YORKTOWN
Cornwallis invades North Carolina (September, 1780) 255
Ferguson's expedition 255
Rising of the backwoodsmen 256, 257
Battle of King's Mountain (October 7, 1780) 258, 259
Effect of the blow 260
Reinforcements from the North; arrival of Daniel Morgan 261
Greene appointed to the chief command at the South 261
Greene's daring strategy; he threatens Cornwallis on both
flanks 262-264
Cornwallis retorts by sending Tarleton against Morgan 265
Morgan's position at the Cowpens 265
Battle of the Cowpens (January 17, 1781); nearly the whole
British force captured on the field 266
Brilliant movements of Morgan and Greene; they lead Cornwallis
a chase across North Carolina 267-269
Further manoeuvres 270
Battle of Guilford (March 15) 270, 271
Retreat of Cornwallis 272
He abandons the Carolinas and marches into Virginia 273
Greene's master-stroke; he returns to South Carolina (April
6-18) 273
And, by taking Fort Watson, cuts Lord Rawdon's communications
(April 23) 274
Rawdon defeats Greene at Hobkirk's Hill (April 25); but is
none the less obliged to give up Camden in order to save
his army (May 10) 275, 276
All the inland posts taken from the British (May-June) 276
Rawdon goes to England, leaving Stuart in command 277
Greene marches against Stuart (August 22) 277
Battle of Eutaw Springs (September 8) 278
Greene's superb generalship 278, 279
Lord Cornwallis arrives at Petersburg (May 20) 279, 280
His campaign against Lafayette 281-283
Cornwallis retreats to the coast, and occupies Yorktown 284, 285
Elements of the final catastrophe; arrival of the French
fleet 286, 287
News from Grasse and Lafayette 288
Subtle and audacious scheme of Washington 289
He transfers his army to Virginia (August 19-September 18) 290-292
Movements of the fleets 293
Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown 294
Clinton's attempt at a counter-stroke; Arnold's proceedings
at New London (September 6) 295, 296
Surrender of Cornwallis 297
Importance of the aid rendered by the French fleet and
army 298, 299
Effect of the news in England 300, 301
Difficult position of Great Britain 302
Rodney's victory over Grasse (April 12, 1782) 303
Resignation of Lord North (March 20, 1782) 304
Defeat of the political schemes of George III. 305
The American Revolution was not a conflict between Englishmen
and Americans, but between two antagonistic principles of
government, each of which had its advocates and opponents in
both countries; and Yorktown was an auspicious victory won
by Washington for both countries 306-310
THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION
CHAPTER VIII
THE FRENCH ALLIANCE
THE history of the Revolutionary War may be divided into four
well-marked periods. The first period begins in 1761 with the resistance
of James Otis to the general search-warrants, and it may be regarded as
ending in June, 1774, when the acts for changing the government of
Massachusetts were intended to take effect. This period of
constitutional discussion culminated in the defiance of Great Britain by
the people of Boston when they threw the tea into the harbour; and the
acts of April, 1774, by which Parliament replied to the challenge, were
virtually a declaration of war against the American colonies, though yet
another year elapsed before the first bloodshed at Lexington.
The second period opens with June, 1774, when Massachusetts began to
nullify the acts of Parliament, and it closes with the Declaration of
Independence. During this period warfare was carried on only for the
purpose of obtaining a redress of grievances, and without any design of
bringing about a political separation of the English people in America
from the English people in Britain. The theatre of war was mainly
confined to New England and Canada; and while the Americans failed in
the attempt to conquer Canada, their defensive warfare was crowned with
success. The fighting of this period began with the victory of
Lexington: it ended with the victory of Fort Moultrie. New England,
except the island of Newport, was finally freed from the presence of the
British, and no further attack was made upon the southern states for
more than two years.
The essential feature of the third period, comprising the years 1776 and
1777, was the struggle for the state of New York and the great natural
strategic line of the Mohawk and Hudson rivers. Independence having been
declared, the United States and Great Britain were now fighting each
other single-handed, like two separate and foreign powers. It was the
object of Great Britain to conquer the United States, and accordingly
she struck at the commercial and military centre of the confederation.
