Aaron Adams’s Blowhard Blog

Over the past several weeks, you may have noticed the link on the right side of the page to David McCullough’s 1776, a book which I finished reading several weeks ago and only now am I getting around to writing about it for this site. My purpose for writing isn’t to provide an exhaustive review of the book. I’m not nearly enough of a literary mind to pretend that I can create some kind of meaningful critique of David McCullough’s work. Rather, I’d like to reflect upon what I’ve learned from reading 1776 and explain why I linked to it on my site.

The American Revolution has always fascinated me, primarily because it seems to be an amazing nexus of the right people in the right place at the right time, or alternately, a confluence of circumstances that brought forth the otherwise anonymous best and brightest of a continent. I have a good understanding of the events that precipitated the creation of our country (and, sadly, that makes me much more knowledgeable than most Americans) and the opportunity to learn more, as presented by an historian and story teller the caliber of David McCullough, was too good to pass up.

The story begins in Great Britain, with King George III addressing Parliament, declaring the American colonies in rebellion, and recommending the formation of a supplementary military expedition to be sent to Boston to end the siege and forgive the colonists for their transgressions. The armada is sent with the idea of reconciliation, but is also prepared to force the rebels into submission if necessary.

The debate in Parliament is fierce and is strongly reminiscent of the debate in America today over Iraq. It wouldn’t surprise me if a similar debate occurred preceding, or during, practically every war in history. There are pros and cons to any military action, and large groups of people are almost never unanimous when it comes to serious life-or-death actions. The American Revolution was no exception for either Britain or the colonies.

On the other side of the Atlantic, the colonial army surrounded Boston. “Army” may be too strong a term for the fickle farmers and semi-committed recruits who lived in absolute filth amongst the hills outside town. People came and went as they pleased. Sanitation was almost non-existent. Housing was built wherever, with whatever was available. Drunkenness was rampant; it was said that each colonial army soldier drank a bottle of rum per day. And there were comparatively few soldiers. Had the British known the true size of the army that surrounded them, perhaps they would have been more willing to confront it.

At the head of this army is General George Washington, a gentleman farmer, former Colonel in the Virginia Militia under the country he is now fighting against, and a man who as never commanded an army in his life. A number of men of varying competency and experience are assisting him, but the book primarily focuses on Nathaniel Greene and Henry Knox, two men who are well-educated but, like Washington, have no real experience commanding troops.

Backing the continental army and mandating Washington’s power is the Continental Congress, an organization that is as impotent and penniless as any governing body that has ever existed on the North American continent. It seems to only have the power to politely ask states for their support of the Revolution and the army. Any commitments states may make do not seem to be especially binding, and had they been, the Continental Congress seems to have to real mechanism with which to enforce those commitments.

I’ve painted a pretty bleak picture of the opening days of the American Revolution. It seems like a miracle that we’re here today, complaining about the comfortable, privileged lives we enjoy because of it. How did a constantly-disintegrating army, headed by inexperienced farmers and bookworms, backed by an insolvent debating society, ever survive the first year of its showdown against the greatest imperial power of the time?

The answer is far more complex than what I’ll write here, but I’ll mention two reasons that stand out to me.

Washington and his staff were intelligent enough to be able to learn as they went along. Washington was, in the beginning, a lousy General with some bad ideas. He made some big mistakes, to be sure. His insistence that New York, a city that became less strategically important every day, be defended, was as illogical a move as any made during the war. Washington’s judgement was at times so bad that his personal secretary’s faith in him was severely shaken. Yet, after each setback, Washington realized what he had done wrong and he learned his lesson. The same was true for his staff. Despite their inexperience, the Generals in charge of the continental army grew to be worthy opponents to their enemies, and eventually defeated them.

Luck also played a part in the army’s early survival. If Washington and his army were masters of any one thing, it was retreat. That may sound negative, but a clean retreat means survival and the possibility of fighting another day. Sometimes the ability to successfully retreat is as important as winning the battle, and that was certainly true for Washington’s army. Thousands of men moved silently through tight wooded trails, across water in makeshift boats, through snowstorms, and in the pitch black of 18th century New England night. I use Washington’s retreats as an example of luck because each retreat required strict silence and secrecy, and it only takes one mistake, one unforeseen event, one unanticipated complication, one natural misfortune, to create panic, throw the army into disarray, and potentially destroy it.

This book made an impression on me because it reinforced something I’ve learned in my own life, which I like to phrase as a sports analogy: Just because you drop a few games at the beginning of the season doesn’t mean you’re out of the playoffs. Failure to be immediately successful doesn’t indicate ultimate doom. Life is a learning curve and patience is a requirement if anything is to be accomplished. And it never hurts to have luck on your side.

There is much more to the book than what I have presented here. It’s a good read and I enthusiastically recommend it to anyone. I’ve taken time to write about it here because I truly believe that, to know where you are, and where you’re going, you have to know where you’ve been. Americans seem to be woefully, almost criminally, ignorant of their own history and the lessons it teaches. Considering where America finds itself in the world today, perspective is a requirement for an informed electorate and, hence, effective government. 1776 provides a great piece of that perspective.