The next day Washington, rising above pettiness, allowed British officers in captivity to walk about freely after they swore they wouldn’t try to escape. When he replied to Gage, he no longer hedged his words with a British superior. Now he could openly and indignantly defy the highest British officer and ventilate a lifetime of frustration. He started out by saying that British prisoners were being “treated with a tenderness due to fellow citizens and brethren.” Then he delivered his own stern lecture to Gage: “You affect, Sir, to despise all rank not derived from the same source with your own. I cannot conceive any more honorable than that which flows from the uncorrupted choice of a brave and free people—the purest source and original fountain of all power . . . I shall now, Sir, close my correspondence with you, perhaps forever. If your officers who are our prisoners receive a treatment from me different from what I wish[e]d to show them, they and you will remember the occasion of it.”³⁸ This eloquent letter, brimful of passion, reflected both sides of George Washington. He appealed to the rights due to officers in an army, traditionally an aristocratic class among the British. At the same time, he issued a clarion appeal to natural rights as the source of all power, giving a ringing affirmation of American principles.

Beneath the high-flown rhetoric, Washington’s private views were far more sober. During that troubled summer he wrestled with his ambivalence about the scruffy army he led. He wasn’t by nature or background an egalitarian person, and to Virginia confidants he poured forth his chagrin. To Richard Henry Lee, he bemoaned that it was impossible to get these New England soldiers to be heedless of danger “till the bayonet is pushed at their breasts” and blamed “an unaccountable kind of stupidity in the lower class of these people.”³⁹ He was no more charitable toward their officers, telling cousin Lund, “I daresay the men would fight very well (if properly officered), although they are an exceeding dirty and nasty people.”⁴⁰ Washington frowned upon these Puritan descendants as greedy, sanctimonious hypocrites, telling Joseph Reed that “there is no nation under the sun (that I ever came across) pay greater adoration to money than they do.”⁴¹

For Washington, thoughts of Mount Vernon offered solace from wartime scenes in New England and became his favorite form of mental refreshment. Perhaps admitting that his absence from Virginia might be prolonged, he gave the faithful Lund a generous raise to manage the estate in his absence. Throughout the war Washington remained exceedingly attentive to doings at home, penning hundreds of lengthy letters to Lund, typically one a week. He retained a staggering amount of detailed information about Mount Vernon inside his compartmentalized mind and seemed able to visualize every square foot of the estate—every hedge, every fence, every pond, every meadow. Often exacting in his demands, he supervised the planting of crops, the purchase of land, and the moves and countermoves of lawsuits as if he had never left the plantation. Forever daydreaming about the future, he was determined to persist with renovations to his mansion started the year before. Writing as if he might return that winter, he told Lund to “quicken” the introduction of a new chimneypiece, “as I could wish to have that end of the house completely finished before I return. I wish you had done the end of the new kitchen next the garden as also the old kitchen with rusticated boards.”⁴² Clearly Washington found psychological balm in these pleasing fantasies of a renovated Mount Vernon awaiting him when the war ended.

Continuing to fret about Martha, the commander in chief was beset by sporadic fears that Lord Dunmore might abduct her. Then he dismissed such actions as unworthy of a gentleman. “I can hardly think that Lord Dunmore can act so low and unmanly a part as to think of seizing Mrs. Washington by way of revenge upon me,” he told Lund Washington in late August.⁴³ Should Lund believe it necessary, however, he advised him to move both Martha and his personal papers to safety in Alexandria.

Even as he privately berated the New Englanders, Washington enjoyed a special wartime camaraderie with two who stood out amid the dearth of able officers. Nathanael Greene of Rhode Island was one of the first brigadier generals picked by Congress; having turned thirty-three that summer, he was the youngest general in the Continental Army. Tall and solidly built with striking blue eyes, full lips, and a long straight nose, Greene had been reared in a pious Quaker household by a prosperous father who owned an iron forge, a sawmill, and other businesses. Discouraged from reading anything except the Bible, he had received little schooling and missed a college education as much as Washington. “I lament the want of a liberal education,” he once wrote. “I feel the mist [of] ignorance to surround me.”⁴⁴ To compensate for this failing, he became adept at self-improvement and devoured authors both ancient and modern, including Pope, Locke, Sterne, and Jonathan Swift.

After his father died in 1770, Greene inherited his business but was shadowed by mishaps. Two years later one of the forges burned, and the following year he was barred from Quaker meetings, possibly because he patronized alehouses. In 1774 Greene married the exceptionally pretty Catharine “Caty” Littlefield, who was a dozen years younger and a preeminent belle of the Revolutionary era. As relations with Great Britain soured that year, Greene struggled to become that walking contradiction, “a fighting Quaker,” poring over military histories purchased in Henry Knox’s Boston bookstore. At that point his knowledge of war derived entirely from reading. Greene was an improbable candidate for military honors: handicapped by asthma, he walked with a limp, possibly from an early accident. When he joined a Rhode Island militia, he was heartbroken to be rejected as an officer because his men thought his limp detracted from their military appearance. “I confess it is my misfortune to limp a little,” he wrote, “but I did not conceive it to be so great.”⁴⁵

Nevertheless, within a year, by dint of dawn-to-dusk work habits, Greene emerged as general of the Rhode Island Army of Observation, leading to his promotion by the Continental Congress. Washington must have felt an instinctive sympathy for this young man restrained by handicaps and with a pretty and pregnant young wife. He also would have admired what Greene had done with the Rhode Island troops in Cambridge—they lived in “proper tents . . . and looked like the regular camp of the enemy,” according to the Reverend William Emerson.⁴⁶

Nathanael Greene had other qualities that recommended him to the commander in chief. Like Washington, he despised profanity, gambling, and excessive drinking among his men. Like Washington, he was temperamental, hypersensitive to criticism, and chary of his reputation, and he craved recognition. As he slept in dusty blankets, tormented by asthma throughout the war, he had a plucky dedication to his work and proved a battlefield general firmly in the Washington mold, exposing himself fearlessly to enemy fire. Years later Washington described Greene as “a man of abilities, bravery and coolness. He has a comprehensive knowledge of our affairs and is a man of fortitude and resources.”⁴⁷ Henry Knox paid tribute to his friend by saying that he “came to us the rawest, the most untutored being I ever met with” but within a year “was equal in military knowledge to any general officer in the army and very superior to most of them.”⁴⁸ This tactful man, with his tremendous political intuitions, wound up as George Washington’s favorite general. When Washington was later asked who should replace him in case of an accident, he replied unhesitatingly, “General Greene.”⁴⁹