During 1778 and 1779 French effort had failed. Now France resolved to do
something decisive. She never sent across the sea the eight thousand men
promised to La Fayette but by the spring of 1780 about this number were
gathered at Brest to find that transport was inadequate. The leader was
a French noble, the Comte de Rochambeau, an old campaigner, now in his
fifty-fifth year, who had fought against England before in the Seven
Years' War and had then been opposed by Clinton, Cornwallis, and Lord
George Germain. He was a sound and prudent soldier who shares with La
Fayette the chief glory of the French service in America. Rochambeau had
fought at the second battle of Minden, where the father of La Fayette
had fallen, and he had for the ardent young Frenchman the amiable regard
of a father and sometimes rebuked his impulsiveness in that spirit. He
studied the problem in America with the insight of a trained leader.
Before he left France he made the pregnant comment on the outlook:
"Nothing without naval supremacy." About the same time Washington was
writing to La Fayette that a decisive naval supremacy was a fundamental
need.
A gallant company it was which gathered at Brest. Probably no other land
than France could have sent forth on a crusade for democratic liberty a
band of aristocrats who had little thought of applying to their own land
the principles for which they were ready to fight in America. Over some
of them hung the shadow of the guillotine; others were to ride the storm
of the French Revolution and to attain fame which should surpass their
sanguine dreams. Rochambeau himself, though he narrowly escaped during
the Reign of Terror, lived to extreme old age and died a Marshal of
France. Berthier, one of his officers, became one of Napoleon's marshals
and died just when Napoleon, whom he had deserted, returned from Elba.
Dumas became another of Napoleon's generals. He nearly perished in the
retreat from Moscow but lived, like Rochambeau, to extreme old age. One
of the gayest of the company was the Duc de Lauzun, a noted libertine in
France but, as far as the record goes, a man of blameless propriety in
America. He died on the scaffold during the French Revolution. So, too,
did his companion, the Prince de Broglie, in spite of the protest of
his last words that he was faithful to the principles of the Revolution,
some of which he had learned in America. Another companion was the
Swedish Count Fersen, later the devoted friend of the unfortunate Queen
Marie Antoinette, the driver of the carriage in which the royal family
made the famous flight to Varennes in 1791, and himself destined to be
trampled to death by a Swedish mob in 1810. Other old and famous names
there were: Laval-Montmorency, Mirabeau, Talleyrand, Saint-Simon. It has
been said that the names of the French officers in America read like a
list of medieval heroes in the Chronicles of Froissart.
Only half of the expected ships were ready at Brest and only five
thousand five hundred men could embark. The vessels were, of course,
very crowded. Rochambeau cut down the space allowed for personal
effects. He took no horse for himself and would allow none to go, but
he permitted a few dogs. Forty-five ships set sail, "a truly imposing
sight," said one of those on board. We have reports of their ennui
on the long voyage of seventy days, of their amusements and their
devotions, for twice daily were prayers read on deck. They sailed into
Newport on the 11th of July and the inhabitants of that still primitive
spot illuminated their houses as best they could. Then the army
settled down at Newport and there it remained for many weary months.
Reinforcements never came, partly through mismanagement in France,
partly through the vigilance of the British fleet, which was on guard
before Brest. The French had been for generations the deadly enemies of
the English Colonies and some of the French officers noted the reserve
with which they were received. The ice was, however, soon broken. They
brought with them gold, and the New England merchants liked this relief
from the debased continental currency. Some of the New England ladies
were beautiful, and the experienced Lauzun expresses glowing admiration
for a prim Quakeress whose simple dress he thought more attractive than
the elaborate modes of Paris.
The French dazzled the ragged American army by their display of
waving plumes and of uniforms in striking colors. They wondered at the
quantities of tea drunk by their friends and so do we when we remember
the political hatred for tea. They made the blunder common in Europe of
thinking that there were no social distinctions in America. Washington
could have told him a different story. Intercourse was at first
difficult, for few of the Americans spoke French and fewer still of the
French spoke English. Sometimes the talk was in Latin, pronounced by an
American scholar as not too bad. A French officer writing in Latin to
an American friend announces his intention to learn English: "Inglicam
linguam noscere conabor." He made the effort and he and his fellow
officers learned a quaint English speech. When Rochambeau and Washington
first met they conversed through La Fayette, as interpreter, but in time
the older man did very well in the language of his American comrade in
arms.
