SARATOGA
[ILLUSTRATION: OLD CITY HALL, WALL STREET, NEW YORK]
[Sidenote: Why Howe went to Chesapeake Bay]
[Sidenote: Charles Lee in captivity]
We have seen how, owing to the gross negligence of Lord George Germain,
discretionary power had been left to Howe, while entirely taken away
from Burgoyne. The latter had no choice but to move down the Hudson. The
former was instructed to move up the Hudson, but at the same time was
left free to depart from the strict letter of his instructions, should
there be any manifest advantage in so doing. Nevertheless, the movement
up the Hudson was so clearly prescribed by all sound military
considerations that everybody wondered why Howe did not attempt it. Why
he should have left his brother general in the lurch, and gone sailing
off to Chesapeake Bay, was a mystery which no one was able to unravel,
until some thirty years ago a document was discovered which has thrown
much light upon the question. Here there steps again upon the scene that
miserable intriguer, whose presence in the American army had so nearly
wrecked the fortunes of the patriot cause, and who now, in captivity,
proceeded to act the part of a doubly-dyed traitor. A marplot and
mischief-maker from beginning to end, Charles Lee never failed to work
injury to whichever party his selfish vanity or craven fear inclined him
for the moment to serve. We have seen how, on the day when he was
captured and taken to the British camp, his first thought was for his
personal safety, which he might well suppose to be in some jeopardy,
since he had formerly held the rank of lieutenant-colonel in the British
army. He was taken to New York and confined in the City Hall, where he
was treated with ordinary courtesy; but there is no doubt that Sir
William Howe looked upon him as a deserter, and was more than half
inclined to hang him without ceremony. Fearing, however, as he said,
that he might "fall into a law scrape," should he act too hastily, Sir
William wrote home for instructions, and in reply was directed by Lord
George Germain to send his prisoner to England for trial. In pursuance
of this order, Lee had already been carried on board ship, when a letter
from Washington put a stop to these proceedings. The letter informed
General Howe that Washington held five Hessian field-officers as
hostages for Lee's personal safety, and that all exchange of prisoners
would be suspended until due assurance should be received that Lee was
to be recognized as a prisoner of war. After reading this letter General
Howe did not dare to send Lee to England for trial, for fear of possible
evil consequences to the five Hessian officers, which might cause
serious disaffection among the German troops. The king approved of this
cautious behaviour, and so Lee was kept in New York, with his fate
undecided, until it had become quite clear that neither arguments nor
threats could avail one jot to shake Washington's determination. When
Lord George Germain had become convinced of this, he persuaded the
reluctant king to yield the point; and Howe was accordingly instructed
that Lee, although worthy of condign punishment, should be deemed a
prisoner of war, and might be exchanged as such, whenever convenient.
[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF FIRST LINES OF LEE'S LETTER TO GATES, DEC.
13, 1776]
[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF FIRST LINES OF "MR. LEE'S PLAN, MARCH 29,
1777"]
[Sidenote: Treason of Charles Lee]
All this discussion necessitated the exchange of several letters between
London and New York, so that a whole year elapsed before the question
was settled. It was not until December 12, 1777, that Howe received
these final instructions. But Lee had not been idle all this time while
his fate was in suspense. Hardly had the key been turned upon him in his
rooms at the City Hall when he began his intrigues. First, he assured
Lord Howe and his brother that he had always opposed the declaration of
independence,[14] and even now cherished hopes that, by a judiciously
arranged interview with a committee from Congress, he might persuade the
misguided people of America to return to their old allegiance. Lord
Howe, who always kept one hand on the olive-branch, eagerly caught at
the suggestion, and permitted Lee to send a letter to Congress, urging
that a committee be sent to confer with him, as he had "important
communications to make." Could such a conference be brought about, he
thought, his zeal for effecting a reconciliation would interest the
Howes in his favour, and might save his precious neck. Congress,
however, flatly refused to listen to the proposal, and then the wretch,
without further ado, went over to the enemy, and began to counsel with
the British commanders how they might best subdue the Americans in the
summer campaign. He went so far as to write out for the brothers Howe a
plan of operations, giving them the advantage of what was supposed to be
his intimate knowledge of the conditions of the case. This document the
Howes did not care to show after the disastrous event of the campaign,
and it remained hidden for eighty years, until it was found among the
domestic archives of the Strachey family, at Sutton Court, in Somerset.
The first Sir Henry Strachey was secretary to the Howes from 1775 to
1778. The document is in Lee's well-known handwriting, and is indorsed
by Strachey as "Mr. Lee's plan, March 29, 1777." In this document Lee
maintains that if the state of Maryland could be overawed, and the
people of Virginia prevented from sending aid to Pennsylvania, then
Philadelphia might be taken and held, and the operations of the "rebel
government" paralyzed. The Tory party was known to be strong in
Pennsylvania, and the circumstances under which Maryland had declared
for independence, last of all the colonies save New York, were such as
to make it seem probable that there also the loyalist feeling was very
powerful. Lee did not hesitate to assert, as of his own personal
knowledge, that the people of Maryland and Pennsylvania were nearly all
loyalists, who only awaited the arrival of a British army in order to
declare themselves. He therefore recommended that 14,000 men should
drive Washington out of New Jersey and capture Philadelphia, while the
remainder of Howe's army, 4,000 in number, should go around by sea to
Chesapeake Bay, and occupy Alexandria and Annapolis. From these points,
if Lord Howe were to issue a proclamation of amnesty, the pacification
of the "central colonies" might be effected in less than two months; and
so confident of all this did the writer feel that he declared himself
ready to "stake his life upon the issue," a remark which betrays,
perhaps, what was uppermost in his mind throughout the whole proceeding.
At the same time, he argued that offensive operations toward the north
could not "answer any sort of purpose," since the northern provinces
"are at present neither the seat of government, strength, nor politics;
and the apprehensions from General Carleton's army will, I am confident,
keep the New Englanders at home, or at least confine 'em to the east
side the [Hudson] river."
[Sidenote: Folly of moving upon Philadelphia, as the "rebel capital"]
It will be observed that this plan of Lee's was similar to that of Lord
George Germain, in so far as it aimed at thrusting the British power
like a wedge into the centre of the confederacy, and thus cutting
asunder New England and Virginia, the two chief centres of the
rebellion. But instead of aiming his blow at the Hudson river, Lee aims
it at Philadelphia, as the "rebel capital;" and his reason for doing
this shows how little he understood American affairs, and how strictly
he viewed them in the light of his military experience in Europe. In
European warfare it is customary to strike at the enemy's capital city,
in order to get control of his whole system of administration; but that
the possession of an enemy's capital is not always decisive the wars of
Napoleon have most abundantly proved. The battles of Austerlitz in 1805
and Wagram in 1809 were fought by Napoleon after he had entered Vienna;
it was not his acquisition of Berlin in 1806, but his victory at
Friedland in the following summer, that completed the overthrow of
Prussia; and where he had to contend against a strong and united
national feeling, as in Spain and Russia, the possession of the capital
did not help him in the least. Nevertheless, in European countries,
where the systems of administration are highly centralized, it is
usually advisable to move upon the enemy's capital. But to apply such a
principle to Philadelphia in 1777 was the height of absurdity.
Philadelphia had been selected for the meetings of the Continental
Congress because of its geographical position. It was the most centrally
situated of our large towns, but it was in no sense the centre of a vast
administrative machinery. If taken by an enemy, it was only necessary
for Congress to move to any other town, and everything would go on as
before. As it was not an administrative, so neither was it a military
centre. It commanded no great system of interior highways, and it was
comparatively difficult to protect by the fleet. It might be argued, on
the other hand, that because Philadelphia was the largest town in the
United States, and possessed of a certain preëminence as the seat of
Congress, the acquisition of it by the invaders would give them a
certain moral advantage. It would help the Tory party, and discourage
the patriots. Such a gain, however, would be trifling compared with the
loss which might come from Howe's failure to coöperate with Burgoyne;
and so the event most signally proved.
