and my heart forgot
forebodings. I hurried to hide the ironing-board, there still being a
pretense between us that it was not necessary to do these things,
and put on the tea-kettle.
Jasper was tall and angular, with wispy light hair always in disorder
above a high forehead and gray eyes wide open in happy
excitement. He looked straight into life, eager to understand it, and
never seemed to know when it came back at him, hitting him in the
face. He had that fortunate quality of making people take him
seriously, even his jokes. In a world eager to give him what he
wanted, I was proud that he still chose me, and prayed that he might
continue.
He was pathetically glad to get some hot tea, assuring me that the
play was rotten, that the manager was a pig, and that none of the
actors knew their business. He had been with them all day.
“Jasper,” I said, after I had given him all the telephone messages, to
which he paid no heed at all, “have you any idea of taking that house
on Cape Cod this fall?”
Jasper went on looking through his papers as if he had not heard
me.
“Where is that correction I made last night for Myrtle?” he asked.
“I’m sure I don’t know.”
“Well, what—” he began impatiently, and then, turning on me, he
read in my face, I suppose, how much the House of the Five Pines
had come to mean to me.
“Now, see here,” he finished more kindly, “I can’t think about houses
to-day; you know I can’t. Ask me to-morrow.”
“All right, dear; I’ll ask you to-morrow. Have you got my seat for to-
night?”
“Seat?”
“Yes, a ticket to get in with. I suppose I’ll have to have a pass of
some sort, won’t I? I don’t want to stand up behind the stage.”
“Why, I’m sorry; I never thought of it. I’ll run up to the theater before I
come back and get you something.”
“You won’t have time; you’re going out for dinner, aren’t you?”
“I was.”
“Well, go ahead. I’ll see about the ticket somehow. Don’t bother.”
I smiled a little ruefully after he had gone. Why did I think I had to
have any more child than just him? I had always supposed that when
a man’s play was produced his wife had a box and all her friends
gathered around her with congratulations, and that the wives of the
actors were all arrayed, family style, to see them come on. But it did
not develop that way among the members of “the profession” as I
knew them. The wives were mostly staying at home with the
children, or lived outside the city and couldn’t afford to come in, or
frankly had another engagement. They were “not expected.”
It was raining when I crowded my way into the foyer and begged a
seat for “The Shoals of Yesterday” from the man at the window. He
gave me the best he had, without any comment, and I took off my
rubbers and laid down my umbrella in the balcony. From this point I
was as interested as if I did not know every line that was to be said—
almost every gesture. After the first act I relaxed and enjoyed it.
The play went of its own volition, developing an amazing
independent vitality which withstood the surprising shocks
administered to it by the actors. I smiled benignly when the audience
sat tense, and wept when I saw them burst into laughter.
Jasper’s hurried hand-pressure, when he found me, and his
whispered “Is everything all right out here, dear?” made me feel that
I, too, had some part in it, outside of its original conception, which of
course every one had forgotten. As a watcher of the first
performance, alert to catch any criticism that might be useful, I sat up
all night with the play that I had tended from infancy. When the
curtain went up upon “The Shoals of Yesterday,” it was a manuscript
from our apartment; when the asbestos went down, it was upon a
Broadway success.
I found my way back to the dressing-rooms and met Jasper coming
along with a crowd of actors, Myrtle crowding close. She wore an
orange-feathered toque, which set off her light hair like a flame, and
a sealskin wrap, drawn tight around her slim, lightly clothed body.
She was one of those competent blond girls who know not only how
to make their own clothes but how to get some one to buy them, so
that they will not have to, and how to wear them after they get them.
It is vanity which forces them into bizarre conquests. I could not tell
whether her absorption of Jasper’s time had in it elements that would
ever come to hurt me, or whether she was simply using him to
further her own advancement. Probably she did not know herself.
“Isn’t he a bright little boy?” She petted him and hung upon his neck.
“We’re going to take him out and buy him a supper, so we are; him’s
hungry.”
I knew perfectly well that it would be Jasper who would pay for the
supper, but at that moment I could not bear any one ill-will. I even
recognized that, for Myrtle, this was generosity. It would have been
more like her to have spoken of the play in terms of herself.
“It went awfully well,” I said to him over their heads. I thought he
would be waiting for some word from me.
But he did not reply. He was laughing and talking with the whole
group. In that intimate moment he was not aware of me in the way
that I was of him. Something inside me withdrew, so that I saw
myself standing there, waiting. I became embarrassed.
“Shall I go on home?” I asked.
Jasper looked relieved.
“I’ll be right along,” he assured me.
I went out with my umbrella and tried to call a taxi. But there were
not enough; there never are when it rains, and a single woman has
no chance at all. Men were running up the street a block and
jumping into them and driving down to the awning with the door half-
open looking for their girls or their wives along the sidewalk. I wished
that some one was looking for me. A hand closed over mine where I
held the handle of the umbrella and a pleasant voice said:
“Can I take you home?”
I looked up into the eyes of a bald-headed man I had never seen
before, who was smiling at me as if he had known me something
more than all my life. I jerked away and hurried down the street. After
that I somehow did not dare even to take a car; I walked home; in
fact, I ran. And all the way I kept thinking: “Why doesn’t Jasper take
any better care of me? Why doesn’t he care what happens to me?
That’s it; he doesn’t care.”
It is a dangerous thing to pity oneself when one’s husband is out with
another woman.
“All I can have to eat is what is left over in the ice-box,” I said, raising
the lid and holding the lettuce in one hand while I felt around in the
dark for the bottle of milk. But there was no milk. And I had to laugh
at myself then or cry, and so I laughed, a very little, and went to bed.
When Jasper came in it was so late that I pretended that I did not
hear him.
CHAPTER VI
LOBSTER-POTS
GETTING up and out of the apartment before my husband was

