August 16, 1780—Like so many other engagements of the American Revolution in the Southern colonies, the Battle of Camden became a full-fledged disaster for the Continental Army. A patriot force that outnumbered British invaders by more than three to two, fighting on its own South Carolina soil, suffered more than six times as many casualties as their opponents, along with the loss of much transport and ammunition.
But the most astonishing result of the engagement, it appears now, might have been addition by subtraction. American commander Horatio Gates (in the image accompanying this post), it is true, had not only joined the first set of militia that fled the field, but had kept galloping for three days and 180 miles before he figured he was out of harm’s way and could file a belated, self-justifying battle report. Better that such a divisive figure be sidelined than that he pose an even greater threat to the Continental high command.
The 53-year-old general’s precipitous flight brought out the incipient smart aleck in one of George Washington’s young aides-de-camp. “It does admirable credit to the activity of a man at his time of life,” joked Alexander Hamilton.
Like other staffers, Hamilton had been appalled that Gates had been seriously considered by many in the Continental Congress as a possible replacement for Washington. That notion was pretty much disposed of by Gates’ conduct at Camden. No matter how many or how difficult his defeats had been, the Virginian had kept his army together as a fighting force against all odds. And it was simply impossible to accuse him of cowardice.
Reading about Gates’ war years, you can’t help notice the similarities with a Civil War general, George B. McClellan:
* Both men were brilliant at organization—i.e., the business of outfitting, training and motivating an army—and probably made their greatest contribution to the war effort in the earliest days;
* Both men were hugely popular with soldiers because of genuine concern for their welfare;
* Both men quarreled with other generals and gained reputations as schemers;
* Both men ran afoul of the two towering American figures of their times: Gates, with Washington; McClellan, with Abraham Lincoln;
* Both men saw their greatest weakness as commanders—a failure of nerve—cruelly exposed on the field of battle.
And both bemoaned the task they were given: in Gates’ words, taking on “command of an army without strength, a military chest without money, a Department apparently deficient in public spirit, and a climate that increases despondency instead of animating the soldier’s arm.”
To hear his supporters talk, there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do. That frequently unthinking support may have led him to a continual insistence on his rights that led to clashes with others: first, with General Philip Schuyler, whom he supplanted as head of the army’s northern department, then with Benedict Arnold, who had helped to turn the tide of battle at Saratoga with a brave dash across the field, only to see Gates grab the glory.
But Gates really became a center of controversy as a result of “the Conway Cabal,” a shadowy movement within the Continental Congress to replace Washington. Gates' circuitous denials of involvement in this movement, along with his victory at the Battle of Saratoga (which many credited more to Arnold and Daniel Morgan than to himself) and election to the Board of War set up by Congress, made him a rival to Washington. Relations between the two men cooled.
But the most astonishing result of the engagement, it appears now, might have been addition by subtraction. American commander Horatio Gates (in the image accompanying this post), it is true, had not only joined the first set of militia that fled the field, but had kept galloping for three days and 180 miles before he figured he was out of harm’s way and could file a belated, self-justifying battle report. Better that such a divisive figure be sidelined than that he pose an even greater threat to the Continental high command.
The 53-year-old general’s precipitous flight brought out the incipient smart aleck in one of George Washington’s young aides-de-camp. “It does admirable credit to the activity of a man at his time of life,” joked Alexander Hamilton.
Like other staffers, Hamilton had been appalled that Gates had been seriously considered by many in the Continental Congress as a possible replacement for Washington. That notion was pretty much disposed of by Gates’ conduct at Camden. No matter how many or how difficult his defeats had been, the Virginian had kept his army together as a fighting force against all odds. And it was simply impossible to accuse him of cowardice.
Reading about Gates’ war years, you can’t help notice the similarities with a Civil War general, George B. McClellan:
* Both men were brilliant at organization—i.e., the business of outfitting, training and motivating an army—and probably made their greatest contribution to the war effort in the earliest days;
* Both men were hugely popular with soldiers because of genuine concern for their welfare;
* Both men quarreled with other generals and gained reputations as schemers;
* Both men ran afoul of the two towering American figures of their times: Gates, with Washington; McClellan, with Abraham Lincoln;
* Both men saw their greatest weakness as commanders—a failure of nerve—cruelly exposed on the field of battle.
And both bemoaned the task they were given: in Gates’ words, taking on “command of an army without strength, a military chest without money, a Department apparently deficient in public spirit, and a climate that increases despondency instead of animating the soldier’s arm.”
To hear his supporters talk, there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do. That frequently unthinking support may have led him to a continual insistence on his rights that led to clashes with others: first, with General Philip Schuyler, whom he supplanted as head of the army’s northern department, then with Benedict Arnold, who had helped to turn the tide of battle at Saratoga with a brave dash across the field, only to see Gates grab the glory.
But Gates really became a center of controversy as a result of “the Conway Cabal,” a shadowy movement within the Continental Congress to replace Washington. Gates' circuitous denials of involvement in this movement, along with his victory at the Battle of Saratoga (which many credited more to Arnold and Daniel Morgan than to himself) and election to the Board of War set up by Congress, made him a rival to Washington. Relations between the two men cooled.
General Benjamin Lincoln’s surrender at Charleston opened up a vacancy in the Southern Department of the war, and Gates’ political supporters predictably bypassed Washington’s choice for the post, Nathanael Greene, and appointed Gates to fill it. Now Gates would show what he could and couldn’t do when left largely to his own devices.
Gates’ most disastrous move in the battle was overreliance on militia. In a more free-floating, guerrilla style of operation they might have functioned well, but not as the prime defense against battle-tested British troops under Lord Cornwallis. One cheer, one volley and an exuberant bayonet charge by the redcoats crumpled up first the Virginia militia, then its North Carolina counterpart, on Gates’ left wing. He spurred on his horse and not only joined, but surpassed them in his urgent flight.
Belief in militia was not the only illusion to die hard at Camden. Washington’s enemies now realized, after this disaster, that Gates was a false savior for the Continental Army. Instead of being named head of the army, he was relieved of command and, for more than a year, sat out the decisive turn in the war, as the Continental Congress first ordered a court of inquiry into his conduct at Camden, then rescinded it.
Gates’ most disastrous move in the battle was overreliance on militia. In a more free-floating, guerrilla style of operation they might have functioned well, but not as the prime defense against battle-tested British troops under Lord Cornwallis. One cheer, one volley and an exuberant bayonet charge by the redcoats crumpled up first the Virginia militia, then its North Carolina counterpart, on Gates’ left wing. He spurred on his horse and not only joined, but surpassed them in his urgent flight.
Belief in militia was not the only illusion to die hard at Camden. Washington’s enemies now realized, after this disaster, that Gates was a false savior for the Continental Army. Instead of being named head of the army, he was relieved of command and, for more than a year, sat out the decisive turn in the war, as the Continental Congress first ordered a court of inquiry into his conduct at Camden, then rescinded it.
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