[Sidenote: Effect of Lee's advice]
Just how far the Howes were persuaded by Lee's arguments must be a
matter of inference. The course which they ultimately pursued, in close
conformity with the suggestions of this remarkable document, was so
disastrous to the British cause that the author might almost seem to
have been intentionally luring them off on a false scent. One would
gladly take so charitable a view of the matter, were it not both
inconsistent with what we have already seen of Lee, and utterly
negatived by his scandalous behaviour the following year, after his
restoration to his command in the American army. We cannot doubt that
Lee gave his advice in sober earnest. That considerable weight was
attached to it is shown by a secret letter from Sir William Howe to Lord
George Germain, dated the 2d of April or four days after the date of
Lee's extraordinary document. In this letter, Howe, intimates for the
first time that he has an expedition in mind which may modify the scheme
for a joint campaign with the northern army along the line of the
Hudson. To this suggestion Lord George replied on the 18th of May: "I
trust that whatever you may meditate will be executed in time for you to
coöperate with the army to proceed from Canada." It was a few days after
this that Lord George, perhaps feeling a little uneasy about the matter,
wrote that imperative order which lay in its pigeon-hole in London until
all the damage was done.
[Sidenote: Washington's masterly campaign in New Jersey, June, 1777]
With these data at our command, it becomes easy to comprehend General
Howe's movements during the spring and summer. His first intention was
to push across New Jersey with the great body of his army, and occupy
Philadelphia; and since he had twice as many men as Washington, he might
hope to do this in time to get back to the Hudson as soon as he was
likely to be needed there. He began his march on the 12th of June, five
days before Burgoyne's flotilla started southward on Lake Champlain. The
enterprise did not seem hazardous, but Howe was completely foiled by
Washington's superior strategy. Before the British commander had fairly
begun to move, Washington, from various symptoms, divined his purpose,
and coming down from his lair at Morristown, planted himself on the
heights of Middlebrook, within ten miles of New Brunswick, close upon
the flank of Howe's line of march. Such a position, occupied by 8,000
men under such a general, was something which Howe could not pass by
without sacrificing his communications and thus incurring destruction.
But the position was so strong that to try to storm it would be to
invite defeat. It remained to be seen what could be done by
manoeuvring. The British army of 18,000 men was concentrated at New
Brunswick, with plenty of boats for crossing the Delaware river, when
that obstacle should be reached. But the really insuperable obstacle was
close at hand. A campaign of eighteen days ensued, consisting of wily
marches and counter-marches, the result of which showed that
Washington's advantage of position could not be wrested from him. Howe
could neither get by him nor outwit him, and was too prudent to attack
him; and accordingly, on the last day of June, he abandoned his first
plan, and evacuated New Jersey, taking his whole army over to Staten
Island.
[Sidenote: Uncertainty as to Howe's next movements]
This campaign has attracted far less attention than it deserves, mainly,
no doubt, because it contained no battles or other striking incidents.
It was purely a series of strategic devices. But in point of military
skill it was, perhaps, as remarkable as anything that Washington ever
did, and it certainly occupies a cardinal position in the history of the
overthrow of Burgoyne. For if Howe had been able to take Philadelphia
early in the summer, it is difficult to see what could have prevented
him from returning and ascending the Hudson, in accordance with the plan
of the ministry. Now the month of June was gone, and Burgoyne was
approaching Ticonderoga. Howe ought to have held himself in readiness to
aid him, but he could not seem to get Philadelphia, the "rebel capital,"
out of his mind. His next plan coincided remarkably with the other half
of Lee's scheme. He decided to go around to Philadelphia by sea, but he
was slow in starting, and seems to have paused for a moment to watch the
course of events at the north. He began early in July to put his men on
board ship, but confided his plans to no one but Cornwallis and Grant;
and his own army, as well as the Americans, believed that this show of
going to sea was only a feint to disguise his real intention. Every one
supposed that he would go up the Hudson. As soon as New Jersey was
evacuated Washington moved back to Morristown, and threw his advance,
under Sullivan, as far north as Pompton, so as to be ready to coöperate
with Putnam in the Highlands, at a moment's notice. As soon as it became
known that Ticonderoga had fallen, Washington, supposing that his
adversary would do what a good general ought to do, advanced into the
Ramapo Clove, a rugged defile in the Highlands, near Haverstraw, and
actually sent the divisions of Sullivan and Stirling across the river to
Peekskill.
[Illustration: WASHINGTON'S HEADQUARTERS AT CHADD'S FORD]
[Sidenote: Howe's letter to Burgoyne]
[Sidenote: Comments of Washington and Greene]
All this while Howe kept moving some of his ships, now up the Hudson,
now into the Sound, now off from Sandy Hook, so that people might doubt
whether his destination were the Highlands, or Boston, or Philadelphia.
Probably his own mind was not fully made up until after the news from
Ticonderoga. Then, amid the general exultation, he seems to have
concluded that Burgoyne would be able to take care of himself, at least
with such coöperation as he might get from Sir Henry Clinton. In this
mood he wrote to Burgoyne as follows: "I have ... heard from the rebel
army of your being in possession of Ticonderoga, which is a great event,
carried without loss.... Washington is waiting our motions here, and has
detached Sullivan with about 2,500 men, as I learn, to Albany. My
intention is for Pennsylvania, where I expect to meet Washington; but if
he goes to the northward, contrary to my expectations, and you can keep
him at bay, be assured I shall soon be after him to relieve you. After
your arrival at Albany, the movements of the enemy will guide yours; but
my wishes are that the enemy be drove [_sic_] out of this province
before any operation takes place in Connecticut. Sir Henry Clinton
remains in the command here, and will act as occurrences may direct.
Putnam is in the Highlands with about 4,000 men. Success be ever with
you." This letter, which was written on very narrow strips of thin
paper, and conveyed in a quill, did not reach Burgoyne till the middle
of September, when things wore a very different aspect from that which
they wore in the middle of July. Nothing could better illustrate the
rash, overconfident spirit in which Howe proceeded to carry out his
southern scheme. A few days afterward he put to sea with the fleet of
228 sail, carrying an army of 18,000 men, while 7,000 were left in New
York, under Sir Henry Clinton, to garrison the city and act according to
circumstances. Just before sailing Howe wrote a letter to Burgoyne,
stating that the destination of his fleet was Boston, and he artfully
contrived that this letter should fall into Washington's hands. But
Washington was a difficult person to hoodwink. On reading the letter he
rightly inferred that Howe had gone southward. Accordingly, recalling
Sullivan and Stirling to the west side of the Hudson, he set out for the
Delaware, but proceeded very cautiously, lest Howe should suddenly
retrace his course, and dart up the Hudson. To guard against such an
emergency, he let Sullivan advance no farther than Morristown, and kept
everything in readiness for an instant counter-march. In a letter of
July 30th he writes, "Howe's in a manner abandoning Burgoyne is so
unaccountable a matter that, till I am fully assured of it, _I cannot
help casting my eyes continually behind me_." Next day, learning that
the fleet had arrived at the Capes of Delaware, he advanced to
Germantown; but on the day after, when he heard that the fleet had put
out to sea again, he suspected that the whole movement had been a feint.
