Washington was humble, sure, but he was also prepared. He’d always understood the necessity of sea power and had lobbied Congress for quite some time to begin building a formidable navy. When that didn’t happen, he turned to the French, realizing that their navy was his only chance to match the British fleet and stop Cornwallis.
If you think about what Washington accomplished given the timeline of the battle, it’s pretty mind-boggling. The very idea of coordinating the convergence of a massive French navy with French and American land forces on the coast at a specified time and a specific place is a miracle in itself. Think how difficult it is to coordinate a couple of friends for lunch—and that’s with cell phones and email.
The Humility Standard
St. Bernard defined humility like this: “A quality by which a person considering his own defects has a lowly opinion of himself and willingly submits himself to God and to others for God’s sake.” George Washington clearly met that standard—but how many of today’s politicians do? Think about that definition the next time you listen to a speech or a debate and use it as one of the standards by which you judge who should lead us. If a politician fails to pass the humility test, then chances are they’ll fail every other test as well.
Washington’s willingness to listen to others, including his subordinates, is what made this possible. Being humble means nothing if you don’t live it every day. Plenty of bosses, for example, believe themselves to be humble but would never call in a low-level manager or secretary to take their advice about a business deal. (In my own company I’ve found that some of the best ideas come from the people and places that you’d least expect.) But Washington did. He listened to everyone—keeping the good ideas and discarding the bad.
According to historian David Hackett Fischer, throughout his military career Washington frequently met with subordinates and, unlike English commanders, encouraged the free exchange of ideas. He listened more than he talked (one of the rules of civility) and he not only drew from the best ideas of his men, but also credited them generously.
As a new general, Washington actually took a vote to decide how to proceed in battle. That would have been unimaginable in any European army. Later, as his confidence and skill began to eclipse those around him, he would build consensus and make strong arguments for his plan. That approach built a confidence that was at an all-time high as the war’s biggest showdown approached at Yorktown.
Whereas English forces relied almost exclusively on the old-school European traditional top-down military system, Washington embodied the Spirit of ’76 by allowing the experiences and ideas of others to help him find innovative and practical ways to win the war.
Timing Is Everything
Pulitzer Prize–winning Washington biographer Ron Chernow relates that the young Washington was obsessed with precision and time. “Washington,” Chernow writes, “aspired to stand at the center of an orderly clockwork universe.”
Washington had placed a sundial at a center spot on his estate lawn. A French businessman friend once said that “no one ever appreciated better than General Washington the value of time and the art of making use of it.”
This might be one of Washington’s most important lessons for us today. No one man, no matter how respected or powerful (and there certainly aren’t many of those), can do it all. We all need help. We all have strengths and weaknesses and only by listening to, and working with others can we maximize the positives and minimize the negatives.
This is one of the reasons I’ve been so obsessed lately with physically getting people together in their communities. We all have a tendency lately—and I’m as guilty as anyone—to rely on email or the Web or cell phones to communicate with each other. But that doesn’t really connect us; it doesn’t let us see each other eye to eye, shake hands, and get to know each other.
I’ve met so many people over the last decade who so desperately want to make a difference. I tell them all the same thing: you’ll never do it alone. George Washington, the author of perhaps the biggest underdog success story in history, understood that concept very well and, while others resorted to egocentric, outmoded models of war and government, he pushed past it. We must do the same.
With God on Our Side
During the revolutionary era most colonists believed that God had played a large part in all the victories of the patriots. They believed that the establishment of a free nation was destined to them by God and that fighting was a divine cause. After all, how else could they have survived against the world’s greatest military power for so long?
Colonial religious leaders regularly preached that liberty was an inalienable right, handed down by a higher power. The Founders were always hardheaded realists about the chances of victory and concerned about human nature’s tendency toward greed, but they never wavered in the belief that the cause of American liberty was divinely inspired. One revolutionary battle flag featured the phrase “Resistance to Tyrants is Obedience to God.”
Another, the Pine Tree Flag (sometimes called “Washington’s flag”), often flew during the American Revolution and featured a picture of a tree with the words “An Appeal to God” or “An Appeal to Heaven” in text underneath. It was originally used by a squadron of six ships commissioned—and paid for—by Washington.
GRACE IN VICTORY
Sometimes how you win is just as important as the fact that you won at all.
After the British ceased fire at Yorktown, General Cornwallis refused to attend the surrender ceremonies, claiming that he was not feeling well. He sent his deputy, General Charles O’Hara, in his place.
The Great Authoring … of Two Thunderstorms
Prior to Cornwallis’s surrender he’d decided to make a run for it. The plan was to cross the York River and flee through the neighboring town of Gloucester, which was far less heavily guarded than Yorktown. As soon as they were free, the white flag would be put up in Yorktown by the sick and injured troops who remained.