For a long time the French army effected nothing. Washington longed
to attack New York and urged the effort, but the wise and experienced
Rochambeau applied his principle, "nothing without naval supremacy,"
and insisted that in such an attack a powerful fleet should act with
a powerful army, and, for the moment, the French had no powerful fleet
available. The British were blockading in Narragansett Bay the French
fleet which lay there. Had the French army moved away from Newport their
fleet would almost certainly have become a prey to the British. For
the moment there was nothing to do but to wait. The French preserved an
admirable discipline. Against their army there are no records of outrage
and plunder such as we have against the German allies of the British. We
must remember, however, that the French were serving in the country of
their friends, with every restraint of good feeling which this involved.
Rochambeau told his men that they must not be the theft of a bit of
wood, or of any vegetables, or of even a sheaf of straw. He threatened
the vice which he called "sonorous drunkenness," and even lack of
cleanliness, with sharp punishment. The result was that a month after
landing he could say that not a cabbage had been stolen. Our credulity
is strained when we are told that apple trees with their fruit overhung
the tents of his soldiers and remained untouched. Thousands flocked to
see the French camp. The bands played and Puritan maidens of all grades
of society danced with the young French officers and we are told,
whether we believe it or not, that there was the simple innocence of
the Garden of Eden. The zeal of the French officers and the friendly
disposition of the men never failed. There had been bitter quarrels
in 1778 and 1779 and now the French were careful to be on their good
behavior in America. Rochambeau had been instructed to place himself
under the command of Washington, to whom were given the honors of a
Marshal of France. The French admiral, had, however, been given no such
instructions and Washington had no authority over the fleet.
Meanwhile events were happening which might have brought a British
triumph. On September 14, 1780, there arrived and anchored at Sandy
Hook, New York, fourteen British ships of the line under Rodney, the
doughtiest of the British admirals afloat. Washington, with his army
headquarters at West Point, on guard to keep the British from advancing
up the Hudson, was looking for the arrival, not of a British fleet, but
of a French fleet, from the West Indies. For him these were very dark
days. The recent defeat at Camden was a crushing blow. Congress was
inept and had in it men, as the patient General Greene said, "without
principles, honor or modesty." The coming of the British fleet was a
new and overwhelming discouragement, and, on the 18th of September,
Washington left West Point for a long ride to Hartford in Connecticut,
half way between the two headquarters, there to take counsel with the
French general. Rochambeau, it was said, had been purposely created to
understand Washington, but as yet the two leaders had not met. It is
the simple truth that Washington had to go to the French as a beggar.
Rochambeau said later that Washington was afraid to reveal the extent
of his distress. He had to ask for men and for ships, but he had also
to ask for what a proud man dislikes to ask, for money from the stranger
who had come to help him.
The Hudson had long been the chief object of Washington's anxiety and
now it looked as if the British intended some new movement up the river,
as indeed they did. Clinton had not expected Rodney's squadron, but it
arrived opportunely and, when it sailed up to New York from Sandy Hook,
on the 16th of September, he began at once to embark his army, taking
pains at the same time to send out reports that he was going to the
Chesapeake. Washington concluded that the opposite was true and that he
was likely to be going northward. At West Point, where the Hudson flows
through a mountainous gap, Washington had strong defenses on both
shores of the river. His batteries commanded its whole width, but
shore batteries were ineffective against moving ships. The embarking
of Clinton's army meant that he planned operations on land. He might be
going to Rhode Island or to Boston but he might also dash up the Hudson.
It was an anxious leader who, with La Fayette and Alexander Hamilton,
rode away from headquarters to Hartford.