He believed that Howe would at once return to the Hudson, and
immediately ordered Sullivan to counter-march, while he held himself
ready to follow at a moment's notice. His best generals entertained the
same opinion. "I cannot persuade myself," said Greene, "that General
Burgoyne would dare to push with such rapidity towards Albany if he did
not expect support from General Howe." A similar view of the military
exigencies of the case was taken by the British officers, who, almost to
a man, disapproved of the southward movement. They knew as well as
Greene that, however fine a city Philadelphia might be, it was "an
object of far less military importance than the Hudson river."
[Sidenote: Howe's alleged reason trumped up and worthless]
[Sidenote: Burgoyne's fate practically decided]
No wonder that the American generals were wide of the mark in their
conjectures, for the folly of Howe's movements after reaching the mouth
of the Delaware was quite beyond credence, and would be inexplicable
to-day except as the result of the wild advice of the marplot Lee. Howe
alleged as his reason for turning away from the Delaware, that there
were obstructions in the river and forts to pass, and accordingly he
thought it best to go around by way of Chesapeake Bay, and land his army
at Elkton. Now he might easily have gone a little way up the Delaware
river without encountering any obstructions whatever, and landed his
troops at a point only thirteen miles east of Elkton. Instead of
attempting this, he wasted twenty-four days in a voyage of four hundred
miles, mostly against headwinds, in order to reach the same point! No
sensible antagonist could be expected to understand such eccentric
behaviour. No wonder that, after it had become clear that the fleet had
gone southward, Washington should have supposed an attack on Charleston
to be intended. A council of war on the 21st decided that this must be
the case, and since an overland march of seven hundred miles could not
be accomplished in time to prevent such an attack, it was decided to go
back to New York, and operate against Sir Henry Clinton. But before this
decision was acted on Howe appeared at the head of Chesapeake Bay, where
he landed his forces at Elkton. It was now the 25th of August,--nine
days after the battle of Bennington and three days after the flight of
St. Leger. Since entering Chesapeake Bay, Howe had received Lord George
Germain's letter of May 18th, telling him that whatever he had to do
ought to be done in time for him to coöperate with Burgoyne. Now
Burgoyne's situation had become dangerous, and here was Howe at Elkton,
fifty miles southwest of Philadelphia, with Washington's army in front
of him, and more than three hundred miles away from Burgoyne!
On hearing of Howe's arrival at the head of Chesapeake Bay, Washington
had advanced as far as Wilmington to meet him. The first proceeding of
the British general, on landing at Elkton, was to issue his proclamation
of amnesty; but it did not bring him many recruits. A
counter-proclamation, drawn up by Luther Martin, sufficed to neutralize
it. Though there were many people in the neighbourhood who cared little
for the cause of independence, there were but few who sympathized with
the invaders enough to render them any valuable assistance. It was
through a country indifferent, perhaps, but not friendly in feeling,
that the British army cautiously pushed its way northward for a
fortnight, until it reached the village of Kennett Square, six miles
west of the Brandywine Creek, behind which Washington had planted
himself to oppose its progress.
[Sidenote: Washington's reasons for offering battle]
[Sidenote: He chooses a very strong position]
The time had arrived when Washington felt it necessary to offer battle,
even though such a step might not be justified from purely military
reasons. The people were weary of a Fabian policy which they did not
comprehend, and Washington saw that, even if he were defeated, the moral
effect upon the country would not be so bad as if he were to abandon
Philadelphia without a blow. A victory he was hardly entitled to expect,
since he had but 11,000 men against Howe's 18,000, and since the British
were still greatly superior in equipment and discipline. Under these
circumstances, Washington chose his ground with his usual sagacity, and
took possession of it by a swift and masterly movement. The Brandywine
Creek ran directly athwart Howe's line of march to Philadelphia. Though
large enough to serve as a military obstacle,--in England it would be
called a river,--it was crossed by numerous fords, of which the
principal one, Chadd's Ford, lay in Howe's way. Washington placed the
centre of his army just behind Chadd's Ford and across the road. His
centre was defended in front by a corps of artillery under Wayne, while
Greene, on some high ground in the rear, was stationed as a reserve.
Below Chadd's Ford, the Brandywine becomes a roaring torrent, shut in
between steep, high cliffs, so that the American left, resting upon
these natural defences, was sufficiently guarded by the Pennsylvania
militia under Armstrong. The right wing, stretching two miles up the
stream, into an uneven and thickly wooded country, was commanded by
Sullivan.
[Illustration: VIEW OF BRANDYWINE BATTLEFIELD]
[Sidenote: Battle of the Brandywine, Sept. 11, 1777]
This was a very strong position. On the left it was practically
inaccessible. To try storming it in front would be a doubtful
experiment, sure to result in terrible loss of life. The only weak point
was the right, which could be taken in flank by a long circuitous march
through the woods. Accordingly, on the morning of the 11th of September,
the British right wing, under Knyphausen, began skirmishing and
occupying Washington's attention at Chadd's Ford; while the left column,
under the energetic Cornwallis, marched up the Lancaster road, crossed
the forks of the Brandywine, and turned southward toward Birmingham
church, with the intention of striking the rear of the American right
wing. It was similar to the flanking movement which had been tried so
successfully at the battle of Long Island, a year before. It was quite
like the splendid movement of Stonewall Jackson at Chancellorsville,
eighty-five years afterward. In Howe's time such flanking marches were
eminently fashionable. It was in this way that the great Frederick had
won some of his most astonishing victories. They were, nevertheless,
then as always, dangerous expedients, as the stupendous overthrow of the
Austro-Russian army at Austerlitz was by and by to show. There is always
a serious chance that the tables may be turned. Such flanking movements
are comparatively safe, however, when the attacking army greatly
outnumbers the army attacked, as at the Brandywine. But in all cases the
chief element in their success is secrecy; above all things, the party
attacked must be kept in the dark.
These points are admirably illustrated in the battle of the Brandywine.
The danger of a flank attack upon his right wing was well understood by
Washington; and as soon as he heard that Cornwallis was marching up the
Lancaster road, he considered the feasibleness of doing what Frederick
would probably have done,--of crossing quickly at Chadd's and Brinton's
fords, in full force, and crushing Knyphausen's division. This he could
doubtless have accomplished, had he been so fortunate as to have
inherited an army trained by the father of Frederick the Great. But
Washington's army was not yet well trained, and its numerical
inferiority was such that Knyphausen's division might of itself be
regarded as a fair match for it. The British movement was, therefore,
well considered, and it was doubtless right that Washington did not
return the offensive by crossing the creek. Moreover, the organization
of his staff was far from complete. He was puzzled by conflicting
reports as to the enemy's movements. While considering the question of
throwing his whole force against Knyphausen, he was stopped by a false
report that Cornwallis was _not_ moving upon his flank. So great was the
delay in getting intelligence that Cornwallis had accomplished his long
march of eighteen miles, and was approaching Birmingham church, before
it was well known where he was. Nevertheless, his intention of dealing a
death-blow to the American army was forestalled and partially checked.
Before he had reached our right wing, Washington had ordered Sullivan to
form a new front and advance toward Birmingham church. Owing to the
imperfect discipline of the troops, Sullivan executed the movement
rather clumsily, but enough was accomplished to save the army from rout.
In the obstinate and murderous fight which ensued near Birmingham church
between Cornwallis and Sullivan, the latter was at length slowly pushed
back in the direction of Dilworth. To save the army from being broken in
two, it was now necessary for the centre to retreat upon Chester by way
of Dilworth, and this movement was accomplished by Greene with
consummate skill. It was now possible for Knyphausen to advance across
Chadd's Ford against Wayne's position; and he did so, aided by the right
wing of Cornwallis's division, which, instead of joining in the oblique
pursuit toward Dilworth, kept straight onward, and came down upon
Wayne's rear. Nothing was left for Wayne and Armstrong but to retreat
and join the rest of the army at Chester, and so the battle of the
Brandywine came to an end.