If she could have thoroughly conquered the state of New York and secured
the line of the Hudson, she would have broken the confederation in two,
and might perhaps have proceeded to overcome its different parts in
detail. Hence in this period of the war everything centres about New
York, such an outlying expedition as that of Howe against Philadelphia
having no decisive military value except in its bearings upon the issue
of the great central conflict. The strategy of the Americans was mainly
defensive, though with regard to certain operations they assumed the
offensive with brilliant success. The period began with the disasters of
Long Island and Fort Washington; it ended with the triumph of Saratoga.
As the net result of the two years' work, the British had taken and held
the cities of New York and Philadelphia and the town of Newport. The
fortress of Ticonderoga, which they had likewise taken, they abandoned
after the overthrow of Burgoyne; and in like manner they retired from
the highlands of the Hudson, which the Americans now proceeded to occupy
with a stronger force than before. In short, while the British had lost
an army, they had conquered nothing but the ground on which they were
actually encamped. Their attempt to break through the centre of the
American position had ended in a total defeat, and it now began to seem
clear to discerning minds that there was small chance of their being
able to conquer the United States.
The fourth period, upon which we are now entering, begins with the
immediate consequences of the victory of Saratoga, and extends to the
treaty of 1783, whereby Great Britain acknowledged the independence of
the United States. The military history of this period ends with the
surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown, in October, 1781, just four years
after the surrender of Burgoyne. Except as regards the ultimate triumph
of the American arms, the history of these four years presents striking
contrasts to the history of the two years we have just passed in review.
The struggle is no longer confined to the arms of Great Britain and the
United States, but it extends in some measure over the whole civilized
world, though it is only France, with its army and more especially its
navy, that comes into direct relation with the final result in America.
Moreover, instead of a well-aimed and concentrated blow at the centre of
the American position, the last period of the war consisted partly of a
straggling and disorderly series of movements, designed simply to harass
the Americans and wear out their patience, and partly of an attempt to
conquer the southern states and detach them from the Union. There is,
accordingly, less dramatic unity in this last stage of the war than in
the period which ended at Saratoga, and it is less susceptible of close
and consecutive treatment; but, on the other hand, in richness of
incidents and in variety of human interest it is in no wise inferior to
the earlier periods.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Consternation in England]
The first consequence of Saratoga was the retreat of the British
government from every one of the positions for the sake of which it had
begun the war. The news of Burgoyne's surrender reached England just
before Parliament adjourned for Christmas, and Lord North immediately
gave notice that as soon as the holidays were over he should bring in
measures for conciliating the Americans. The general feeling in England
was one of amazement and consternation. In these days, when we are
accustomed to contemplate military phenomena of enormous magnitude, when
we have lately carried on a war in which more than two million men were
under arms, and more than two million dollars were expended every day,
we must not forget how different was the historic background upon which
events were projected a century ago. Those were not the days of
submarine telegraphs and Cunard steamships, and in trying to carry on
warfare across three thousand miles of ocean the problem before George
III. was far more arduous than that which the great Frederick had
solved, when, acting on interior lines and supported by British gold, he
overcame the combined assaults of France and Austria and Russia. The
loss which Great Britain had now suffered could not easily be made good.
At the same time it was generally believed, both in England and on the
continent of Europe, that the loss of the American colonies would entail
the ruin of the British Empire. Only a few wise political economists,
"literary men," like Adam Smith and Josiah Tucker, were far-seeing
enough to escape this prodigious fallacy; even Chatham was misled by it.
It was not understood that English America and English Britain were
bound together by commercial and social ties so strong that no question
of political union or severance could permanently affect them. It was
not foreseen that within a century the dealings of Great Britain with
the independent United States would far exceed her dealings with the
rest of the world. On the contrary, it was believed that if political
independence were conceded to the Americans, the whole stream of
transatlantic commerce would somehow be diverted to other parts of
Europe, that the British naval power would forthwith decay, and that
England would sink from her imperial position into such a mere insular
nation as that over which Henry VIII. had ruled. So greatly did men
overrate political conditions; so far were they from appreciating those
economic conditions which are so much more deep-seated and essential.