The officer in command at West Point was Benedict Arnold. No general on
the American side had a more brilliant record or could show more scars
of battle. We have seen him leading an army through the wilderness to
Quebec, and incurring hardships almost incredible. Later he is found on
Lake Champlain, fighting on both land and water. When in the next year
the Americans succeeded at Saratoga it was Arnold who bore the brunt of
the fighting. At Quebec and again at Saratoga he was severely wounded.
In the summer of 1778 he was given the command at Philadelphia, after
the British evacuation. It was a troubled time. Arnold was concerned
with confiscations of property for treason and with disputes about
ownership. Impulsive, ambitious, and with a certain element of
coarseness in his nature, he made enemies. He was involved in bitter
strife with both Congress and the State government of Pennsylvania.
After a period of tension and privation in war, one of slackness and
luxury is almost certain to follow. Philadelphia, which had recently
suffered for want of bare necessities, now relapsed into gay indulgence.
Arnold lived extravagantly. He played a conspicuous part in society
and, a widower of thirty-five, was successful in paying court to Miss
Shippen, a young lady of twenty, with whom, as Washington said, all the
American officers were in love.
Malignancy was rampant and Arnold was pursued with great bitterness.
Joseph Reed, the President of the Executive Council of Pennsylvania,
not only brought charge against him of abusing his position for his own
advantage, but also laid the charges before each State government. In
the end Arnold was tried by court-martial and after long and inexcusable
delay, on January 26, 1780, he was acquitted of everything but the
imprudence of using, in an emergency, public wagons to remove private
property, and of granting irregularly a pass to a ship to enter the port
of Philadelphia. Yet the court ordered that for these trifles Arnold
should receive a public reprimand from the Commander-in-Chief.
Washington gave the reprimand in terms as gentle as possible, and when,
in July, 1780, Arnold asked for the important command at West Point,
Washington readily complied probably with relief that so important a
position should be in such good hands.
The treason of Arnold now came rapidly to a head. The man was
embittered. He had rendered great services and yet had been persecuted
with spiteful persistence. The truth seems to be, too, that Arnold
thought America ripe for reconciliation with Great Britain. He dreamed
that he might be the saviour of his country. Monk had reconciled the
English republic to the restored Stuart King Charles II; Arnold might
reconcile the American republic to George III for the good of both. That
reconciliation he believed was widely desired in America. He tried to
persuade himself that to change sides in this civil strife was no more
culpable then to turn from one party to another in political life. He
forgot, however, that it is never honorable to betray a trust.
It is almost certain that Arnold received a large sum in money for his
treachery. However this may be, there was treason in his heart when he
asked for and received the command at West Point, and he intended to use
his authority to surrender that vital post to the British. And now
on the 18th of September Washington was riding northeastward into
Connecticut, British troops were on board ships in New York and all was
ready. On the 20th of September the Vulture, sloop of war, sailed up the
Hudson from New York and anchored at Stony Point, a few miles below West
Point. On board the Vulture was the British officer who was treating
with Arnold and who now came to arrange terms with him, Major
John André, Clinton's young adjutant general, a man of attractive
personality. Under cover of night Arnold sent off a boat to bring André
ashore to a remote thicket of fir trees, outside the American lines.
There the final plans were made. The British fleet, carrying an army,
was to sail up the river. A heavy chain had been placed across the river
at West Point to bar the way of hostile ships. Under pretense of repairs
a link was to be taken out and replaced by a rope which would break
easily. The defenses of West Point were to be so arranged that they
could not meet a sudden attack and Arnold was to surrender with his
force of three thousand men. Such a blow following the disasters at
Charleston and Camden might end the strife. Britain was prepared to
yield everything but separation; and America, Arnold said, could now
make an honorable peace.
A chapter of accidents prevented the testing. Had André been rowed
ashore by British tars they could have taken him back to the ship at
his command before daylight. As it was the American boatmen, suspicious
perhaps of the meaning of this talk at midnight between an American
officer and a British officer, both of them in uniform, refused to row
André back to the ship because their own return would be dangerous in
daylight. Contrary to his instructions and wishes André accompanied
Arnold to a house within the American lines to wait until he could be
taken off under cover of night. Meanwhile, however, an American battery
on shore, angry at the Vulture, lying defiantly within range, opened
fire upon her and she dropped down stream some miles. This was alarming.