[Illustration: BIRMINGHAM MEETING-HOUSE]
This famous battle was admirably conducted on both sides. The risk
assumed in the long flanking march of Cornwallis was fully justified.
The poor organization of the American army was of course well known to
the British commanders, and they took advantage of the fact. Had they
been dealing with an organization as efficient as their own, their
course would have been foolhardy. On the other hand, when we consider
the relative strength of the two armies, it is clear that the bold move
of Cornwallis ought not simply to have won the field of battle. It ought
to have annihilated the American army, had not its worst consequences
been averted by Washington's promptness, aided by Sullivan's obstinate
bravery and Greene's masterly conduct of the retreat upon Dilworth. As
it was, the American soldiers came out of the fight in good order.
Nothing could be more absurd than the careless statement, so often made,
that the Americans were "routed" at the Brandywine. Their organization
was preserved, and at Chester, next day, they were as ready for fight as
ever. They had exacted from the enemy a round price for the victory. The
American loss was a little more than 1,000, incurred chiefly in
Sullivan's gallant struggle; rolls afterward captured at Germantown
showed that the British loss considerably exceeded that figure.
[Sidenote: Washington's skill in detaining the enemy]
[Sidenote: The British enter Philadelphia, Sept. 26]
So far as the possession of Philadelphia was concerned, the British
victory was decisive. When the news came, next morning, that the army
had retreated upon Chester, there was great consternation in the "rebel
capital." Some timid people left their homes, and sought refuge in the
mountains. Congress fled to Lancaster, first clothing Washington for
sixty days with the same extraordinary powers which had been granted him
the year before. Yet there was no need for unseemly haste, for
Washington detained the victorious enemy a fortnight on the march of
only twenty-six miles; a feat which not even Napoleon could have
performed with an army that had just been "routed." He had now heard of
Stark's victory and St. Leger's flight, and his letters show how clearly
he foresaw Burgoyne's inevitable fate, provided Howe could be kept away
from him. To keep Howe's whole force employed near Philadelphia as long
as possible was of the utmost importance. Accordingly, during the
fortnight following the battle of the Brandywine, every day saw
manoeuvres or skirmishes, in one of which General Wayne was defeated
by Sir Charles Gray, with a loss of three hundred men. On the 26th,
while Howe established his headquarters at Germantown, Cornwallis
entered Philadelphia in triumph, marching with bands of music and flying
colours, and all the troops decked out in their finest scarlet array.
[Sidenote: Significance of Forts Mercer and Mifflin]
Having got possession of the "rebel capital," the question now arose
whether it would be possible to hold it through the winter. The Delaware
river, below the city, had been carefully obstructed by
_chevaux-de-frise_, which were guarded by two strong fortresses,--Fort
Mifflin on an island in mid-stream, and Fort Mercer on the Jersey shore.
The river was here about two miles in width, but it was impossible for
ships to pass until the forts should have been reduced. About the first
of October, after a rough return voyage of four hundred miles, Lord
Howe's fleet appeared at the mouth of the Delaware. It was absolutely
necessary to gain control of the river, in order that the city might get
supplies by sea; for so long as Washington's army remained unbroken, the
Americans were able to cut off all supplies by land. Sir William Howe,
therefore, threw a portion of his forces across the river, to aid his
brother in reducing the forts. The quick eye of Washington now saw an
opportunity for attacking the main British army, while thus temporarily
weakened; and he forthwith planned a brilliant battle, which was,
however, fated to be lost by a singular accident.
[Sidenote: The situation at Germantown]
The village of Germantown, by the bank of the Schuylkill river, was then
separated from Philadelphia by about six miles of open country. The
village consisted chiefly of a single street, about two miles in length,
with stone houses on either side, standing about a hundred yards apart
from each other, and surrounded by gardens and orchards. Near the upper
end of the street, in the midst of ornamental shrubbery, vases, and
statues, arranged in a French style of landscape gardening, stood the
massively built house of Benjamin Chew, formerly Chief Justice of
Pennsylvania. About a mile below, at the Market House, the main street
was crossed at right angles by the Old School Lane. Beside the main
street, running over Chestnut Hill, the village was approached from the
northward by three roads. The Monatawny road ran down by the bank of the
Schuylkill, and, crossing the Old School Lane, bore on toward
Philadelphia. The Limekiln road, coming from the northeast, became
continuous with the Old School Lane. The Old York road, still farther
eastward, joined the main street at the Rising Sun tavern, about two
miles below the Market House.
The British army lay encamped just behind the Old School Lane, in the
lower part of the village: the left wing, under Knyphausen, to the west
of the main street; the right, under Grant, to the east. A strong
detachment of _chasseurs_, under Sir Charles Grey, covered the left
wing. About a mile in advance of the army, Colonel Musgrave's regiment
lay in a field opposite Judge Chew's house; and yet a mile farther
forward a battalion of light infantry was stationed on the slight
eminence known as Mount Airy, where a small battery commanded the road
to the north.
[Sidenote: Washington's audacious plan]
Washington's plan of attack seems to have contemplated nothing less than
the destruction or capture of the British army. His forces were to
advance from the north by all four roads at once, and converge upon the
British at the Market House. The American right wing, under Sullivan,
and consisting of Sullivan's own brigade, with those of Conway, Wayne,
Maxwell, and Nash, was to march down the main street, overwhelm the
advanced parties of the British, and engage their left wing in front;
while Armstrong, with the Pennsylvania militia, was to move down the
Monatawny road, and take the same wing in flank. The American left wing,
commanded by Greene, was also to proceed in two columns. Greene, with
his own brigade, supported by Stephen and McDougal, was to march down
the Limekiln road, and assail the British right wing in front and in
flank; while Smallwood and Forman, coming down the Old York road, were
to strike the same wing in the rear. The flank attack upon the British
left, entrusted as it was to militia, was intended merely as a
demonstration. The attack upon their right, conducted by more than half
of the American army, including its best troops, was intended to crush
that wing, and folding back the whole British army upon the Schuylkill
river, compel it to surrender.
[Illustration: JUDGE CHEW'S HOUSE AT GERMANTOWN]
[Sidenote: Battle of Germantown, Oct. 4]
Considering that the Americans had not even yet a superiority in
numbers, this was a most audacious plan. No better instance could be
given of the spirit of wild and venturous daring which was as
conspicuous in Washington as his cautious vigilance, whenever any fit
occasion arose for displaying it. The scheme came surprisingly near to
success; so near as to redeem it from the imputation of fool-hardiness,
and to show that here, as in all Washington's military movements, cool
judgment went along with fiery dash. At seven in the evening of the 3d
of October, the night march upon Germantown began, Washington
accompanying Sullivan's column. At sunrise a heavy fog came up, and the
darkness went on increasing. Soon after the hour of daybreak the light
infantry upon Mount Airy were surprised and routed, and the battery was
captured. Musgrave was next overwhelmed by the heavy American column;
but he, with a small force, took refuge in Judge Chew's house, and set
up a brisk fire from the windows. The Americans opened an artillery-fire
upon the house, but its stone walls were too solid to be beaten down by
the three-pound and six-pound field-pieces of that day; and so Maxwell's
brigade was left behind to besiege the house, while the rest of the
column rushed on down the street. The chief effect of this incident was
to warn the enemy, while retarding and somewhat weakening the American
charge. Nevertheless, the fury of the attack was such as to disconcert
Knyphausen's veterans, and the British left wing slowly gave way before
Sullivan. At this moment, Greene, who had also been delayed, attacked
the right wing with such vigour as presently to force it back toward the
Market House. The British ranks were falling into confusion, and
Smallwood's column had already arrived upon their right flank, when the
accident occurred which changed the fortunes of the day. From the
beginning the dense fog had been a source of confusion to both armies,
and had seriously interfered with the solidity of the American advance.