[Portrait: LORD NORTH]
[Sidenote: Views of the different parties]
Under these circumstances, the only people in England who were willing
to concede the independence of the United States were the Rockingham
Whigs, and these were now in a small minority. Lord Rockingham and his
friends, with Burke as their leader, had always condemned the harsh and
stupid policy of the government toward America, and they were now ready
to concede independence because they were convinced that conciliation
was no longer practicable. Lord Chatham, on the other hand, with his
section of the Whig party, while even more emphatically condemning the
policy of the government, still clung to the hope of conciliation, and
could not bear to think of the disruption of the empire. But with the
Tory party, which had all along supported the government, the war was
still popular, and no calamity seemed so great as the loss of the
American colonies. Most of the country squires believed in crushing out
rebellion, no matter where it occurred or for what reason, and this view
was almost unanimously taken by the clergy. In the House of Lords none
were so bloodthirsty as the bishops, and country parsons preached from
all the texts of the Old Testament which refer to smiting Jehovah's
enemies hip and thigh. The trading classes in the large towns, and the
few manufacturers who had come upon the scene, were so afraid of losing
the American market that they were ready to vote men and money without
stint. The town of Manchester even raised and equipped two regiments at
its own expense. Thus while the great majority of the British nation
believed that America must be retained at whatever cost, a majority of
this majority believed that it must be conquered before it could be
conciliated or reasoned with; and this was the opinion which had thus
far found favour with Lord North and controlled the policy of the
government.
[Sidenote: Lord North's political somersault]
We may imagine, then, the unspeakable amazement of the House of Commons,
on the 17th of February, 1778, when Lord North arose in his place and
moved that every one of the points for which Samuel Adams and his
friends had zealously contended, from the passage of the Stamp Act to
the breaking out of war, should at once be conceded forever and without
further parley. By the bill which he now proceeded to read, the famous
Tea Act and the act for changing the constitution of Massachusetts were
unconditionally repealed. It was furthermore declared that Parliament
would renounce forever the right of raising a revenue in America; and it
was provided that commissioners should be sent over to treat with
Congress, armed with full powers for negotiating a peace. Pending the
negotiations the commissioners might proclaim a truce, and might suspend
the operation of any act of Parliament relating to America which had
been passed since 1763. They might also proclaim complete amnesty for
all political offences.
[Portrait: C. J. Fox]
[Sidenote: Strange scene in the House of Commons]
So complete a political somersault has seldom been turned by an English
minister, and the speech in which Lord North defended himself was worthy
of the occasion. Instead of resigning when he saw that his policy had
proved a failure, as an English minister would naturally do, he suddenly
shifted his ground, and adopted the policy which the opposition had
urged in vain against him three years before, and which, if then
adopted, would unquestionably have prevented bloodshed. Not only did he
thus shift his ground, but he declared that this policy of conciliation
was really the one which he had favoured from the beginning. There was
more truth in this than appeared at the moment, for in more than one
instance Lord North had, with culpable weakness, carried out the king's
policy in defiance of his own convictions. It was in vain, however, that
he sought to clear himself of responsibility for the Tea Act, the
oppressive edicts of 1774, and the recent events in America generally.
The House received his bill and his speech in profound silence. Disgust
and dejection filled every bosom, yet no one could very well help voting
for the measures. The Tories, already chagrined by the bitter news from
Saratoga, were enraged at being thus required to abandon all the ground
for which they had been fighting, yet no way seemed open for them but to
follow their leader. The Whigs were vexed at seeing the wind taken out
of their sails, but they could not in honour oppose a policy which they
had always earnestly supported. All sat for some moments in grim,
melancholy silence, till Charles Fox, arising, sarcastically began his
speech by congratulating his Whig friends on having gained such a
powerful and unexpected ally in the prime minister. Taunts and
innuendoes flew back and forth across the House. From the Tory side came
sullen cries that the country was betrayed, while from among the Whigs
the premier was asked if he supposed himself armed with the spear of
Achilles, which could heal the wounds that itself had made. It was very
pointedly hinted that the proposed measures would not be likely to
produce much effect upon the Americans unless accompanied by Lord
North's resignation, since, coming from him, they would come as from a
tainted spring. But in spite of all this ill-feeling the bill was
passed, and the same reasons which had operated here carried it also
through the House of Lords. On the 11th of March it received the royal
signature, and three commissioners were immediately appointed to convey
information of this action to Congress, and make arrangements for a
treaty of peace.