awake, I bought all the morning papers at the nearest kiosk and
carried them back to my breakfast-table. At least I would know first,
for my wakefulness, what the edict of the critics was. I hated to read
what I knew in my heart to be their immature and sometimes even
silly opinions, but such is the power of the press over the theaters
that I could not wait for my coffee to boil before I unfolded the first
sheet. These sophisticated young writers, many of whom I knew and
whose opinions I respected less on that account, wielded the power
of life or death over their subjects, the playwrights, who struggled in
the arena of life for their approval and were never safe from their
august “thumbs down.” Sometimes I thought the older men, who
should have known better, were the most irresponsible. Bored out of
all possibility of forming any constructive opinion of a first night, they
waited only to see that every actor came on as advertised, and then
scuttled back to their typewriters to pound off something, anything
that would leave them free for half an hour’s game in the back of the
newspaper office before going home. What had they done to us and
to our play, to the cross-section of life which we had labored over all
summer?
They were better than I had expected—probably because it was in
September and the dramatic critics were not yet jaded. Possibly,
fresh from the mountains, with the sunburn not yet worn off, they had
actually been to see the play and had had a good time meeting one
another in the lobby and comparing mileage. At any rate, their
remarks were universally good-natured, if not profound, and their
intentions beyond cavil. They had one criticism in common—they did
not like our ingénue, and I could not blame them any for that.
Will Turnball, on the “Gazette,” said that Myrtle Manners had done all
she could to ruin it, but fortunately the play did not depend upon her
for its success. He was not aware that it was the playwright who was
himself dependent upon her, who put her interests above any one
else’s in the cast. I remembered that Turnball knew the girl, and
wondered if he had said that deliberately and perhaps on my
account. One never knows where an obscure sense of chivalry is
going to crop out in a modern knight. We were old friends. He had
read “The Shoals of Yesterday” beforehand, one happy day in the
middle of last summer, when we were all down at ’Sconset together
over a Sunday. And, at the time, he had objected to Myrtle Manners
taking that part. He had said she was a trouble-maker, but Jasper,
having only recently secured his contract with Burton, who was going
to produce the play, did not feel like stepping in and dictating the
cast. I had stupidly sustained him. And now Turnball, knowing that
what he said could not fail to make Myrtle angry, had nevertheless
gone out of his way to say it. I smiled at the reaction I knew would
follow, and picked up the next paper.
I was surprised to find that the man on the “Tribune” agreed with him.
I did not know this critic at all. And the “Globe” said:
“‘The Shoals of Yesterday,’ the new play by Jasper Curdy, well-
known short-story writer, opened last night at the Lyric with great
success.... When so many girls are out of work this fall, why hire
Myrtle Manners?”
I finished my breakfast with the feeling that I had been revenged.
Jasper had not chosen her, I came to his defense. The manager
picked her out, Burton himself, for no better reason than that her
father played baseball with him on the high-school team back in
Plainfield, New Jersey, and she had come to him with a letter and a
sob-story and a pair of blue eyes. She was ambitious, she had told
him, and she wanted to work hard. Well, she understood herself; she
was all of ambitious, but who was to do the hard work was more
doubtful. She was never up at the hour of the day when most of the
hard work is done. To do Jasper justice, he had not seen the girl until
the first rehearsal, although she had hardly been out of his sight
since. Discontented with the part as it was originally written, Myrtle
had insisted on changes in it until the whole fabric of the play was
endangered. The part of ingénue was not originally important, but
her insistence, and Jasper’s willingness to please her, had altered it
until it threatened the lead. Therefore it had come about that Gaya
Jones, who was creating the difficult part of a society crook, was
herself becoming restless. There was no need of antagonizing Gaya.
She had started out at the beginning of the rehearsals with all the