Now, as Stephen's brigade, on the right of Greene's column, came into
the village, the heavy firing at Judge Chew's seems to have caused him
to diverge more and more to the west, in the belief that there was the
thick of the battle. At the same time, Wayne, in driving the enemy
before him, had swayed somewhat to the east, so that his brigade stood
almost directly in the line of Stephen's progress. In this position he
was attacked by Stephen, who mistook him for the enemy. This lamentable
blunder instantly ruined the battle. Wayne's men, thus fiercely attacked
in the rear, and struggling to extricate themselves, were thrown upon
the left flank of Sullivan's brigade, and a panic suddenly ran through
the army. The confusion grew worse and worse, till a general retreat
began, and Grey, who had come up to support the crumbling right wing of
the British, was now able to lead in the pursuit of the Americans. He
was joined by Cornwallis, who had sprung from his bed in Philadelphia at
the first sound of the cannon, and had brought up two battalions with
him at double-quick. But the panic had subsided almost as soon as the
golden moment of victory was lost, and the retreat was conducted in
excellent order. One regiment in Greene's column was surrounded and
captured, but the army brought away all its cannon and wounded, with
several cannon taken from the enemy. The loss of the Americans in killed
and wounded was 673, and the loss of the British was 535.
[Illustration: HOUSE AT GERMANTOWN OCCUPIED BY THE BRITISH]
The fog which enshrouded the village of Germantown on that eventful
morning has been hardly less confusing to historians than it was to the
armies engaged. The reports of different observers conflicted in many
details, and particularly as to the immediate occasion of the fatal
panic. The best accounts agree, however, that the entanglement of
Stephen with Wayne was chiefly responsible for the disaster. It was
charged against Stephen that he had taken too many pulls at his canteen
on the long, damp night march, and he was tried by court-martial, and
dismissed from the service. The chagrin of the Americans at losing the
prize so nearly grasped was profound. The total rout of Howe, coming at
the same time with the surrender of Burgoyne, would probably have been
too much for Lord North's ministry to bear, and might have brought the
war to a sudden close. As it was, the British took an undue amount of
comfort in the acquisition of Philadelphia, though so long as
Washington's army remained defiant it was of small military value to
them. On the other hand, the genius and audacity shown by Washington, in
thus planning and so nearly accomplishing the ruin of the British army
only three weeks after the defeat at the Brandywine, produced a profound
impression upon military critics in Europe. Frederick of Prussia saw
that presently, when American soldiers should come to be disciplined
veterans, they would become a formidable instrument in the hands of
their great commander; and the French court, in making up its mind that
the Americans would prove efficient allies, is said to have been
influenced almost as much by the battle of Germantown as by the
surrender of Burgoyne.
[Illustration: WHITHALL HOUSE AT FORT MERCER WHERE
DONOP DIED]
[Sidenote: Howe captures Forts Mercer and Mifflin]
Having thus escaped the catastrophe which Washington had designed for
him, the British commander was now able to put forth his utmost efforts
for the capture of the forts on the Delaware. His utmost efforts were
needed, for in the first attack on Fort Mercer, October 22, the Hessians
were totally defeated, with the loss of Count Donop and 400 men, while
the Americans lost but 37. But after a month of hard work, with the aid
of 6,000 more men sent from New York by Clinton, both forts were
reduced, and the command of the Delaware was wrested from the Americans.
Another month of manoeuvring and skirmishing followed, and then
Washington took his army into winter-quarters at Valley Forge. The
events which attended his sojourn in that natural stronghold belong to a
later period of the war. We must now return to the upper waters of the
Hudson, and show how the whole period, which may be most fitly described
as a struggle for the control of the great central state of New York,
was brought to an end by the complete and overwhelming victory of the
Americans.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Burgoyne recognizes the fatal error of Germain]
We have seen how it became impossible for Howe to act upon Lord George
Germain's order, received in August, in Chesapeake Bay, and get back to
the Hudson in time to be of any use to Burgoyne. We have also seen how
critical was the situation in which the northern general was left, after
the destruction of Baum and St. Leger, and the accumulation of New
England yeomanry in his rear. Burgoyne now fully acknowledged the
terrible mistake of the ministry in assuming that the resistance of the
Americans was due to the machinations of a few wily demagogues, and that
the people would hail the approach of the king's troops as deliverers.
"The great bulk of the country," said he, "is undoubtedly with the
Congress in principle and zeal, and their measures are executed with a
secrecy and dispatch that are not to be equalled.... The Hampshire
Grants, in particular, a country unpeopled and almost unknown last war,
now abounds in the most active and most rebellious race on the
continent, and hangs like a gathering storm upon my left." The situation
had, indeed, become so alarming that it is hard to say what Burgoyne
ought to have done. A retreat upon Ticonderoga would have been fraught
with peril, while to cross the Hudson and advance upon Albany would be
doing like Cortes, when he scuttled his ships. But Burgoyne was a man of
chivalrous nature. He did not think it right or prudent to abandon Sir
William Howe, whom he still supposed to be coming up the river to meet
him. In a letter to Lord George Germain, written three days after the
surrender, he says, "The difficulty of a retreat upon Canada was clearly
foreseen, as was the dilemma, should the retreat be effected, of leaving
at liberty such an army as General Gates's to operate against Sir
William Howe. This consideration operated forcibly to determine me to
abide events as long as possible, and I reasoned thus: the expedition
which I commanded was at first evidently intended to be _hazarded_;
circumstances might require it should be _devoted_."
[Sidenote: Nevertheless he crosses the Hudson]
[Sidenote: First battle at Freeman's Farm, Sept. 19; indecisive]
Influenced by these views, which were supported by all his generals
except Riedesel, Burgoyne threw a bridge of boats across the Hudson, and
passed over with whole army on the 13th of September. The Americans had
taken a strong position on Bemis Heights, where Kosciuszko had skilfully
fortified their camp with batteries and redoubts. Burgoyne felt that the
time for desperate fighting had now come, and it seemed to him that the
American position might be turned and carried by an attack upon its left
flank. On the morning of the 19th, he advanced through the woods, with
the centre of his army, toward the point where the Quaker road passed
Bemis Heights. The right wing, under Fraser, proceeded somewhat more
circuitously toward the same point, the plan being that they should join
forces and strike the rear of the American camp, while Riedesel and
Phillips, with the left wing and the artillery, marching down the river
road, should assail it in front. Three heavy guns, announcing to the
left wing the junction of Burgoyne and Fraser, were to give the signal
for a general assault. American scouts, lurking among the upper branches
of tall trees that grew on steep hillsides, presently caught glimpses
of bright scarlet flitting through the green depths of the forest, while
the long sunbeams that found their way through the foliage sent back
quick burning flashes from a thousand bayonets. By noon the course of
the British march and their plan of attack had been fully deciphered,
and the intelligence was carried to Arnold, who commanded the left wing
of the American army. Gates appears to have been unwilling to let any of
the forces descend from their strong position; but the fiery Arnold
urged and implored, until he got permission to take Morgan's riflemen
and Dearborn's infantry, and go forth to attack the enemy. Arnold's
advance, under Morgan, first fell upon Burgoyne's advance, at Freeman's
Farm, and checked its progress. Fraser then, hearing the musketry,
turned eastward to the rescue, while Arnold, moving upon Fraser's left,
sought to cut him asunder from Burgoyne. He seemed to be winning the
day, when he was attacked in flank by Riedesel, who had hurried up from
the river road. Arnold had already sent to Gates for reinforcements,
which were refused him. Arnold maintained that this was a gross blunder
on the part of the commanding general, and that with 2,000 more men he
could now easily have crushed the British centre and defeated their
army. In this opinion he was probably right, since even as it was he
held his own, in a desperate fight, for two hours, until darkness put an
end to the struggle. The losses on each side are variously estimated at
from 600 to 1,000, or from one fifth to one fourth of the forces
engaged, which indicates severe fighting. Arnold's command had numbered
about 3,000, and he had been engaged, in the course of the afternoon,
with at least 4,000 of Burgoyne's army; yet all this while some 11,000
Americans--most of the army in short--had been kept idle on Bemis
Heights by the incompetent Gates. Burgoyne tried to console himself with
the idea that he had won a victory, because his army slept that night at
Freeman's Farm; but in his testimony given afterward before the House of
Commons, he rightly maintained that his plan of attack had been utterly
defeated by the bold and skilful tactics of "Mr." Arnold.
