Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:11):
This is Lee Habib and this is our American Stories,
and we tell stories about everything here on this show,
from the arts to sports, and from business to history
and everything in between, including your story. Send them to
our American Stories dot com. There's some of our favorites. Today,
our regular contributor, Bill Brake brings us a fascinating story
(00:32):
about the day British troops finally left American soil after
the end of the Revolutionary War. Here's Bill.
Speaker 2 (00:45):
The British Army held New York City for two years.
After Cornwallis surrendered to George Washington at Yorktown on October nineteenth,
seventeen eighty one. The city's population had fallen below ten thousand.
Of the residents were Loyalist refugees from revolutionary terrorism, accident, disaster,
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and the war had disrupted its civic life. The Great
Fire of September twenty one, seventeen seventy six had burned
everything between Whitehall and broad Streets, as far up Broadway
as Rector Street and as far up Broadway as Beaver Street.
Rents had risen four hundred percent within the first year
of occupation. The price of food and other goods and
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services eight hundred percent. The Provincial Assembly, city council and
courts were dormant, although nothing indicates the politicians had stopped
drawing their salaries. The city was governed by the British Army,
and its government, in the absence of a free press,
had become corrupt. Some New Yorkers made fortunes. Mister Joshua Loring,
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who had pimped his blonde wife to General Sir William
Howe to gain appointment as Commissary of Prisoners, became wealthy
by selling provisions meant for prisoners of war on the
black market. Others cloaked their sadism in the red coat.
Captain William Cunningham, the Provo Marshal, commanded the jails and
prison ships holding American prisoners of war. The Sons of
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Liberty had roughed him up before the war. He repaid
the debt with interest. He enjoyed torturing people. According to
Burrows and Wallace's Gotham, Cunningham admitted to murdering as many
as two thousand American prisoners by starvation, hanging, or poisoning
their flower rations with arsenic. At night, he swaggered through
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his domains wearing the red coat with silver lace and epaulets,
the cocked hat, the powdered wig, and the tall glossy
boots and spurs, with a whip in his hand, sending
his prisoners to bed, shouting kenne Ye Sons of Kennelmye.
On November thirtieth, seventeen eighty two, the American and British
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delegates signed preliminary Articles of peace. The first article reads
His Britannic Majesty acknowledges the said United States to be
free and independent states. The articles were proclaimed in the
King's name from the steps of the City Hall on
Wall Street. The loyalists were horrified. William Smith, a longtime
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resident merchant and fervent loyalist, wrote that the news shocks
me as much as the loss of all I had
in the world and my family with it. Thousands sold everything, furniture, houses,
land goods at fire sale prices and prepared to leave.
A few committed suicide. A few were confident of their
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ability to survive any change of regime. James Riker recorded
that a New Yorker said to his tailor, how does
business go? Not very well? The tailor replied, my customers
have all learned how to turn their own coats. Sir
Guy Carlton, Commander in chief of His Majesty's forces in
North America, began organizing his command's withdrawal from the city
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in April seventeen eighty three. Concerned about personal reprisals against
the loyalists, he held out until every Tory who wanted
to get out had left. In the meantime, his staff
arranged transportation, settled accounts, paid bills, and auctioned off huge
quantities of army surplus. The first five thousand Loyalists left
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New York for Nova Scotia and New Brunswick on April
twenty seventh, seventeen eighty three. Thousands more followed with them
were numerous African Americans, former slaves freed by the British
military government for their services in the King's armies. On
September third, seventeen eighty three, Americans, British, French, and Spanish
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signed the Treaty of Paris. The news reached New York
in early November. On November twenty one, seventeen eighty three,
Carlton ordered all British forces to withdraw from Long Island
and Upper Manhattan. That morning, George Washington met George Clinton,
the governor of New York, at Terrytown. They rode south
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through Yonkers to Harlem, where they stopped at a tavern
near what is now Frederick Douglas Boulevard and one hundred
twenty sixth Street. The day chosen for the evacuation was Tuesday,
November twenty fifth, seventeen eighty three. It dawned cold with
a bitter northwest wind. During the morning, a Missus Day
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ran up the Stars and stripes over her tavern and
boarding house on Murray Street, its first appearance in the
city since September seventeen seventy six. Captain Cunningham, resplendent in
redcoat and white wig, pounded on the door. Take in
that flag. He roared, the city is ours until noon.