good-will in the world, and worked up her character with her usual
dependable artistry. If she had her lines cut and Myrtle Manners had
hers made increasingly important, there was going to be grave
trouble. I had looked for Gaya in vain in the crowd who were going
out for supper last night. Probably, like myself, she had gone home
alone. I wished her better luck in her ice-box than I had found in
mine.
Now that the play had been launched I wondered if these two
women, upon whose acting it depended, would become reconciled
to each other.
The telephone interrupted my foreboding with a new fear.
“O Mrs. Curdy? Myrtle talking. Have you seen the papers? Is Jasper
up? Isn’t he? Why, he went home awfully early. He always does,
doesn’t he? Broke up the party; so sorry you couldn’t go along! I
suppose you’ve read what the papers say about me? I got up to find
out; might as well go back to bed again! Some of them were grand,
but the ‘Tribune’—Wait till Jasper reads what that awful man said in
the ‘Tribune.’ And the ‘Gazette’! I don’t believe they sent any one
over at all! That must have been written at the desk by the office-
boy! The ‘Globe’ was grouchy, too, but I know why that was; that
Jones who writes their stuff is married, you know, and he’s sore at
me. Last night, when we were all having supper, it was this way—”
I put my hand over the receiver so that I would not have to listen to
her story about the supper. I knew perfectly well that dramatic critics
were not loitering around restaurants after plays; they had to get
their reviews written before twelve o’clock.
“No, Jasper isn’t up yet,” I replied, taking my hand away just in time
to hear her insistent question. “All right.”
But the sunshine had been taken out of the room for me, as if a blind
had been drawn. Was this what we had been working for—this?
Failure might have drawn us together, might have made us need
each other more—or did I not mean that it would have made my
husband need me just a little? But now he was forever a part of a
production—as long as “The Shoals of Yesterday” should live, its
slave and its nurse. Nor did I want it to die precisely, nor quarrel with
my bread and butter, but, like many another, wanted success without
the price of success, and fame without the penalty. If, after the
production, Jasper had to spend all of his time mollifying this girl, if
he had to get right up out of bed to answer her demands, what had
he gained? I was so tired of the whole circle of my life! Tired of plays
and of writers, of actors and of stages, of newspapers and of
telephones. The list ran on in my mind like a stanza of Walt
Whitman. I could think of just as many nouns as he could, and of all
of them I was tired. The thought of leaving New York altogether was
to my mind like a fresh breeze on a sultry noon. There was nothing
more to detain Jasper. Why not go?
I looked about the room where I was sitting with eyes suddenly
grown cold to it. There was a hinge loose on the gate-legged table
that had once been our pride, so that a wing would go down if one
kicked it. The leather cushion on the big davenport in the windows
was worn white. The curtains were half-dirty and stuck to the screen.
The silver needed cleaning. The painted chairs, which furnished that
intimate “arty” touch, were like a woman who has slept in her rouge
without washing her face and needed touching up. The living-room
was too near. I wanted rooms where to leave one was not to look
back into it continually, rooms from which there was some escape,
that did not merge into one another. Particularly desirable to me at
that moment was a separate kitchen, incorrigibly isolated. I felt that I
would not care if it were in the basement or in another building, if
only I did not have to see the grapefruit rinds on the kitchen sink
while I was eating my egg.
That house on the cape! Two thousand dollars! The price of a car,
and Jasper had said he was going to get a car—to take Myrtle out in,
probably. I decided right then that if he bought a car, instead of a
house, I would never ride in it. (But I knew that I lied, even as I did
so.) It seemed to me that our life here was ended. More real was the
House of the Five Pines, the sand-dunes and the sea, the little road
and the vessels in the harbor. They were enduring; they had been
there before us and would indifferently outlast our brief sojourn, if we
lived with them the rest of our lives. They were the sum of the hopes
of simple men and the fabric of their dreams. I could hear the voices