[Portrait: T Kosciuszko]
In the dispatches which he now sent to Congress, Gates took to himself
all the credit of this affair, and did not even mention Arnold's name.
The army, however, rang with praise of the fighting general, until
Gates, who never could bear to hear any one but himself well spoken of,
waxed wroth and revengeful. Arnold, moreover, freely blamed Gates for
not supporting him, and for refusing to renew the battle on the next
morning, while the enemy were still disconcerted. Arnold's warm
friendship with Schuyler gave further offence to the commander; and
three days after the battle he sought to wreak his spite by withdrawing
Morgan's riflemen and Dearborn's light infantry from Arnold's division.
A fierce quarrel ensued, in the course of which Gates told Arnold that
as soon as Lincoln should arrive he would have no further use for him,
and he might go back to Washington's camp as soon as he liked. Arnold,
in a white rage, said he would go, and asked for a pass, which his enemy
promptly gave him; but after receiving it, second thoughts prevented him
from going. All the general officers except Lincoln--who seems to have
refrained from unwillingness to give umbrage to a commander so high in
the good graces of Massachusetts as Gates--united in signing a letter
entreating Arnold to remain. He had been sent here by Washington to aid
the northern army, and clearly it would be wrong to leave it now, on the
eve of a decisive battle. So the proud, fiery soldier, smarting under an
accumulation of injuries, made up his mind once more to swallow the
affront, and wait for a chance to make himself useful. He stayed in his
quarters, awaiting the day of battle, though it was not clear how far he
was entitled, under the circumstances, to exercise command, and Gates
took no more notice of him than if he had been a dog.
[Sidenote: Burgoyne's supplies cut off]
Nothing more was done for eighteen days. Just before the crossing of the
Hudson by the northern army, Sir Henry Clinton, acting "as circumstances
may direct," had planned an expedition up the river in aid of it; and
Burgoyne, hearing of this the day after the battle at Freeman's Farm,
thought it best to wait a while before undertaking another assault upon
the American lines. But things were swiftly coming to such a pass that
it would not do to wait. On the 21st, news came to the British camp that
a detachment of Lincoln's troops had laid siege to Ticonderoga, and,
while holding the garrison in check, had captured several ships and
taken 300 prisoners. A day or two later came the news that these New
Englanders had embarked on Lake George in the ships they had captured,
and were cutting off the last sources of supply. And now, while even on
shortest rations there was barely three weeks' food for the army,
Lincoln's main force appeared in front, thus swelling the numbers of the
American army to more than 16,000. The case had become as desperate as
that of the Athenians at Syracuse before their last dreadful battle in
the harbour. So, after eighteen weary days, no word yet coming from
Clinton, the gallant Burgoyne attempted, by a furious effort, to break
through the lines of an army that now outnumbered him more than three to
one.
[Portrait: Sim. Fraser]
[Sidenote: Second battle at Freeman's Farm, Oct. 7; the British totally
defeated by Arnold]
On the morning of October 7th, leaving the rest of his army in camp,
Burgoyne advanced with 1,500 picked men to turn the American left. Small
as the force was, its quality was superb, and with it were the best
commanders,--Phillips, Riedesel, Fraser, Balcarras, and Ackland. Such a
compact force, so ably led, might manoeuvre quickly. If, on sounding
the American position on the left, they should find it too strong to be
forced, they might swiftly retreat. At all events, the movement would
cover a foraging party which Burgoyne had sent out,--and this was no
small matter. Arnold, too, the fighting general, it was reported, held
no command; and Gates was known to be a sluggard. Such thoughts may have
helped to shape the conduct of the British commander on this critical
morning. But the scheme was swiftly overturned. As the British came on,
their right was suddenly attacked by Morgan, while the New England
regulars with 3,000 New York militia assailed them in front. After a
short, sharp fight against overwhelming numbers, their whole line was
broken, and Fraser sought to form a second line a little farther back,
on the west border of Freeman's Farm, though the ranks were badly
disordered and all their cannon were lost. At this moment, Arnold, who
had been watching from the heights, saw that a well-directed blow might
not only ruin this retreating column, but also shatter the whole
British army. Quick as thought he sprang upon his horse, and galloped to
the scene of action. He was greeted with deafening hurrahs, and the men,
leaping with exultation at sight of their beloved commander, rushed upon
Fraser's half-formed line. At the same moment, while Morgan was still
pressing on the British right, one of his marksmen shot General Fraser,
who fell, mortally wounded, just as Arnold charged with mad fury upon
his line. The British, thus assailed in front and flank, were soon
pushed off the field. Arnold next attacked Lord Balcarras, who had
retired behind intrenchments at the north of Freeman's Farm; but finding
the resistance here too strong, he swept by, and charged upon the
Canadian auxiliaries, who occupied a position just north of Balcarras,
and covered the left wing of Breymann's forces at the extreme right of
the British camp. The Canadians soon fled, leaving Breymann uncovered;
and Arnold forthwith rushed against Breymann on the left, just as
Morgan, who had prolonged his flanking march, assailed him on the right.
Breymann was slain and his force routed; the British right wing was
crushed, and their whole position taken in reverse and made untenable.
Just at this moment, a wounded German soldier, lying on the ground, took
aim at Arnold, and slew his horse, while the ball passed through the
general's left leg, that had been wounded at Quebec, and fractured the
bone a little above the knee. As Arnold fell, one of his men rushed up
to bayonet the wounded soldier who had shot him, when the prostrate
general cried, "For God's sake, don't hurt him; he's a fine fellow!" The
poor German was saved, and this was the hour when Benedict Arnold should
have died. His fall and the gathering twilight stopped the progress of
the battle, but the American victory was complete and decisive. Nothing
was left for Burgoyne but to get the wreck of his army out of the way as
quickly as possible, and the next day he did so, making a slow retreat
upon Saratoga, in the course of which his soldiers burned General
Schuyler's princely country-house, with its barns and granaries.
As the British retreated, General Gates steadily closed in upon them
with his overwhelming forces, which now numbered 20,000. Gates--to give
him due credit--knew how to be active after the victory, although, when
fighting was going on, he was a general of sedentary habits. When Arnold
rushed down, at the critical moment, to complete the victory of
Saratoga, Gates sent out Major Armstrong to stop him. "Call back that
fellow," said Gates, "or he will be doing something rash!" But the eager
Arnold had out-galloped the messenger, and came back only when his leg
was broken and the victory won. In the mean time Gates sat at his
headquarters, forgetful of the battle that was raging below, while he
argued the merits of the American Revolution with a wounded British
officer, Sir Francis Clerke, who had been brought in and laid upon the
commander's bed to die. Losing his temper in the discussion, Gates
called his adjutant, Wilkinson, out of the room, and asked him, "Did you
ever hear so impudent a son of a b----h?" And this seems to have been
all that the commanding general contributed to the crowning victory of
Saratoga.
