The year 2026 marks the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. Cardinal News has embarked on a project to tell the little-known stories of Virginia’s role in the march to independence. As part of this, I’m writing monthly columns about the politics of the era, written the same way I’d write them today. The events described here took place in late 1775 and early 1776. You can sign up for our monthly newsletter here:
The old year, which ended so hopefully, begins with twin catastrophes.
From the far north, we get word that our expedition into Quebec has ended in disaster and defeat in a snowy battle outside the gates of Quebec City. Our hopes of bringing that French-speaking province into our continental confederation as a 14th Colony appear to have suffered a major setback.
From the east comes news that might be more horrifying: Our city of Norfolk is gone, reduced to smoldering ash, with conflicting accounts of who is most to blame for this atrocity.
Dear readers, you might require a stiff drink before hearing the rest of this account. Good news is in short supply, I’m afraid.
I’ll deal with the Quebec matter first. Although far away, one Virginian in particular figures mightily in the fighting and another in setting the events in motion.
You’ll recall that General George Washington, encamped in the siege lines outside Boston, saw fit to send not one but two armies north into Quebec. History may come to view this as a bold, but failed, gamble. The people of Quebec have never particularly been our friends, either when the French flag flew there or after the British took possession as part of the settlement to the Seven Years’ War in 1763 — our part of which was notably called the French and Indian War. The French wanted western lands along the Ohio River; lands that Virginia (and some other Colonies) claim. Did those desires die when the Union Jack was hoisted over Quebec? It’s hard to say, although Parliament — to spite us — later awarded those lands to Quebec, yet another of our many grievances with London. The people of Quebec have been noticeably silent since that war; no doubt they are cowed by the British and keen not to anger their new overlords. The Philadelphia printer, politician and philosopher Benjamin Franklin has been most keen to bring Quebec into the American fold; Washington tried to make that happen.
The expeditions under Generals Benedict Arnold and Richard Montgomery seemed to be doing well until they ran into practical difficulties: The enlistments of many of their men were running out at year’s end, so they faced the prospect of their armies melting away — although melt may not be the right word for those climes. With time running, and snow falling, the Americans attacked the British forces holed up in Quebec City on Dec. 31 — with streamers declaring “Liberty or death” attached to their caps.
I will spare you most of the gruesome details, but many of them wound up with the latter.
Montgomery was slain — shot through the head. One of his staff officers, a young New Yorker by the name of Aaron Burr, tried to drag his body back to the collapsing American lines but had to give up due to both Montgomery’s weight and the snow. (Burr seems an enterprising fellow, though. We may hear of him again.)
Arnold was wounded. Command fell to Daniel Morgan, a noted marksman from Virginia’s Frederick County who is well-known for his toughness. As a civilian teamster during the French and Indian War, Morgan ran afoul of a British officer and was sentenced to be flogged 500 times. Morgan still recounts how the British miscounted and inflicted only 499 lashes of the whip. That experience embittered Morgan toward Britain in general, and he demonstrated that fighting spirit at Quebec City, although it proved to be of no avail.
Arnold fell as his men tried to assault a barricade and was carried away to safety. The fearless Morgan personally led the next attack, scaling a ladder placed against the barricade. When he was knocked off, Morgan climbed right back up the ladder. When British defenders tried to bayonet him, Morgan rolled under a cannon where he couldn’t be reached. By then, his men — frontiersmen from the western mountains of Virginia — had followed him. Within minutes, the 30 or so British defenders at that point surrendered to the tenacious Morgan and his company.
Morgan wanted to advance further into the town, but his men were wary. The falling snow had wet their gunpowder, rendering some of it useless. Rather than press forward, they took shelter in whatever buildings were nearby, hoping to dry their gunpowder. That led to a 30-minute delay in the attack, which gave the British time to regroup.
Eventually, Morgan persuaded his men to advance down the narrow streets of Quebec City. They encountered a group of British sailors coming the other way. Their leader, a man known to us only as “Anderson,” demanded Morgan surrender. Morgan shot him dead. The sailors retreated; Morgan and his men charged forward, shouting “Quebec is ours!”
It was not.
Morgan encountered more barricades; he and his men threw up more ladders but couldn’t scale these heights under fire from the British raining down bullets from the upper floors of the houses. Other American forces tried to reach Morgan, but their powder was damp, too. In time, those Americans were repulsed, and Morgan realized he was surrounded. The British sent a Catholic priest under a flag of truce to negotiate.
Defiant to the end, Morgan refused to surrender to a British officer. He simply handed his sword to the priest. He and the men of Morgan’s Rifles are now prisoners.
At last report, Arnold insists on maintaining a siege of Quebec City, but it seems fruitless. He is now outnumbered 3-1, and the British are well-supplied inside the city. The following is indelicate but true: The British general, Guy Carleton, has sent prostitutes infected with smallpox out to the American lines, hoping to infect our men with disease. Such is the sorry state of the war in the north.
It does not appear much better here in the south.
At last report, the Virginia militia had defeated the royal governor, Lord Dunmore, at the Battle of Great Bridge. Dunmore fell back into Norfolk and eventually gave up the city altogether, preferring the safety of a British naval vessel in the waters of Hampton Roads. The Virginia militia then occupied Norfolk, augmented by the North Carolina militia, which arrived to give aid. If only that were the end of things.
Although Virginia and North Carolina together now had 1,200 troops in Norfolk, their commanders — William Woodford of Caroline County for the Virginians, Robert Howe for the North Carolinians — feared that Dunmore could still cut them off by landing men in their rear. (Howe had the higher rank, so took command.)
On Dec. 20, four British warships took up station along the Norfolk waterfront. Howe provocatively paraded his men along that same waterfront. On Christmas Eve, one of those ships’ captains sent word that if the townspeople would not sell supplies to the British, they would be taken by force. Six days later, on Dec. 30, just as Montgomery and Arnold were preparing their doomed attack in Quebec, the British sent word that Howe should cease his daily parading — and strongly suggested that women and children should leave Norfolk. Howe refused: “I am too much of an officer […] to recede from any point which I conceive to be my duty.”
On Jan. 1, while the British were recovering the body of General Montgomery from the snow in Quebec, Howe again paraded his men on the Norfolk waterfront. This time, the British opened fire. After hours of bombardment, the British sent men ashore. The details after that are still in dispute: Norfolk was soon ablaze and burned for days. The city is now in ruins.
We cannot even take consolation in Dunmore’s withdrawal; he still patrols the Chesapeake Bay, still looking for a place where he can land and move to re-establish his tyranny.
Let us hope that this is the worst of it, but we fear it may not be.
(Modern editor’s note: Virginia’s Montgomery County was named after General Richard Montgomery.)