[Sidenote: Treaty between France and the United States, Feb. 6, 1778]
The conciliatory policy of Lord North had come at least two years too
late. The American leaders were now unwilling to consider the question
of reunion with the mother-country upon any terms, and even before the
extraordinary scene in Parliament which we have just witnessed a treaty
had been made with France, by which the Americans solemnly agreed, in
consideration of armed support to be furnished by that power, never to
entertain proposals of peace from Great Britain until their independence
should be acknowledged, and never to conclude a treaty of peace except
with the concurrence of their new ally. The French government had
secretly assisted the Americans as early as the summer of 1776 by
occasional loans of money, and by receiving American privateers in
French ports. The longer Great Britain and her colonies could be kept
weakening each other by warfare, the greater the hope that France might
at some time be enabled to step in and regain her lost maritime empire.
But it was no part of French policy to take an active share in the
struggle until the proper moment should come for reaping some decisive
material advantage. At the beginning of the year 1778 that moment seemed
to have arrived. The capture of Burgoyne and the masterly strategy which
Washington had shown, in spite of his ill-success on the field, had
furnished convincing proof that the American alliance was worth having.
At the same time, the announcement that Lord North was about to bring in
conciliatory measures indicated that the British government was
weakening in its purpose. Should such measures succeed in conciliating
the Americans and in bringing about a firm reunion with the
mother-country, the schemes of France would be irretrievably ruined.
Now, therefore, was the golden opportunity, and France was not slow to
seize it. On the 6th of February the treaty with the United States was
signed at Paris. By a special article it was stipulated that Spain might
enter into the alliance at her earliest convenience. Just now, too,
Frederick the Great publicly opened the port of Dantzic to American
cruisers and prohibited Hessian soldiers from passing through his
dominions to the seaboard, while he wrote to Franklin at Paris that he
should probably soon follow the king of France in recognizing the
independence of the United States.
[Sidenote: Great Britain declares war against France, March 13]
Rumours of all these things kept coming to England while the
conciliatory measures were passing through Parliament, and on the 13th
of March, two days after those measures had become law, the action of
France was formally communicated to the British government, and war was
instantly declared.
[Illustration:
_The present_ STATE OF EUROPE & AMERICA
or
_The_ MAN _in the_ MOON _taking a View of the_ ENGLISH ARMADA.
]
The situation of England seemed desperate. With one army lost in
America, with the recruiting ground in Germany barred against her, with
a debt piling up at the rate of a million dollars a week, and with a
very inadequate force of troops at home in case of sudden invasion, she
was now called upon to contend with the whole maritime power of France,
to which that of Spain was certain soon to be added, and, to crown all,
the government had just written its own condemnation by confessing
before the world that its policy toward America, which had been the
cause of all this mischief, was impracticable as well as
unrighteous.[15]
[Sidenote: The Earl of Chatham]
[Sidenote: The king's rage]
At this terrible moment the eyes of all England were turned upon one
great man, old now and wasted by disease, but the fire of whose genius
still burned bright and clear. The government must be changed, and in
the Earl of Chatham the country had still a leader whose very name was
synonymous with victory. Not thus had matters gone in the glorious days
of Quiberon and Minden and Quebec, when his skilful hand was at the
helm, and every heart in England and America beat high with the
consciousness of worthy ends achieved by well-directed valour. To whom
but Chatham should appeal be made to repair the drooping fortunes of the
empire? It was in his hands alone that a conciliatory policy could have
any chance of success. From the first he had been the consistent
advocate of the constitutional rights of the Americans; and throughout
America he was the object of veneration no less hearty and enthusiastic
than that which was accorded to Washington himself. Overtures that would
be laughed at as coming from North would at least find respectful
hearing if urged by Chatham. On the other hand, should the day for
conciliation have irrevocably passed by, the magic of his name was of
itself sufficient to create a panic in France, while in England it would
kindle that popular enthusiasm which is of itself the best guarantee of
success. In Germany, too, the remembrance of the priceless services he
had rendered could not but dispel the hostile feeling with which
Frederick had regarded England since the accession of George III. Moved
by such thoughts as these, statesmen of all parties, beginning with Lord
North himself, implored the king to form a new ministry under Chatham.