On a moonless night, the British gathered every vessel they could find and put their best soldiers aboard, hoping they would reach Gloucester well before dawn so that they could sleep and prepare for the fight at daybreak.
After two hours the first group of troops made it across and the sailors turned around and headed back for Yorktown to pick up the second contingent. But, as they sailed, something unexpected happened: a severe storm blew in unexpectedly. Showers turned to a full downpour and then into severe, violent winds.
The storm erupted for nearly two hours and the British boats, which were floating helplessly on the York River, were scattered—some driven back to the Yorktown shore and others blown miles downstream.
Cornwallis’s escape attempt was over. He had no other choice but to face Washington’s siege.
That freak storm may not have mattered if the English navy had been able to leave New York and come to the rescue of Cornwallis earlier. But they couldn’t. Why? Another thunderstorm.
Perhaps because of confidence in their own might or maybe an underestimation of the colonialists, the British took their sweet time repairing their fleet in New York harbor. But finally, on October 13, the fleet was ready. If all went well they’d still have plenty of time to reach Yorktown and save Cornwallis.
And then it happened: a freak storm with huge squalls pounded New York harbor for over an hour, damaging two vital British ships, the Shrewsbury and Alcide, which then had to be towed to Staten Island for several days to be repaired. By then it was too late—Cornwallis was on his own.
These two storms may have been just as critical in winning Yorktown as anything that Washington did. And, of course, Yorktown was critical to winning the revolution. So, you decide: were these perfectly timed storms simple coincidence … or were they something much more?
As a traditional gesture of surrender, the English sword was offered to the French commander, General Rochambeau. The French general refused to accept the sword because it was Washington who was the overall commanding g
eneral of the troops. So O’Hara turned to Washington, who also declined and pointed toward his own deputy, Benjamin Lincoln.
Hey, if the British were going to insult the patriots by sending a deputy then Washington would return the favor. It was a manner of honor.
But Washington did not go overboard. He understood that the way he acted in victory was just as crucial as the way he carried himself in defeat. He also understood better than most the indignity and disgrace of surrender. Decades earlier at Fort Necessity, fighting one of the first battles of the French and Indian War under the British colors, Washington was forced to surrender after losing more than a third of his force in a prolonged French siege. It was only after his weapons had become useless and his troops had only three days of supplies left that he’d finally given in.
Though surrender assaulted his senses, Washington conceded and resigned himself to what he was sure would be personal disgrace. Sometimes you have to take one step back before you can take two steps forward. Sometimes the battle simply can’t be won.
Yet the loss of Fort Necessity didn’t tarnish his stellar reputation. Not only did his resolve in fighting the battle boost his public image, but his honorable behavior afterward enhanced it even further. When all was said and done, the House of Burgesses of Virginia adopted a resolution to thank Washington and his officers for their courageous endeavors on behalf of the British Crown.
It goes to show you that you can win, even when you lose.
Washington: Religious Zealot?
When the Continental Congress learned of the British surrender to Washington at Yorktown, representatives walked together to a Philadelphia church and prayed. Nearly a thousand other people joined America’s leaders in worship around the city. In fact, Congress recommended that the entire nation might want to observe a day of “public thanksgiving and prayer” to celebrate the victory.
How times have changed. Can you imagine if Congress declared a national day of prayer after a military victory these days? The ACLU would file a lawsuit before you could say “God bless you.” On the tenth anniversary of 9/11, New York’s Mayor Bloomberg even banned all clergy from the Ground Zero ceremonies.
The congressional prayer resolution of 1781 is a powerful one. It says that American victory “hath pleased Almighty God, father of mercies, remarkably to assist and support the United States of America in their important struggle for liberty against the long continued efforts of a powerful nation; it is the duty of all ranks to observe and thankfully acknowledge the interpositions of his Providence in their behalf. Through the whole of this contest, from its first rise to this time, the influence of divine Providence may be clearly perceived in many signal instances….”
Sure sounds like the Founders were a bunch of religious fanatics to me.
And Washington was right there with them. The best way to exhibit this kind of reverence to Providence was to remain humble in great moments just as he remained strong in difficult ones.
Two days after the definitive battle of the revolution ended, the British press reported that Washington had ordered a “Divine service” to be performed in all the different brigades and divisions in the American army in order to return “thanks to the Almighty for this great event.”
Soon after the British surrender at Yorktown, Cornwallis asked for a meeting with the American general. The two ended up touring the Yorktown defenses and developing a mutual respect. Cornwallis even hosted a dinner for all the general officers—French, American, and British alike—and proposed a toast to Washington: “When the illustrious part that your Excellency has borne in this long and arduous contest,” he said, “becomes a matter of history, fame will gather your brightest laurels rather from the banks of the Delaware and those of the Chesapeake.”
