The Newburgh Conspiracy 

In October 1781, the British army surrendered to George Washington at Yorktown, Virginia. With that victory, most of the fighting of the Revolutionary War ended. The war itself, however, was not over. It would take nearly two more years before it formally concluded with the signing of the Treaty of Paris in September 1783.

So what happened during those two years?

The British had captured New York in September 1776, near the very beginning of the war. Although the British army had surrendered at Yorktown, New York—along with Charleston, Savannah, and other key cities—remained under British occupation.

While the country waited for the war to officially end, Washington moved his army to Newburgh, New York, just north of the British-held city. It was an ideal location to make camp and keep a watchful eye on British activity during this uneasy interlude.

As we’ve discussed before, the governing body at this time was the Confederation Congress. And, as we also noted, this Congress lacked several essential powers needed to govern effectively. Chief among them was the power to levy taxes. Without that authority, Congress faced a simple and devastating problem: it was broke.

Wars are expensive. And the Confederation Congress was in an especially precarious position. It did not have a royal treasury to draw upon—it had just spent years fighting against one. Congress had made promises to the Continental Army, and now that the major fighting was over, the army expected those promises to be kept.

Many soldiers had not received their pay in months—some, far longer. Beyond these immediate arrears, Congress had also promised Continental officers lifetime pensions at half pay upon retirement. With the war largely over, many assumed that retirement was fast approaching.

In late 1782, a group of Continental Army officers submitted a formal address to Congress. It served two purposes. First, it reminded Congress of its financial obligations. Second, it issued a thinly veiled warning: the army’s patience was not unlimited.

The address caused enough alarm that, in January 1783, Congress established a committee to consider the army’s demands.

Meanwhile, a group of so-called “nationalists” within Congress—including Alexander Hamilton, Gouverneur Morris, and Robert Morris—saw opportunity in the crisis. They believed the army’s grievances might be used to pressure Congress into strengthening the national government, particularly by granting it the power to levy taxes.

They hoped that under the leadership of General Horatio Gates, a senior officer and rival to Washington, the mere threat of unrest within the army might be enough to compel Congress to act. Their goal was not actual mutiny, but reform. They hoped to use the army’s discontent to place the nation on firmer financial footing.

Several officers, including General Alexander McDougall and Colonel John Brooks, began corresponding with one another and with members of Congress. Their letters expressed deep dissatisfaction and hinted at something more dangerous: the possibility that the army might refuse to disband if its demands were ignored.

In February 1783, Alexander Hamilton wrote to Washington to inform him of the growing unrest. Hamilton hoped Washington might use his influence—carefully—to encourage Congress to act. Washington, however, recoiled from anything resembling military pressure on civilian authority. He believed deeply that the army must remain subordinate to Congress, whatever its frustrations.

The situation remained a powder keg. The new nation, not yet even formally recognized by treaty, faced the very real threat of military intervention in civilian government—the very downfall of many republics far more established than this one.

On March 10, 1783, an anonymous letter began circulating among officers at the Newburgh camp. It condemned Congress for its failures and urged the army to take collective action. The author was later revealed to be Major John Armstrong, an aide to General Horatio Gates.

At the same time, the letter called for a meeting of officers the following day to determine how the army should respond—a clear break in the chain of command. The implications were unmistakable.

When Washington learned of the planned meeting, he acted immediately. He canceled the unauthorized gathering and instead called for an official meeting of officers on March 15. He initially announced that he would not attend, directing that the senior officer present preside and report back to him.

On March 15, General Horatio Gates, the senior officer present, opened the meeting.

Then, unexpectedly, Washington himself entered the room.

The officers were stunned.

Many were angry. Many felt betrayed by Congress. Some had begun to wonder whether the cause they had sacrificed so much for would abandon them in return.

Washington began to deliver what would become known as the Newburgh Address. His message was simple but powerful: patience, faith, and trust in the civilian government they had fought to create.

When he finished, he reached into his pocket and removed a letter from Congress that he intended to read aloud. As he began, he hesitated. He paused, then reached again into his pocket and produced a pair of spectacles, something few of the men had ever seen him wear.

He then said to them:

“Gentlemen, you will permit me to put on my spectacles, for I have not only grown gray but almost blind in the service of my country.”

The effect was immediate.

Any thoughts of mutiny began to dissolve. Their commander, the man who had led them through eight years of hardship, had sacrificed more than any of them.

Many officers were moved to tears.

The conspiracy collapsed.

Shortly thereafter, the officers drafted a resolution expressing their continued loyalty to Congress and rejecting any suggestion of mutiny.

The army would eventually receive compensation, though not fully in the form originally promised. Due to the government’s dire financial condition, much of the funding was made possible through the personal credit and financial maneuvering of Robert Morris, the Superintendent of Finance in Congress. Lifetime pensions for officers were also shortened to five years, but at full pay.

George Washington’s displays of strength had helped win the American Revolution. But on that day in March 1783, it was his display of frailty that saved it.

By reaffirming the supremacy of civilian government over military power, Washington and his officers established a precedent that endures to this day. Civilian control of the military was cemented as a core principle of this American experiment.

Some may overlook this moment because it resulted in nothing happening.

But the inaction was precisely its greatest achievement.