In March 1783, the Continental Army came closer to overthrowing the American government than most people realize, and George Washington stopped it with a pair of reading glasses. The Revolutionary War was basically won. The British had surrendered at Yorktown more than a year earlier, and peace negotiations were underway in Paris. The army was camped at Newburgh, New York, waiting to go home. But the officers had a problem. They hadn't been paid in months. Back in 1780, Congress had promised them half pay for life once the war ended. Now it looked like that promise was worthless. Congress had no power to tax, the states weren't sending money, and the officers were convinced they'd be sent home broke after eight years of war. In Philadelphia, some politicians saw an opportunity. Men like Robert Morris and a young Alexander Hamilton wanted a stronger national government with the power to tax. An angry army leaning on Congress might help them get it. Hamilton even wrote to Washington hinting that the army's discontent could be useful, as long as it was kept under control. It didn't stay under control. In early March, an anonymous letter started circulating through the camp. It told the officers they'd been betrayed and that it was time to stop being patient. If the war continued, they should refuse to fight. If peace came, they should refuse to lay down their arms until they got what they were owed. It called for a meeting of officers to decide what to do. In other words, an army that refused to disband and a government at its mercy. The letter was later traced to Major John Armstrong Jr., an aide to General Horatio Gates. Gates was the hero of Saratoga and Washington's longtime rival. Many people suspected the plot was aimed as much at Washington as at Congress. Washington moved fast. He banned the unauthorized meeting and called his own for March 15. He let everyone believe he wouldn't attend. Gates was presiding when Washington walked into the room. He gave a speech asking the officers not to throw away everything they'd fought for. He urged them to trust Congress and warned that what the letter proposed would open the floodgates of civil discord. The room was cold. Washington wasn't winning them over. Then he pulled out a letter from a Virginia congressman to read to them. He stumbled over the words. He stopped, reached into his pocket, and took out a pair of glasses. Most of the officers had never seen him wear them. He said something close to this: Gentlemen, you'll have to forgive me for putting on my spectacles. I've grown gray, and almost blind, in the service of my country. Grown officers broke down crying. Washington finished reading, then left the room. As soon as he was gone, the officers voted to reject the anonymous letter and reaffirm their loyalty to Congress. The crisis was over in about fifteen minutes. The officers eventually got a settlement from Congress, five years of full pay in government certificates instead of a lifetime pension. Many of them ended up selling those certificates to speculators for a fraction of their value. As for John Armstrong, the man who wrote the letter, he never faced consequences. Thirty years later, he became Secretary of War under James Madison. He was running the War Department in 1814 when the British marched into Washington and burned the White House. He was forced to resign. It's called the Newburgh Conspiracy, and almost nobody learns about it.