He then tried to pull it down. She belted him
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full in the face with her proomstick, bloodying his nose,
and then dealt the captain such lusty blows as made
the powder fly in clouds from his wig and forced
him to beat a retreat. Washington had chosen General Henry
Knox to command the American troops marching from McGowan's pass
in what is now Northeastern Central Park into the city.
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Knox had been a bookseller, a dumpy, bespectacled little man
who had read every book in his stock. The war
transformed his theoretical passion for artillery, after all, he'd read
all the books about it, into practical experience. Behind the
glasses in the big belly was the soul of a lion.
Speaker 1 (06:41):
And you're listening to Bill Brake tell the story of
the British troops finally leaving New York. The British had
come to win, and my goodness, the battle inside this
country a loyalist taking one side. That was one third
of the country siding with the Crown, one third with
the Patriots, and one third hiding under their desks hoping
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for it to pass over. And New York City chaos,
people fleeing. It was an exodus. The town had twenty
seven thousand people at certain points it got down to
eight thousand. When we come back. More of this remarkable story,
the British finally leaving America once and for all. That
story here on our American Stories, folks. If you love
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the stories we tell about this great country, and especially
the stories of America's rich past, know that all of
our stories about American history, from war to innovation, culture
and faith are brought to us by the great folks
at Hillsdale College, a place where students study all the
things that are beautiful in life and all the things
that are good in life. And if you can't cut
to Hillsdale, Hillsdale will come to you with their free
(07:52):
and terrific online courses. Go to Hillsdale dot edu to
learn more. And we're back with our American stories and
the story of Evacuation Day, the now forgotten holiday which
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celebrated the twenty fifth of November in seventeen eighty three.
On that day, the British armies finally left the now
free United States after the Revolutionary War. When we last
left off, Bill Bryke was telling us how General Washington
had chosen a bookseller turned general to take over as
the British left our new country. Here's Bill to tell
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us more about General Henry Knox.
Speaker 2 (08:45):
In seventeen seventy five, in the dead of winter, he
inspired continentals and militiamen to drag the cannon seized at
Tykhonderoga in the name of the Great Jehovah and the
Continental Congress to Albany and across the Berkshires to Washington's
army at Boston, and he had marched with them. As
a boy, I noticed a monument near my family's home
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in Latham, New York. It read through this place past
General Henry Knox in the winter of seventeen seventy five
seventeen seventy six, to deliver to General George Washington at
Cambridge the train of artillery from Fort Ticonderoga used to
force the British Army to evacuate Boston. Knox set out
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early for mcgown's pass, heading a column of some eight
hundred foot dragoons and artillery. He paused at the Bowery
and Third Avenue, near today's Cooper Union until one pm,
chatting with the British officers commanding the Red Coats standing
a block or so before him. The last British detachments
now received orders to move. They moved down the Bowery
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in Chatham Street, picking up their outposts as they passed,
and wheeling into Pearl Street, marched to the east river wards,
where they were rowed to the fleet. Knox followed the
British down Chatham Street and then turned onto Broadway. He
marched south to Cape's Tavern, a little below Trinity Church
and formerly took possession of New York City in the
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name of the United States. On receiving a message from
Knox that he had done so, Washington swung into the
saddle and rode downtown, Governor Clinton at his side. At
the new Jail at the northeast corner of today's City
Hall Park, Captain Cunningham paraded the Provo Guard for the
last time, accompanied by the Hangman in his yellowjacket. Cunningham's
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command passed between a platoon of British troops, which fell
in behind them as they marched down Broadway. They and
the City Hall's main guard thus became the last enemy
forces in history to occupy New York City. Washington rode
down Pearl Street to Wall Street, and then went on
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walled Broadway. At Cape's tavern, a group of citizens welcomed
the commander in chief, and eyewitness said the troops just
leaving us were as if equipped for show, and with
their scarlet uniforms and burnished arms, made a brilliant display.
The troops that marched in on the contrary, were ill
clad and weather beaten. And made a forlorn appearance. But
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then they were our troops. And as I looked at
them and thought upon all they had done for us,
my heart and eyes were full, and I admired and
gloried in them, the more because they were weather beaten
and forlorn. The British had left the Union flag flying
over Fort George on the battery. The halliards, the lions
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for raising and lowering the flag were gone. The banner
had been nailed to the staff, and the pole was
greased heeled to truck to prevent or hinder the removal
of the emblem of war royalty and the raising of
the stars and stripes. The grease rebuffed all efforts to
climb the staff. In the crowd was Captain John Van Harsdale,
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a New Yorker revolutionary soldier and peacetime sailor. Recalling Peter
Gulay's hardware store about ten minutes away in Hanover Square.