of the children who would run around in that great yard, if it were
ever mine, and smell the hollyhocks that again would bloom in
orderly rows against the freshly painted house.
I took the mail in from the janitor—a letter from Star Harbor.
Dear Madam:
Mattie “Charles T. Smith” was drowned yesterday while
taking up her lobster-pots. I know that you will feel sorry
for her demise, but Providence has now made clear the
way for you to have the house you wanted. Please advise,
as I would like to close the deal.
Yours truly,
John Bell.
I sat quite still, with the letter trembling in my hand.
Mattie had gone back to the sea, back to that ancient mother of hers
out of whose arms she had been taken.
I knew the place where the lobster-pots were put out. A long row
from Mattie’s wharf, over in one shallow pool of the bay behind the
stone breakwater, where children played on the flats at low tide and
the horseshoe-crabs held carnival. No cottages were near this spot,
no fishermen’s houses stood up on the bank, for deep-pooled
marshes stretched behind it and to one side and beyond the
breakwater was nothing but sand and mosquitoes. The breakwater
itself was too lonely a walk for any one but lovers, who have the
nocturnal habits of the cat, but who do not patrol distant beaches to
see the sunrise. And no other person would ever have been in
shouting distance of the place where Mattie must have been
drowned. I could see it all as it must have been. An early morning;
fiery clouds veiling the rising sun, turning the whole bay to heliotrope
and silver; fishing-vessels at anchor, their crews still asleep; sea-
gulls flapping up lazily to roost again on pile tops, each one a
gargoyle in the morning mist; and a little old woman rowing a heavy
boat to her traps, standing to tug at the slippery line. An extra pull
that drew her over the edge; a stagger to recover her balance as she
floundered; a cry that no one heard on those desolate flats; a boat
left rocking, half-full of water; and an old withered body, found when
the tide went out, caught fast in the lobster-pots.
Mattie “Charles T. Smith”! Cast upon the mercy of these hard fisher-
folk and in the end snatched back by the sea, which always claims
its own! At least, and I was glad for it, she had been spared the
ignominy of being turned out of her home by me or any of my kind.
The manner of her going was like the way of her living—an accident
of fate, a silence, and a mystery.
Jasper startled me, coming into the room in his bath-robe, asking for
coffee. “Oh, let’s see the papers.”
I had forgotten the papers. I pushed them all toward him and went
out to make fresh toast.
The letter lay there. I did not know whether to show it to him or not.
For the first time in our married life I was afraid. I wanted so
passionately to have him go away with me, to have a place in which
to be together alone, a home, and yet at the same time I knew that
he would have to choose it for himself or the project would be futile. I
hated to be refused, and I would not force a decision. Had he risen
on this morning of his great success thinking only of that little actress
and what it would mean to her, or had he, after all, created this thing
for our own future—for me?
“You’re burning it!” called Jasper.
I hurried in with the toast.
“What are you crying for?”
“I’m not.”
“You’re up too early. Nerves. You ought to take more rest.”
I watched him miserably while he ate and looked through all the
newspapers.
“That’s fine,” he said. “That settles that! The old boys certainly were
nice to me!—Better than I deserve! Looks as if we were going to
have money in the bank!”
Then he picked up the letter.
“Read it,” I whispered. But I could not bear to see him, and I got up
and would have run away. He caught me in the doorway and, his
arms around me, kissed away my fears.
“I’m glad the old woman’s drowned!” he cried.
“Oh no, don’t say that!”
“Aren’t you?”
“But don’t put it that way!”
“What way? What’s the difference what way we put it, so long as
she’s out of it and we can get the house!”
“Shall we get it?”
“Do you want it?”
I broke down then and wept upon his shoulder.
“Don’t cry,” he kept saying, “don’t cry. All you need is sleep. We’ll go
up there and get rested. That’s the best news this morning. Why
didn’t you tell me right away?”
“I didn’t know whether you’d be interested.”
Jasper laughed, and, through my tears, I laughed, too.
“Don’t get any funny ideas in your head,” he said. “You know very
well that—”
It was too hard to say. I spared him.
“What I need is not sleep, Jasper,” I whispered; “it’s just—you.”