Lord Mansfield, his bitterest enemy, for once declared that without
Chatham at the helm the ship of state must founder, and his words were
echoed by Bute and the young George Grenville. At the opposite extreme
of politics, the Duke of Richmond, who had long since made up his mind
that the colonies must be allowed to go, declared, nevertheless, that if
it were to be Chatham who should see fit to make another attempt to
retain them, he would aid him in every possible way. The press teemed
with expressions of the popular faith in Chatham, and every one
impatiently wondered that the king should lose a day in calling to the
head of affairs the only man who could save the country. But all this
unanimity of public opinion went for nothing with the selfish and
obdurate king. All the old reasons for keeping Chatham out of office had
now vanished, so far as the American question was concerned; for by
consenting to North's conciliatory measures the king had virtually come
over to Chatham's position, and as regarded the separation of the
colonies from the mother-country, Chatham was no less unwilling than the
king to admit the necessity of such a step. Indeed, the policy upon
which the king had now been obliged to enter absolutely demanded Chatham
as its exponent instead of North. Everybody saw this, and no doubt the
king saw it himself, but it had no weight with him in the presence of
personal considerations. He hated Chatham with all the ferocity of
hatred that a mean and rancorous spirit can feel toward one that is
generous and noble; and he well knew besides that, with that statesman
at the head of affairs, his own share in the government would be reduced
to nullity. To see the government administered in accordance with the
policy of a responsible minister, and in disregard of his own
irresponsible whims, was a humiliation to which he was not yet ready to
submit. For eight years now, by coaxing and bullying the frivolous
North, he had contrived to keep the reins in his own hands; and having
so long tasted the sweets of power, he was resolved in future to have
none but milksops for his ministers. In face of these personal
considerations the welfare of the nation was of little account to
him.[16] He flew into a rage. No power in heaven or earth, he said,
should ever make him stoop to treat with "Lord Chatham and his crew;" he
refused to be "shackled by those desperate men" and "made a slave for
the remainder of his days." Rather than yield to the wishes of his
people at this solemn crisis, he would submit to lose his crown. Better
thus, he added, than to wear it in bondage and disgrace.
[Sidenote: What Chatham would have tried to do]
In spite of the royal wrath, however, the popular demand for a change of
government was too strong to be resisted. But for Lord Chatham's sudden
death, a few weeks later, he would doubtless have been called upon to
fill the position which North was so anxious to relinquish. The king
would have had to swallow his resentment, as he was afterwards obliged
to do in 1782. Had Chatham now become prime minister, it was his design
to follow up the repeal of all obnoxious legislation concerning America
by withdrawing every British soldier from our soil, and attacking France
with might and main, as in the Seven Years' War, on the ocean and
through Germany, where the invincible Ferdinand of Brunswick was again
to lead the armies of Great Britain. In America such a policy could
hardly have failed to strengthen not only the loyalists and waverers,
but also the Whigs of conciliatory mould, such as Dickinson and Robert
Morris. Nor was the moment an inopportune one. Many Americans, who were
earnest in withstanding the legislative encroachments of Parliament, had
formerly been alienated from the popular cause by what they deemed the
needlessly radical step of the Declaration of Independence. Many others
were now alienated by the French alliance. In New England, the chief
stronghold of the revolutionary party, many people were disgusted at an
alliance with the Catholic and despotic power which in days gone by had
so often let loose the Indian hell-hounds upon their frontier. The
treaty with France was indeed a marriage of convenience rather than of
affection. The American leaders, even while arranging it, dreaded the
revulsion of feeling that might ensue in the country at large; and their
dread was the legitimate hope of Chatham. To return to the state of
things which had existed previous to 1765 would no doubt be impossible.
Independence of some sort must be conceded, and in this Lord Rockingham
and the Duke of Richmond were unquestionably right. But Chatham was in
no wise foolish in hoping that some sort of federal bond might be
established which should maintain Americans and British in perpetual
alliance, and, while granting full legislative autonomy to the colonies
singly or combined, should prevent the people of either country from
ever forgetting that the Americans were English. There was at least a
chance that this noble policy might succeed, and until the trial should
have been made he would not willingly consent to a step that seemed
certain to wreck the empire his genius had won for England. But death
now stepped in to simplify the situation in the old ruthless way.
[Portrait: Richmond &c]
[Sidenote: Death of Chatham]
The Duke of Richmond, anxious to bring matters to an issue, gave notice
that on the 7th of April he should move that the royal fleets and armies
should be instantly withdrawn from America, and peace be made on
whatever terms Congress might see fit to accept. Such at least was the
practical purport of the motion. For such an unconditional surrender
Chatham was not yet ready, and on the appointed day he got up from his
sick-bed and came into the House of Lords to argue against the motion.
