On August 27, 1776, it seemed as if the new United States of America would die in its infancy. The following is an excerpt about the critical first battle after the Declaration of Independence, adapted from my book, Great Stories in American History.
July 4, 1776, at Philadelphia, Pennsylvania: A new nation is born to patriots longing for freedom from Great Britain and seeking to launch the most ambitious political experiment in the world’s long, tired history–rule of the people, by the people, and for the people.
Would the United States die in its infancy? Or would the British Empire, the most powerful nation on earth, send the fledgling from it cradles to its grave in a matter of weeks?
The mighty British out-gunned, out-manned, and out-supplied the Americans, as the Unites States’ inexperienced militia faced the world’s most powerful army in late August, 1776 in New York. Were it not for the hand of Providence, the Battle of Brooklyn Heights would have been the last gasp of a newborn nation.
The responsibility for keeping American alive lay largely on General George Washington’s shoulders as he played a cat-and-mouse game in New York throughout that sweltering summer of 1776. The Virginian knew how crucial the first battle of the new country would be, that even if he didn’t make major mistakes, the odds were heavily against the Americans. If he did make mistakes, the United States of America would be remembered as the brief dream of a band of foolish rebels.
A bleaker situation is difficult to imagine. In an awesome display of strength, the British assembled the largest expeditionary force of the eighteenth century. Over 30,000 strong, it contrasted sharply with Washington’s 18,000 volunteers, a large number of whom were too sick to fight. It was David vs. Goliath, the New York Yankees vs. the local Little League team.
In addition, American allegiance to the Declaration of Independence had yet to be tested. Was their loyalty to freedom’s cause strong enough to withstand the death and destruction British artillery surely would bring? Might it not be better to surrender while families, farms, and villages remained intact?
Fortunately, the British General, Sir William Howe, held no great hatred toward them, seeing the patriots as misbehaved children who deeded a firm hand more than an iron first to bring them back into line. After arriving in New York, Howe waited over a month to engage their fighting men, hoping the British show of force might be enough to convince them.
At the end of August, Howe finally advanced. Washington sent his top 3,500 men along a forested, hilly stretch of the East River. Another 4,000 less experienced soldiers occupied the Brooklyn Heights fort under Major General John Sullivan. On the morning of the 27th, Howe began his campaign against Sullivan’s troops, however, rather than those of Washington in Manhattan. Washington quickly sent reinforcements across the East River to help his Major General.
The Redcoats positioned themselves between the Brooklyn Heights fort and those American soldiers guarding it from a bluff. With a roar of gunfire, a unit of German Hessians. A slaughter ensued; some 1,500 Patriots died that morning, with many wounded and taken prisoner. Among the wounded and captured was my six times great grandfather, Col. Peter Kachlein, who commanded Northampton County, Pennsylvania’s ”Flying Camp” militia, men who stood tall that morning, whose bravery helped make it possible for Washington’s remaining soldiers to escape.
With Brooklyn Heights fort at his mercy, General Howe delayed. Although his men outnumbered the patriots, the Americans had dug formidable earthworks. If the British stormed them, they would suffer heavy losses. Howe thought it better to employ heavy artillery against those earthworks to maximize the damage to the Americans, while minimizing his own casualties.
General Washington conceived a risky plan to evacuate his men by water. A flotilla of small boats manned by capable Massachusetts soldiers, who’d grown up near the water, would try to escape the clutches of the world’s greatest navy.
All that storm-tossed night of the 28th, the New Englanders evacuated the Patriots in choppy conditions. When the wind dissipated around midnight, however, the moon illuminated the scene. Although more men could now flee per boat, the British would be able to hear and see the troop movements without the cover of the wind and waves. Also working against the Americans was their troops’ fractious mood, soldiers arguing noisily amongst themselves as they waited along the shore for rescue. However, even under those circumstances, the British didn’t know what was going on.
As dawn broke, Washington knew he needed at least three more hours of darkness to complete the removal. Only a miracle could save his men–and the newborn country.
American Major Ben Tallmadge, an eyewitness, described what happened next:
“As the dawn of the next day approached, those of us who remained in the trenches became very anxious for our own safety, and when the dawn appeared there were several regiments still on duty. At this time a very dense fog began to rise (out of the ground and off the river), and it seemed to settle in a peculiar manner over both encampments. I recollect this peculiar providential occurrence perfectly well, and so very dense was the atmosphere that I could scarcely discern a man at six yards distance. . . We tarried until the sun had risen, but the fog remained as dense as ever.”
When General Washington finally took the last boat to freedom, the fog began to lift. The stunned British realized that 8,000 Americans had fled under their very noses! The hand of Providence ha guided the infant nation to safety.
My ancestor survived his ordeal, although the majority of his men didn’t make it. He was paroled in February 1777, and when he returned with his remaining men to Easton, Pennsylvania, the women of the German Reformed Church immediately began baking for them. The story is told that they were so hungry they ate the dough raw, rather than wait for it to be baked. Col. Peter’s son, Lt. Peter Kachlein, Jr., also lived through the battle and a good thing, too–he’s my five times great grandfather!