[Portrait: La baronne de Riedesel nee de Wassow [illegible]]
[Sidenote: The British army is surrounded]
When Burgoyne reached the place where he had crossed the Hudson, he
found a force of 3,000 Americans, with several batteries of cannon
occupying the hills on the other side, so that it was now impossible to
cross. A council of war decided to abandon all the artillery and
baggage, push through the woods by night, and effect a crossing higher
up, by Fort Edward, where the great river begins to be fordable. But no
sooner had this plan been made than word was brought that the Americans
were guarding all the fords, and had also planted detachments in a
strong position to the northward, between Fort Edward and Fort George.
The British army, in short, was surrounded. A brisk cannonade was opened
upon it from the east and south, while Morgan's sharpshooters kept up a
galling fire in the rear. Some of the women and wounded men were sent
for safety to a large house in the neighbourhood, where they took refuge
in the cellar; and there the Baroness Riedesel tells us how she passed
six dismal nights and days, crouching in a corner near the doorway, with
her three little children clinging about her, while every now and then,
with hideous crashing, a heavy cannon-ball passed through the room
overhead. The cellar became crowded with crippled and dying men. But
little food could be obtained, and the suffering from thirst was
dreadful. It was only a few steps to the river, but every man who
ventured out with a bucket was shot dead by Virginia rifles that never
missed their aim. At last the brave wife of a British soldier
volunteered to go; and thus the water was brought again and again, for
the Americans would not fire at a woman.
[Sidenote: Clinton comes up the Hudson, but it is too late]
And now, while Burgoyne's last ray of hope was dying, and while the
veteran Phillips declared himself heartbroken at the misery which he
could not relieve, where was Sir Henry Clinton? He had not thought it
prudent to leave New York until after the arrival of 3,000 soldiers whom
he expected from England. These men arrived on the 29th of September,
but six days more elapsed before Sir Henry had taken them up the river
and landed them near Putnam's headquarters at Peekskill. In a campaign
of three days he outwitted that general, carried two of the forts after
obstinate resistance, and compelled the Americans to abandon the others;
and thus laid open the river so that British ships might go up to
Albany. On the 8th of October, Sir Henry wrote to Burgoyne from Fort
Montgomery: "_Nous y voici_, and nothing between us and Gates. I
sincerely hope this little success of ours will facilitate your
operations." This dispatch was written on a scrap of very thin paper,
and encased in an oval silver bullet, which opened with a tiny screw in
the middle. Sir Henry then sent General Vaughan, with several frigates
and the greater part of his force, to make all haste for Albany. As they
passed up the river, the next day, they could not resist the temptation
to land and set fire to the pretty village of Kingston, then the seat of
the state legislature. George Clinton, governor of the state, just
retreating from his able defence of the captured forts, hastened to
protect the village, but came up only in time to see it in flames from
one end to the other. Just then Sir Henry's messenger, as he skulked by
the roadside, was caught and taken to the governor. He had been seen
swallowing something, so they gave him an emetic, and obtained the
silver bullet. The dispatch was read; the bearer was hanged to an
apple-tree; and Burgoyne, weary with waiting for the news that never
came, at last sent a flag of truce to General Gates, inquiring what
terms of surrender would be accepted.
[Sidenote: Burgoyne surrenders, Oct. 17]
Gates first demanded an unconditional surrender, but on Burgoyne's
indignant refusal he consented to make terms, and the more readily, no
doubt, since he knew what had just happened in the Highlands, though his
adversary did not. After three days of discussion the terms of surrender
were agreed upon. Just as Burgoyne was about to sign the articles, a
Tory made his way into camp with hearsay news that part of Clinton's
army was approaching Albany. The subject was then anxiously reconsidered
by the British officers, and an interesting discussion ensued as to
whether they had so far pledged their faith to the surrender that they
could not in honour draw back. The majority of the council decided that
their faith was irrevocably pledged, and Burgoyne yielded to this
opinion, though he did not share it, for he did not feel quite clear
that the rumoured advance of Clinton could now avail to save him in any
case. In this he was undoubtedly right. The American army, with its
daily accretions of militia, had now grown to more than 20,000, and
armed yeomanry were still pouring in by the hundred. A diversion
threatened by less than 3,000 men, who were still more than fifty miles
distant, could hardly have averted the doom of the British army. The
only effect which it did produce was, perhaps, to work upon the timid
Gates, and induce him to offer easy terms in order to hasten the
surrender. On the 17th of October, accordingly, the articles were
signed, exchanged, and put in execution. It was agreed that the British
army should march out of camp with the honours of war, and pile their
arms at an appointed place; they should then march through Massachusetts
to Boston, from which port they might sail for Europe, it being
understood that none of them should serve again in America during the
war; all the officers might retain their small arms, and no one's
private luggage should be searched or molested. At Burgoyne's earnest
solicitation the American general consented that these proceedings
should be styled a "convention," instead of a surrender, in imitation of
the famous Convention of Kloster-Seven, by which the Duke of Cumberland,
twenty years before, had sought to save his feelings while losing his
army, beleaguered by the French in Hanover. The soothing phrase has been
well remembered by British historians, who to this day continue to speak
of Burgoyne's surrender as the "Convention of Saratoga."
In carrying out the terms of the convention, both Gates and his soldiers
showed praiseworthy delicacy. As the British marched off to a meadow by
the river side and laid down their arms, the Americans remained within
their lines, refusing to add to the humiliation of a gallant enemy by
standing and looking on. As the disarmed soldiers then passed by the
American lines, says Lieutenant Anbury, one of the captured officers, "I
did not observe the least disrespect or even a taunting look, but all
was mute astonishment and pity." Burgoyne stepped up and handed his
sword to Gates, simply saying, "The fortune of war, General Gates, has
made me your prisoner." The American general instantly returned the
sword, replying, "I shall always be ready to testify that it has not
been through any fault of your excellency." When Baron Riedesel had been
presented to Gates and the other generals, he sent for his wife and
children. Set free at last from the dreadful cellar, the baroness came
with some trepidation into the enemy's camp; but the only look she saw
upon any face was one of sympathy. "As I approached the tents," she
says, "a noble-looking gentleman came toward me, and took the children
out of the wagon; embraced and kissed them; and then, with tears in his
eyes, helped me also to alight.... Presently he said, 'It may be
embarrassing to you to dine with so many gentlemen. If you will come
with your children to my tent, I will give you a frugal meal, but one
that will at least be seasoned with good wishes.' 'Oh, sir,' I cried,
'you must surely be a husband and a father, since you show me so much
kindness!' I then learned that it was General Schuyler."
[Sidenote: Schuyler's magnanimity]
Schuyler had indeed come, with unruffled soul, to look on while the
fruit which he had sown, with the gallant aid of Stark and Herkimer,
Arnold and Morgan, was plucked by an unworthy rival. He now met
Burgoyne, who was naturally pained and embarrassed at the recollection
of the beautiful house which his men had burned a few days before. In a
speech in the House of Commons, some months later, Burgoyne told how
Schuyler received him. "I expressed to General Schuyler," says Burgoyne,
"my regret at the event which had happened, and the reasons which had
occasioned it. He desired me to think no more of it, saying that the
occasion justified it, according to the rules of war.... He did more: he
sent an aide-de-camp to conduct me to Albany, in order, as he expressed
it, to procure me better quarters than a stranger might be able to find.
