simply wouldnât do, the men told Greene, to have an officer with a limp. Who would take such a company seriously?
Greene was crushed. He immediately wrote a heartrending letter to the unitâs new captain, James Varnum, confiding that it was a âstroke of mori-tificationâ to be told that he was âa blemish to those with whom [he] associated.â He went on to say, âI confess it is my misfortune to limp a little but I did not conceive it to be so great.â After such an embarrassment, so completely unexpected, he was prepared to leave the company. âMy heart is too sus[c]eptible of pride, and my sentiments too delicate, to wish a connexion where I am considered in an inferior point of light,â he wrote.
He sent the letter to Varnum and then reconsidered. He did not resign from the Kentish Guards. But the episode showed a side of Greene that would become familiar to his colleagues in the years and conflicts to come. He was extremely sensitive to criticism, whether explicit or perceived, and it didnât take much for him to take a plunge into waves of self-pity.
The guards continued to drill and parade, with great effect. Greene and his fellow militiamen, like all American patriots, followed events in Boston with increasing anxiety as General Gage tightened his grip over the city. On the night of April 19, 1775, an express rider galloped into East Greenwich with news that a British column had opened fire on patriots in Lexington and Concord. Greene heard the news in Coventry. He said his farewells to his bride of less than a year, mounted his horseâbut not his beloved Britain, for the stallion had been stolen some time agoâand rode to East Greenwich. With Varnum in command, the Kentish Guards set out for Massachusetts at daybreak on April 20 to provide whatever assistance their embattled countrymen might require.
Was this war or another terrible incident, like the Boston Massacre? Was this little outfit of part-time, unpaid militiamen prepared to face some of the best-trained soldiers in the world?
The men from East Greenwich soon learned that there would be no answers to such questions, at least not at the moment. When they reached Pawtucket, they learned that Governor Wanton had ordered them to halt their march to Massachusetts. Though Wanton had delivered some fine, defiant words to Crown authorities in the past, he was not prepared for the next step in Anglo-American relations. He was notquite a Tory, but he was more sympathetic to British authorities than the Kentish Guards were.
Most of the militiamen obeyed Wantonâs order and returned to East Greenwich. Not Nathanael Greene. He and several other guards continued on the road to Massachusetts, no doubt stewing over the lack of ardor and patriotism among their friends. Finally, however, a messenger arrived with news that the British had retreated from the countryside and were back in Boston. Greene and his party reluctantly turned back for home.
The bloodshed in Lexington and Concord led lawmakers in Providence to propose that Rhode Island form an âArmy of Observationâ that would ârepel any insult or violence that may be offered to the inhabitantsâ of the colony. Governor Wanton and his chief deputy opposed this dangerous escalation and were soon deposed. (The lawmakers refused to administer the governorâs oath of office to Wanton, who had recently been reelected.) Lawmakers then went ahead with plans to authorize the raising of an army of fifteen hundred soldiers.
And, on May 8, 1775, the Assembly offered command of this army to a thirty-two-year-old private in the Kentish Guards, Nathanael Greene.
Given his personal and family connections to Rhode Islandâs political leaders, Nathanael Greene clearly was not an unknown quantity. His influential friends and relations surely knew of his intense interest in military affairs and his patriotism. Perhaps his performance in the Kentish
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