Arnold, however, arranged with a man to row André down the river and
about midday went back to West Point.
It was uncertain how far the Vulture had gone. The vigilance of those
guarding the river was aroused and André's guide insisted that he should
go to the British lines by land. He was carrying compromising papers and
wearing civilian dress when seized by an American party and held under
close arrest. Arnold meanwhile, ignorant of this delay, was waiting for
the expected advance up the river of the British fleet. He learned
of the arrest of André while at breakfast on the morning of the
twenty-fifth, waiting to be joined by Washington, who had just ridden
in from Hartford. Arnold received the startling news with extraordinary
composure, finished the subject under discussion, and then left the
table under pretext of a summons from across the river. Within a few
minutes his barge was moving swiftly to the Vulture eighteen miles away.
Thus Arnold escaped. The unhappy André was hanged as a spy on the 2d of
October. He met his fate bravely. Washington, it is said, shed tears at
its stern necessity under military law. Forty years later the bones of
André were reburied in Westminster Abbey, a tribute of pity for a fine
officer.
The treason of Arnold is not in itself important, yet Washington wrote
with deep conviction that Providence had directly intervened to save
the American cause. Arnold might be only one of many. Washington said,
indeed, that it was a wonder there were not more. In a civil war every
one of importance is likely to have ties with both sides, regrets for
the friends he has lost, misgivings in respect to the course he has
adopted. In April, 1779, Arnold had begun his treason by expressing
discontent at the alliance with France then working so disastrously.
His future lay before him; he was still under forty; he had just married
into a family of position; he expected that both he and his descendants
would spend their lives in America and he must have known that contempt
would follow them for the conduct which he planned if it was regarded
by public opinion as base. Voices in Congress, too, had denounced the
alliance with France as alliance with tyranny, political and religious.
Members praised the liberties of England and had declared that the
Declaration of Independence must be revoked and that now it could be
done with honor since the Americans had proved their metal. There was
room for the fear that the morale of the Americans was giving way.
The defection of Arnold might also have military results. He had
bargained to be made a general in the British army and he had intimate
knowledge of the weak points in Washington's position. He advised
the British that if they would do two things, offer generous terms to
soldiers serving in the American army, and concentrate their effort,
they could win the war. With a cynical knowledge of the weaker side of
human nature, he declared that it was too expensive a business to bring
men from England to serve in America. They could be secured more
cheaply in America; it would be necessary only to pay them better than
Washington could pay his army. As matters stood the Continental troops
were to have half pay for seven years after the close of the war and
grants of land ranging from one hundred acres for a private to eleven
hundred acres for a general. Make better offers than this, urged Arnold;
"Money will go farther than arms in America." If the British would
concentrate on the Hudson where the defenses were weak they could drive
a wedge between North and South. If on the other hand they preferred
to concentrate in the South, leaving only a garrison in New York, they
could overrun Virginia and Maryland and then the States farther south
would give up a fight in which they were already beaten. Energy and
enterprise, said Arnold, will quickly win the war.
In the autumn of 1780 the British cause did, indeed, seem near triumph.
An election in England in October gave the ministry an increased
majority and with this renewed determination. When Holland, long a
secret enemy, became an open one in December, 1780, Admiral Rodney
descended on the Dutch island of St. Eustatius, in the West Indies,
where the Americans were in the habit of buying great quantities of
stores and on the 3d of February, 1781, captured the place with two
hundred merchant ships, half a dozen men-of-war, and stores to the value
of three million pounds. The capture cut off one chief source of supply
to the United States. By January, 1781, a crisis in respect to money
came to a head. Fierce mutinies broke out because there was no money
to provide food, clothing, or pay for the army and the men were in a
destitute condition. "These people are at the end of their resources,"
wrote Rochambeau in March. Arnold's treason, the halting voices in
Congress, the disasters in the South, the British success in cutting off
supplies of stores from St. Eustatius, the sordid problem of money--all
these were well fitted to depress the worn leader so anxiously watching
on the Hudson. It was the dark hour before the dawn.