The Unpopular History of the United States by Uncle Sam Himself/Chapter 3
III
THE FICTION OF INVINCIBLE MILITIA
I am going to tell you some facts that will make you think. I don’t care a hang what you think—to begin with. I don’t care what any American thinks, if he will only think at all. I’ve got a pig-headed faith that Americans are going to think right before they get done thinking.
Our tradition of the invincible militia and the victorious Minutemen had its birth at Bunker Hill. Frenzied orators, fiery poets and solemn school books have repeatedly assured us that a few dozen stalwart plowboys routed the redcoat army with a loss of about 1,054 men. This temporary success led to a practically unbroken series of disasters. The enthusiasm of Bunker Hill crystallized into a complacent state of public mind, and one and forty years of equally complacent military laws. From that day forward our national existence has depended upon a handful of regulars and a hope—a hope that, at the sound of Freedom’s bugle trump, vast numbers of conquering citizens would rush to arms.
Revolutionary leaders framed their plans upon this rush, and, my son, the recruits didn’t rush. That’s the truth about it. If you don’t believe me, just ask George Washington, who made quite a considerable reputation in his neighborhood for telling the truth. At the opening of the Revolution Washington thought just like the balance of us, that patriots would flock to the banners of freedom and hurl the tyrant’s minions from our shores. But the flocking and the hurling went on mighty slow.
Some way or other the New England Minutemen contrived to get in the first lick, striking the British at Lexington and Concord Bridge. Those wrathy farmers chased the redcoats for more than twenty miles. Picking them off like robins from behind trees and stone walls, they killed and wounded 223 soldiers, with a loss to themselves of 88 men. That’s what started us down the wrong road; it looked too easy.
Three days later, April 22, 1775, the Congress of Massachusetts resolved that an army of 30,000 men was necessary for defense of the Colony, and attempted to raise at once thirteen thousand six hundred by voluntary enlistments of men who had got a taste of victory and ached to finish the job.
Right here and now I want to call your attention to the vicious practice which Massachusetts then adopted of giving a Captain’s commission to any one who could enroll a company of 59 men, and making a Colonel of the first politician who could get together ten such companies. This system has been employed, without exception, at the beginning of all our wars. You can easily see how that works; a hail-fellow-well-met is put in command. The hustling life insurance agent probably becomes Captain. The shrewd political boss gets a Colonel’s commission, while the educated officer, who is not a good mixer, is elected to stay at home. And do you know, my son, that we have never got away from that system?
The victors of Concord and Lexington assembled near Boston without organization, and only by courtesy recognizing a common commander. Old Israel Putnam had gumption enough to protect his men behind rail breastworks, saying: “These Americans are never afraid for their heads: they only think of their legs. Shelter their legs and they will fight forever.”
And they did fight; they put up a powerful hot scrap on a powerful hot day, June 17, beating off three assaults by British regulars, who lost more than a thousand men.
Congress immediately authorized the enlistment of 20,370 men for service in the neighborhood of Boston. They apprehended great trouble in keeping the patriot ranks thinned down to that meager stand. The first shot at Concord Bridge had rung around the world, according to an optimistic poet. Colonial martyrs lay dead. Redcoats went tramping across the land, and the colonists were supposed to be ablaze with indignation. Yet, at the end of a month, only 966 volunteers had presented themselves. That was not much of a rush. My son, you ought to have seen how beautifully they restrained their enthusiasm. Their rush was most deliberate and decorous.
Now don’t get cranky, and suppose that I am throwing rocks at anybody’s venerable New England ancestors. Your own venerable ancestors in Virginia and Georgia did precisely the same thing. What I’m talking about is the bad system.