This gentleman conducted me to a very elegant house, and, to my great
surprise, presented me to Mrs. Schuyler and her family; and in this
general's house I remained during my whole stay at Albany, with a table
of more than twenty covers for me and my friends, and every other
possible demonstration of hospitality." Madame Riedesel was also invited
to stay with the Schuylers; and when first she arrived in the house, one
of her little girls exclaimed, "Oh, mamma! Is this the palace that papa
was to have when he came to America?" As the Schuylers understood
German, the baroness coloured, but all laughed pleasantly, and put her
at ease.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Bad faith of Congress]
With the generosity and delicacy shown alike by generals and soldiers,
it is painful, though instructive, to contrast the coarseness and bad
faith with which Congress proceeded to treat the captured army. The
presence of the troops in and about Boston was felt to be a hardship,
and General Heath, who commanded there, wrote to Washington, saying that
if they were to stay till cold weather he hardly knew how to find
shelter and fuel for them. Washington replied that they would not be
likely to stay long, since it was clearly for Howe's interest to send
them back to England as soon as possible, in order that they might
replace other soldiers who would be sent over to America for the spring
campaign. Congress caught up this suggestion with avidity, and put it to
uses quite remote from Washington's meaning. When Sir William Howe
proposed Newport as a point from which the soldiers might more speedily
be shipped, Washington, for sound and obvious reasons, urged that there
should be no departure from the strict letter of the convention.
Congress forthwith not only acted upon this suggestion so far as to
refuse Sir William Howe's request, but it went on gratuitously and
absurdly to charge the British general with bad faith. It was hinted
that he secretly intended to bring the troops to New York for immediate
service, in defiance of the convention, and Congress proceeded to make
this imputed treachery the ground for really false dealing on its own
part. When Lord Howe's transports reached Boston, it was not only
ordered that no troops should be allowed to embark until all the
accounts for their subsistence should have been settled, but it was also
required that these accounts should be liquidated in gold. In the
instructions given to General Washington a year before, a refusal on the
part of anybody to receive the Continental paper money was to be treated
as a high misdemeanour. Now Congress refused to take its own money,
which had depreciated till it was worth barely thirty cents on a dollar.
The captured army was supplied with provisions and fuel that were paid
for by General Heath with Continental paper, and now Congress insisted
that General Burgoyne should make his repayment dollar for dollar in
British gold, worth three times as much. In fairness to the delegates,
we may admit that in all probability they did not realize the baseness
of this conduct. They were no doubt misled by one of those wonderful
bits of financial sophistry by which the enacting mind of our countrymen
has so often been hopelessly confused. In an amusing letter to
Washington, honest General Heath naïvely exclaims, "What an opinion must
General Burgoyne have of the authority of these states, to suppose that
his money would be received at any higher rate than our own in public
payment! Such payment would at once be depreciating our currency with a
witness." Washington was seriously annoyed and mortified by these
vagaries,--the more so that he was at this very time endeavouring to
arrange with Howe a general cartel for the exchange of prisoners; and he
knew that the attempt to make thirty cents equal to a dollar would, as
he said, "destroy the very idea of a cartel."
[Portrait: W Heath]
While these discussions were going on, Congress, like the wicked king in
the fairy tale, anxious to impose conditions unlikely to be fulfilled,
demanded that General Burgoyne should make out a descriptive list of all
the officers and soldiers in his army, in order that if any of them
should thereafter be found serving against the United States they might
be punished accordingly. As no such provision was contained in the
convention, upon the faith of which Burgoyne had surrendered, he
naturally regarded the demand as insulting, and at first refused to
comply with it. He afterwards yielded the point, in his eagerness to
liberate his soldiers; but meanwhile, in a letter to Gates, he had
incautiously let fall the expression, "The publick faith is broke
[_sic_];" and this remark, coming to the ears of Congress, was
immediately laid hold of as a pretext for repudiating the convention
altogether. It was argued that Burgoyne had charged the United States
with bad faith, in order to have an excuse for repudiating the
convention on his own part; and on the 8th of January, Congress
accordingly resolved, "that the embarkation of Lieutenant-General
Burgoyne and the troops under his command be suspended till a distinct
and explicit ratification of the Convention of Saratoga shall be
properly notified by the court of Great Britain to Congress." Now as the
British government could not give the required ratification without
implicitly recognizing the independence of the United States, no further
steps were taken in the matter, the "publick faith" was really broken,
and the captured army was never sent home.
[Illustration: ENCAMPMENT OF THE CONVENTION TROOPS IN VIRGINIA]
[Sidenote: The behavior of Congress was simply inexcusable]
In this wretched affair, Congress deliberately sacrificed principle to
policy. It refused, on paltry pretexts, to carry out a solemn engagement
which had been made by its accredited agent; and it did so simply
through the fear that the British army might indirectly gain a possible
reinforcement. Its conduct can be justified upon no grounds save such as
would equally justify firing upon flags of truce. Nor can it be
palliated even upon the lowest grounds of expediency, for, as it has
been well said, "to a people struggling for political life the moral
support derivable from the maintenance of honour and good faith was
worth a dozen material victories." This sacrifice of principle to policy
has served only to call down the condemnation of impartial historians,
and to dim the lustre of the magnificent victory which the valour of our
soldiers and the self-devotion of our people had won in the field. It
was one out of many instances which show that, under any form of
government, the moral sense of the governing body is likely to fall far
below the highest moral standard recognized in the community.
[Sidenote: What became of the captured army]
The captured army was never sent home. The officers were treated as
prisoners of war, and from time to time were exchanged. Burgoyne was
allowed to go to England in the spring, and while still a prisoner on
parole he took his seat in Parliament, and became conspicuous among the
defenders of the American cause. The troops were detained in the
neighbourhood of Boston until the autumn of 1778, when they were all
transferred to Charlottesville in Virginia. Here a rude village was
built on the brow of a pleasant ridge of hills, and gardens were laid
out and planted. Much kind assistance was rendered in all this work by
Thomas Jefferson, who was then living close by, on his estate at
Monticello, and did everything in his power to make things comfortable
for soldiers and officers. Two years afterward, when Virginia became the
seat of war, some of them were removed to Winchester in the Shenandoah
valley, to Frederick in Maryland, and to Lancaster in Pennsylvania.
Those who wished to return to Europe were exchanged or allowed to
escape. The greater number, especially of the Germans, preferred to stay
in this country and become American citizens. Before the end of 1783
they had dispersed in all directions.
Such was the strange sequel of a campaign which, whether we consider the
picturesqueness of its incidents or the magnitude of its results, was
one of the most memorable in the history of mankind. Its varied scenes,
framed in landscapes of grand and stirring beauty, had brought together
such types of manhood as the feathered Mohawk sachem, the helmeted
Brunswick dragoon, and the blue-frocked yeoman of New England,--types of
ancient barbarism, of the militancy bequeathed from the Middle Ages,
and of the industrial democracy that is to possess and control the
future of the world. These men had mingled in a deadly struggle for the
strategic centre of the Atlantic coast of North America, and now the
fight had ended in the complete and overwhelming defeat of the forces of
George III. Four years, indeed,--four years of sore distress and hope
deferred,--were yet to pass before the fruits of this great victory
could be gathered. The independence of the United States was not yet
won; but the triumph at Saratoga set in motion a train of events from
which the winning of independence was destined surely to follow.
FOOTNOTES:
[14] In the spring of 1776 Lee had written to Edward Rutledge: "By
the eternal God! If you do not declare yourselves independent,
you deserve to be slaves!" In several such letters Lee had
fairly bellowed for independence.
VOLUME II
CONTENTS