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The cabinet George Washington and

the creation of an American institution

Barbecue the history of an American institution Robert

Deconstruction An American Institution 1st Edition

George Washington The First President Sarah Albee

Marching on Washington The Forging of an American

The Soul of the American University Revisited: From

The Modern American Vice Presidency The Transformation

The American Federation of Teachers and the CIA George

The Campaigns of the British Army at Washington and New

THE BELKNAP PRESS OF

Jacket design: Jill Breitbarth

Cataloging-­i n-­Publication Data available from the Library of Congress

2 The Original Team of Rivals 56

3 Setting the Stage 93

4 The Early Years 126

5 The Cabinet Emerges 163

6 A Foreign Challenge 193

7 A Domestic Threat 236

8 A Cabinet in Crisis 264

citation and abbreviation guide 325

At eleven thirty in the morning on August 22, 1789, a large cream-­

Washington’s relationship with the Senate was just one of countless

of August, the Senate created a committee to meet with Washington.

to the Constitutional Convention rejected several proposals for an ex-

Washington and his secretaries ­were ­shaped by war, politics, cul-

Washington’s private study, their outsized personalities ­shaped the cab-

individually with the president on most department m ­ atters. When

the formation of state institutions, including the custom h ­ ouses u

chronological development of the cabinet is critical for three rea-

successor, John Adams, strug­gled with that flexibility, while Jefferson,

During the revolutionary war, the thirteen rebelling colonies

effort, he urged government reform to meet the demands of the new

they provided advice, helped Washington build consensus among his

strong defensive position and the American troops’ inexperience.

Washington then asked if the council would support “a Cannonade

figure 1.2 The ­Battle of Harlem Heights, September 16, 1776.

enjoyed a small reprieve. Washington established his headquarters

Just a few weeks a­ fter the American victory at Harlem Heights,

Washington also convened councils of war to learn from the exper-

figure 1.3 Trenton and vicinity, January 2–3, 1777.

College and Cambridge before serving with distinction in Frederick

headquarters in New Jersey. On the night of January 2, Washington

from high aristocratic families, had attended prestigious boarding

forks of the Monongahela, Allegheny, and Ohio Rivers to protect the

erings to reflect his circumstances and the talents of his subordinates.

minutes, Hamilton noted sixteen generals pre­sent. Washington likely

make a bad m ­ atter worse and take a Mea­sure, that if it proves

the American countryside, often lodging in dif­fer­ent headquarters from

by British attacks. On September 9, 1776, Tench Tilghman described

GETTING up and out of the apartment before my husband was

You might also like

Cataloging-i n-Publication Data available from the Library of Congress

At eleven thirty in the morning on August 22, 1789, a large cream-

Washington and his secretaries were shaped by war, politics, cul-

Washington’s private study, their outsized personalities shaped the cab-

individually with the president on most department m atters. When

the formation of state institutions, including the custom h ouses u

successor, John Adams, struggled with that flexibility, while Jefferson,

figure 1.2 The Battle of Harlem Heights, September 16, 1776.

Just a few weeks a fter the American victory at Harlem Heights,

minutes, Hamilton noted sixteen generals present. Washington likely

make a bad m atter worse and take a Measure, that if it proves

the American countryside, often lodging in different headquarters from