Washington’s personal motto was Exitus acta probat, Latin for “the outcome justifies the deed.” He was an extremely principled man, but history has lost sight of his very practical side. While he earnestly endeavored to raise America’s treatment of her prisoners above the barbarity of previous European wars, it became clear to him that the only way he could save his captured countrymen was to potentially mutilate the redcoats in his custody.17 Washington was morally opposed to mistreating prisoners. But he was even more opposed to letting Americans suffer. He was a practical man and if he could use British captives to defend his countrymen, he would. When it came down to saving Americans, the outcome justified the deed.
Retribution was the primary means by which armies remedied enemy breaches of the laws of war. And so Washington warned Gage, his friend-turned-foe,
My Duty now makes it necessary to apprize you, that for the future I shall regulate my Conduct towards those Gentlemen, who are or may be in our Possession, exactly by the Rule you shall observe towards those of ours, now in your Custody.
If Severity and Hardship mark the Line of your Conduct (painful as it may be to me) your Prisoners will feel its Effects.18
In the broadest reading, this letter expressed the view that the enemy’s actions justified amputating limbs of British prisoners. And these were not empty threats, since Washington held a number of British troops captive early in the war. While it was unlikely that he truly intended to go to that extreme in order to protect American prisoners at this stage, the British indeed complained that the American side was already mistreating British captives in other ways.
One report of abuse comes from when Washington’s forces attacked the lighthouse on an island in Boston Harbor that summer of 1775. Their mission was to disrupt British night shipping by extinguishing the warning light. And so on a steamy July night, with the darkness and crashing waves masking their advance, three hundred American minutemen boarded whaleboats and stealthily made their way towards the small rocky island and its thirty-two unsuspecting British guards.19 In a fierce 2:00 A.M. ambush, the stench of gunpowder pierced the salty sea air. The patriot muskets quickly killed a third of the redcoats and the remainder surrendered before the Americans triumphantly ignited the lighthouse into a towering inferno.20 But the Americans’ jubilance was short-lived. The tide had receded, beaching their getaway boats. Trapped on the island, the Americans watched the British gunboats race to the scene.
The tide returned just in time for the Americans to jump into their makeshift armada with their captives and get to the opposite shore before the British cannon could blow them to pieces. The infuriated British were able to hit only two Americans before the rest made it to safety. Once ashore, the Americans promptly put their new captives to work, forcing them to carry a cannon up a hill.21 Word traveled back to the British lines that this was just the tip of the proverbial iceberg.
After Gage had received Washington’s warning, he spat off an angry rejoinder. His intelligence, he said, had indicated that Americans were abusing captured redcoats, using extreme forced-work tactics and even starvation in order to compel the captured British troops to help the American side:22
My intelligence from your army would justify severe recrimination. I understand there are of the King’s faithful subjects, taken some time since by the rebels, laboring, like negro slaves, to gain their daily subsistence, or reduced to the wretched alternative, to perish by famine or take arms against their King and country. Those who have made the treatment of the prisoners in my hands, or of your other friends in Boston, a pretence for such measures, found barbarity upon falsehood.23
Neither Washington’s threat to General Gage nor the Americans’ possible abuses were based on any congressional resolution regarding the treatment of enemy captives. Washington led the way, informing Congress of his actions only after the fact.24 Likewise, no state legislative body instructed the commander on the matter of prisoner treatment. Instead, the Continental Army informed the Massachusetts legislature that “Gage is resolved to know no distinction of Rank among our Prisoners in his Hands, which obliges Genl. Washington (very contrary to his disposition) to observe the same Rule of Treatment to those Gentlemen, . . . which otherwise may appear harsh and cruel.”25
Washington considered it within his powers as commander in chief to decide the treatment of enemy prisoners without any need for a congressional resolution. He determined the best course of action based on his understanding of the laws of war. And his views on the matter did not always align with those of Congress.
In August 1775, mere days after Washington’s hostile exchange with General Gage, the Americans ambushed the British transport ship HMS Hope as it sailed up the Delaware River.1 The outnumbered British quickly surrendered, and the Americans captured a British officer named Major Christopher French. Approximately fifty years old, described as “small of stature” and having coarse, stern features, he was imprisoned in Hartford, Connecticut.2 While there was little indication of serious mistreatment, the prissy Major French began complaining to Washington about the “Incivility or Contempt” with which he was treated by the townspeople.3 They mocked and insulted him, leaving him outraged that such rabble should dare speak to a British officer in such a manner.
Like a disgruntled customer who sends a note to the corporate office about an unpleasant cashier, French dashed off several angry letters to Washington, who diligently replied to each. At first the general responded cordially, pledging that “suitable Provision shall be made for you and your Companions, and shew you every civility.”4 But as the war dragged on and the British continued to abuse their captives, his tone shifted.
Referring to the mistreatment of Americans by the British, Washington curtly told French, “I should illy support my Country’s Honor, and my own Character, if I did not shew a proper Sense of their sufferings, by making the condition of the Ministerial Officers, in some Degree, dependant on theirs.”5 Major French escaped before Washington educated him in the sufferings of American prisoners, but the commander’s thinly veiled threats conveyed his emerging belief that abusing British prisoners was justified.
In December 1775, over seven months after the outbreak of war, Congress finally passed a resolution concerning prisoner treatment. However, it was largely at odds with Washington’s declared stance. As he held the British forces in Boston, the Continental Congress resolved
That such as are taken be treated as prisoners of war, but with humanity, and allowed the same rations as the troops in the service of the Continent; that the officers being in pay should supply themselves with cloaths, their bills to be taken therefor, that the soldiers be furnished as they now are.6
With this edict, Congress sought to take the high road and elevate the nation’s conduct above less-noble struggles of the past.
As a matter of principle, Washington agreed. He was morally opposed to mistreatment, in theory, and had initially preferred to “err on the side of mercy than that of strict Justice.”7 Experience taught him, however, that the high standard he sought was not practical, and that harsh measures might be necessary to save American lives. Just weeks after Congress’s decree that prisoners be treated humanely, Washington again threatened to abuse a British captive.8