March, 1783. The Revolutionary War was not over. The throng of Continental soldiers encamped at headquarters was pissed.
And with good reason. The soldiers were bloody. Battered. They were sick. And worst of all, they were unpaid. Namely, because Congress would not get off its fat aspirations and pay its own army.
Just who did Congress think it was? These wealthy jerks, sitting in ornate boardrooms, wearing tight pants and powder wigs, making up new laws, refusing to fund their own army.
The soldiers were angry. Angry at the negligence. Angry at bloated government fatcats whose daughters mail-ordered clothes from Italy, whose sons studied Latin and ceramic pottery.
This was NOT the America the soldiers signed up for. This was B.S.
General Washington’s officers began whispering behind his back. They wrote seething letters in secret.
The soldiers had been circulating petitions suggesting large-scale mutiny. An anonymous letter was read aloud in the bunkhouses, barracks, and tents:
“Any further experiments on our patience may have fatal effects… If this then
be [our] treatment, while the swords [we] wear are necessary for the defence of America, what have [we] to expect from peace...?”
So the men’s minds were made up. They decided on mutiny. Screw this. They were going to abandon the war, let the American people fend for themselves against the British. Then, the army would march on Congress and demand paychecks, with muskets drawn.
Washintgon caught wind that his officers had planned a secret meeting. This was serious. These were HIS officers. HIS trusted guys. And they were plotting against him.
A meeting was called in New Windsor Cantonment, New York. March 15. A nation’s entire future hung in the balance. This is what happened at that meeting:
It was a large hall, entirely made of wood.…