He sprunt it across town and liberated a saw, hatchet, cleats, rope,
and nails. He began nailing the cleats into the greasy pole.
He climbed a little, drove in more cleats, and climbed farther.
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Bit by bit, he ascended the pole. He reached the top,
he ripped down the British flag and flung it to
the cheering crowd. Then he attached new halliards and scrambled
down the pole as the stars and stripes ran up it.
General Knox's field guns began a thirteen gun salute as
the colors went up and the cannon roared. The British
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weight anchor and made for the open sea. That night,
Washington and his officers met with General Clinton in France's
tavern at broad in Pearl Street, for a feast of
reason and a flow of soul. They offered thirteen toasts allies, friends, comrades,
living and dead, their hopes for their new country, and
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certain immutable principles. The next nine days were marked by
what one observer called good humor, hilarity, and mirth. Thus,
at Governor Clinton's dinner for the French ambassador on Tuesday,
December second, seventeen eighty three, is one hundred twenty guests
consumed one hundred thirty five bottles of madeira, described as
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it may not look like much, but it can fell
an elephant, thirty six bottles of port sixty bottles of
beer and thirty bowls of punch, while breaking sixty wine
glasses and eight cut glass decanters. On Thursday, December fourth,
Washington breakfasted with his officers in the Long Room on
the second floor of France's Tavern. Then the Commander in
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chief rose to his feet, and there was silence. Most
intelligent warriors who have written of their experiences, from Xenophon
to William Manchester, admit that they fought not for king,
flag or country, but for the guise they were with.
The revolutionaries were no exception. Washington said, with a heart
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full of love and gratitude, I now take leave of you.
I most devoutly wish that your later days may be
as prosperous and happy as your former ones have been
glorious and honorable. Then he could say no more. General
Knox stepped forward, embraced him, and both men wept. At last,
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composure regained. The Commander in Chief went down the stairs,
popped on his cocked hat, and strode into Pearl Street.
The infantrymen snapped to present arms. He acknowledged the salute,
then he walked well. Test orders were barked. The column
moved out behind him near the battery at the foot
of Whitehall Street. A barge waited to take him to
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Paulus Hook on the New Jersey Shore. From there he
traveled to Philadelphia, where he resigned his commission to Congress
and returned to private life. November twenty fifth was celebrated
as Evacuation Day in New York for more than a century,
but Evacuation Day was gradually overwhelmed by R. H. Macy's
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aggressive promotion of Thanksgiving, a rival end of November holiday.
Around the beginning of the First World War, it faded away.
Yet in nineteen eighty three, through the support of Manhattanboro
President Andrew Stein, New York City commemorated the bi centennial
of the evacuation. A parade marched down Broadway to the battery,
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featuring hundreds of re enactors in the uniforms of the
British and Continental Forces. The British Union flag was flying
from the staff of Castle Clinton. Then Harry van Arsdale,
the Union leader and direct descendant of Captain Van Arsdale,
stepped forward to lower the British colors, which were presented
to Her Majesty's Consul General, who kissed them. Van Arsdale
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clipped the stars and stripes to the lanyards and ranted
up the pole. A dozen brass muzzle loadter cannon along
the battery began firing a salute, and the crowd cheered wildly.
On August sixteenth, eighteen twenty four, Marie Joseph Paul Eve's
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roche Gilbert de Mortier, Marquis de Lafayette, the last living
general of the Revolution, the hero of two worlds, landed
at the battery to begin his tour of the United States.
Tens of thousands were awaiting him. Among them was a
company of veterans of the Revolution. The Marquis insisted on
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inspecting them and slowly walked down the line, greeting and
shaking hands with each man. Luffia took a second look
the last man. Then he smiled Van Arsdale. He said,
I remember you. Then the captain who had ascended the flagpole,
and the Marquis who had been a major general at
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nineteen embraced.
Speaker 1 (17:22):
And we thanked Bill Brake for that beautiful storytelling. And
my goodness, well, that's why we do what we do
here at our American stories, what we've lived through as
a country, what George Washington did Evacuation Day, the day
of the British troops finally leave America in seventeen eighty three.
Put that on your celebration calendar. Folks, what a great day,
especially if you're a New Yorkers. This is our American Stories.