Did Cornwallis already have an inkling of where the world was headed when he gave that toast? Maybe. Like Washington, Cornwallis was one of the most impressive men of his generation—he very well may have realized that the British loss would resonate far beyond this city on the Chesapeake.
A Complicated Rival
It’s surprising, but Cornwallis, like a number of other well-known Englishmen (such as philosopher Edmund Burke), actually favored granting the colonies more rights before the revolution. What he opposed, and could not accept, was armed rebellion against the Crown.
By winning over the enemy, and a formidable opponent like Cornwallis, Washington showed no ill will toward a nation he had fought for and nearly died for in the past. How Washington carried himself, and how he represented the nation moving forward, went a long way toward establishing the American ideals that seem almost second nature today.
When President Chester Alan Arthur celebrated the hundredth anniversary of the revolutionary victory at Yorktown, he honored the descendants of Washington, Lafayette, Rochambeau, and many others. But, to close the ceremony, the president saluted the British flag to honor those who had fallen. This might seem a bit strange to outsiders, but Americans, starting with Washington, have fought wars to find peace. Once we do, we harbor no grudges—if you embrace freedom, we embrace you. European nations had a long way to go before they understood this concept. We have never forgotten it. Just ask the Germans, Japanese, Koreans, or Iraqis.
11
Gray in Your Service
March 14, 1783
General Washington’s Headquarters
Newburgh, New York
For perhaps the very first time, George Washington felt completely alone.
He had always been able to count on the support of his men, the devotion of his staff, the dedication of his army. Through the very worst of times and from the loneliest of days, from the lowliest private to his senior generals, his men had always stood at his side.
But now they did not stand with him; they stood against him.
And that cut him to the core.
Alone, he thought. I am alone in this. He slowly shook his head.
A pile of gentle embers glowed below the mantel, but the fire itself had long since burned down, leaving a chill in the air. Though it was late, he was dressed in his uniform and his boots were still on. The room was quiet. He could hear himself breathe. The fire popped and he watched a dying ember grow cold upon the wooden floor. Lifting his eyes, he stared at the writing quill, then at his hands. They were strong and firm, but seemed smaller, and not as thick with muscle as they once used to be. And they were rough now. Rough from work. Rough from cold winters. His knuckles were dark and wrinkled, his palms thick with calluses from holding leather reins.
Washington turned to look at the vile piece of paper that announced the secret meeting. He had thrown it upon the rough wooden table where it now sat like a poisonous spider, dangerous and menacing. He wanted to slap it aside or throw it into the hot embers; anything to get it out of his sight. But he couldn’t ignore it. He had to deal with it. And it had to be done tonight.
Of all the crises that he had lived through, this one was the worst. Out of every arrow of disappointment that had pierced him, this one cut the deepest.
This wasn’t a passing fancy he was dealing with. These weren’t the rantings of a few disgruntled officers or the common grumblings from the enlisted men. This was something different. Far more dangerous.
This was a conspiracy on the grandest scale.
He had been warning the Congress for years. How many letters had he written! How many leaders had he begged! Now there was no choice; they simply had to do something or the situation would explode.
Yes, he understood their reasons. He wasn’t stupid. He understood the politics, the realities of what power they did or did not have. He knew the Congress wasn’t evil; it wasn’t filled with evil or lazy men. Most of them were friends. All of them loved their country. But, through the weak Articles of Confederation, they had made themselves powerless and, in the end, that is what would destroy them.
He also understood that the states felt they’d given all they had. Their cities had been occupied by the hated
British soldiers for far too long. All of their citizens had suffered. But that was nothing compared with what his army had endured.
And yet they had won!
It had been more than eighteen months since Yorktown and little meaningful military action had occurred since then. The British fleet had already sailed out of the New York harbor. Some British soldiers remained, but his army had essentially won the war! He had known since watching the white flag rise at Yorktown that they were going to drive the British from their shores. But this thing, this ongoing atrocity that had befallen his army, took all the glory out of their victory.
Staring at the dying fire, he scowled. It was a bitter thing to swallow. A bitter, dangerous thing. But the simple fact was that it had proven easier to defeat the mighty British than it was to convince his people to pay the very army that had set them free!
He looked at the dreadful bulletin, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
His chair creaked underneath his large frame as he placed his feet atop the rock and mortar hearth. He was close enough to the dying fire that he could feel occasional puffs of heat when a downdraft channeled through the chimney.
We could still lose this! he thought.
His heart slammed inside his chest.
Everything we’ve done could be for nothing!
His mind drifted back across the years of war. He remembered it all: every single day of hunger, every cut of fear, every man he had watched fall upon his chest and die, every night away from Martha, every day without the smell of the pines on his beloved estate—at one time he’d been away from Mount Vernon for six years! He remembered every march in crushing heat, every night in bitter cold, his feet so numb he was certain they had frozen, every patch of thirst, every ounce of blood they’d shed.