Wrapped in flannel bandages and leaning upon crutches, his dark eyes in
their brilliancy enhancing the pallor of his careworn face, as he
entered the House, supported on the one side by his son-in-law, Lord
Mahon, on the other by that younger son who was so soon to add fresh
glory to the name of William Pitt, the peers all started to their feet,
and remained standing until he had taken his place. In broken sentences,
with strange flashes of the eloquence that had once held captive ear and
heart, he protested against the hasty adoption of a measure which simply
prostrated the dignity of England before its ancient enemy, the House of
Bourbon. The Duke of Richmond's answer, reverently and delicately
worded, urged that while the magic of Chatham's name could work anything
short of miracles, yet only a miracle could now relieve them from the
dire necessity of abandoning America. The earl rose to reply, but his
overwrought frame gave way, and he sank in a swoon upon the floor. All
business was at once adjourned. The peers, with eager sympathy, came
crowding up to offer assistance, and the unconscious statesman was
carried in the arms of his friends to a house near by, whence in a few
days he was removed to his home at Hayes. There, after lingering between
life and death for several weeks, on the 11th of May, and in the
seventieth year of his age, Lord Chatham breathed his last.
[Sidenote: His prodigious greatness]
The man thus struck down, like a soldier at his post, was one whom
Americans no less than Englishmen have delighted to honour. The personal
fascination which he exerted in his lifetime is something we can no
longer know; but as the field of modern history expands till it covers
the globe, we find ourselves better able than his contemporaries to
comprehend the part which he played at one of the most critical moments
of the career of mankind. For simple magnitude, the preponderance of the
English race in the world has come now to be the most striking fact in
human history; and when we consider all that is implied in this growing
preponderance of an industrial civilization over other civilizations of
relatively archaic and militant type, we find reason to believe that
among historic events it is the most teeming with mighty consequences to
be witnessed by a distant future. With no other historic personage are
the beginnings of this supremacy of the English race so closely
associated as with the elder William Pitt. It was he who planned the
victories which gave England the dominion of the sea, and which,
rescuing India from the anarchy of centuries, prepared it to become the
seat of a new civilization, at once the apt pupil and the suggestive
teacher of modern Europe. It was he who, by driving the French from
America, cleared the way for the peaceful overflow of our industrial
civilization through the valley of the Mississippi; saving us from the
political dangers which chronic warfare might otherwise have entailed,
and insuring us the ultimate control of the fairest part of this
continent. To his valiant and skilful lieutenants by sea and land, to
such great men as Hawke, and Clive, and Wolfe, belongs the credit of
executing the details; it was the genius of Pitt that conceived and
superintended the prodigious scheme as a connected whole. Alone among
the Englishmen of his time, Pitt looked with prophetic gaze into the
mysterious future of colonial history, and saw the meaning of the
creation of a new and greater Europe in the outlying regions of the
earth; and through his triumphs it was decided that this new and greater
Europe should become for the most part a new and greater England,--a
world of self-government, and of freedom of thought and speech. While
his political vision thus embraced the uttermost parts of the globe, his
action in the centre of Europe helped to bring about results the
importance of which we are now beginning to appreciate. From the wreck
of all Germany in that horrible war of religion which filled one third
of the seventeenth century, a new Protestant power had slowly emerged
and grown apace, till in Pitt's time--for various reasons, dynastic,
personal, and political--it had drawn down upon itself the vengeance of
all the reactionary countries of Europe. Had the coalition succeeded,
the only considerable Protestant power on the continent would have been
destroyed, and the anarchy which had followed the Thirty Years' War
might have been renewed. The stupid George II., who could see in Prussia
nothing but a rival of Hanover, was already preparing to join the
alliance against Frederick, when Pitt overruled him, and threw the
weight of England into the other side of the scale. The same act which
thus averted the destruction of Prussia secured to England a most
efficient ally in her struggle with France. Of this wise policy we now
see the fruits in that renovated German Empire which has come to be the
strongest power on the continent of Europe, which is daily establishing
fresh bonds of sympathy with the people of the United States, and whose
political interests are daily growing more and more visibly identical
with those of Great Britain. As in days to come the solidarity of the
Teutonic race in its three great nationalities--America, England, and
Germany--becomes more and more clearly manifest, the more will the
student of history be impressed with the wonderful fact that the
founding of modern Germany, the maritime supremacy of England, and the
winning of the Mississippi valley for English-speaking America, were but
the different phases of one historic event, coherent parts of the one
vast conception which marks its author as the grandest of modern
statesmen. As the lapse of time carries us far enough from the
eighteenth century to study it in its true proportions, the figure of
Chatham in the annals of the Teutonic race will appear no less great and
commanding than the figure of Charlemagne a thousand years before.
[Illustration: CHATHAM'S TOMB IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY]
But Chatham is interesting to Americans not only as the eloquent
defender in our revolutionary struggle, not only as standing in the
forefront of that vast future in which we are to play so important a
part, but also as the first British statesman whose political thinking
was of a truly American type. Pitt was above all things the man of the
people, and it has been well said that his title of the "Great Commoner"
marks in itself a political revolution. When the king and the Old Whig
lords sought to withstand him in the cabinet, he could say with truth,
"It is the people who have sent me here." He was the first to discover
the fact that the development of trade and manufactures, due chiefly to
the colonial expansion of England, had brought into existence an
important class of society, for which neither the Tory nor the Old Whig
schemes of government had made provision. He was the first to see the
absurdity of such towns as Leeds and Manchester going without
representation, and he began in 1745 the agitation for parliamentary
reform which was first successful in 1832. In the celebrated case of
Wilkes, while openly expressing his detestation of the man, he
successfully defended the rights of constituencies against the tyranny
of the House of Commons. Against the fierce opposition of Lord
Mansfield, he maintained inviolate the liberty of every Englishman to
publish his opinions. He overthrew the abuse of arbitrary imprisonment
by general warrants. He ended the chronic troubles of Scotland by
taking the Highlanders into his confidence and raising regiments from
them for the regular army. In this intense devotion to liberty and to
the rights of man, Pitt was actuated as much by his earnest, sympathetic
nature as by the clearness and breadth of his intelligence. In his
austere purity of character, as in his intensity of conviction, he was
an enigma to sceptical and frivolous people in his own time. Cromwell or
Milton would have understood him much better than did Horace Walpole, to
whom his haughty mien and soaring language seemed like theatrical
affectation. But this grandiose bearing was nothing but the natural
expression of that elevation of soul which, lighted by a rich poetic
imagination and fired by the glow of passion beneath, made his eloquence
the most impressive that has ever been heard in England. He was soaring
in outward demeanour only as his mind habitually dwelt with strong
emotion upon great thoughts and noble deeds. He was the incarnation of
all that is lofty and aspiring in human nature, and his sublime figure,
raised above the grave in the northern transept of Westminster Abbey,
with its eager outstretched arm, still seems to be urging on his
countrymen in the path of duty and of glory.
* * * * *
[Portrait: Shelburne]
[Sidenote: Lord North remains in power]
[Sidenote: His commissioners in America fail to accomplish anything]
By the death of Chatham the obstacles which had beset the king were
suddenly removed. On the morning after the pathetic scene in the House
of Lords, he wrote with ill-concealed glee to North, "May not the
political exit of Lord Chatham incline you to continue at the head of my
affairs?" North was very unwilling to remain, but it was difficult to
find any one who could form a government in his place. Among the New
Whigs, now that Chatham was gone, Lord Shelburne was the most prominent;
but he was a man who, in spite of great virtues and talents, never
succeeded in winning the confidence either of the politicians or of the
people. He was a warm friend to the American cause, but no one supposed
him equal to the difficult task which Chatham would have undertaken, of
pacifying the American people. The Old Whigs, under Lord Rockingham, had
committed themselves to the full independence of the United States, and
for this the people of England were not yet prepared. Under the
circumstances, there seemed to be nothing for Lord North to do but
remain in office. The king was delighted, and his party appeared to have
gained strength from the indignation aroused by the alliance of the
Americans with France. It was strengthened still more by the positive
refusal of Congress to treat with the commissioners sent over by Lord
North. The commissioners arrived in America in June, and remained until
October, without effecting anything. Congress refused to entertain any
propositions whatever from Great Britain until the independence of the
United States should first be acknowledged. Copies of Lord North's
conciliatory bills were published by order of Congress, and scattered
broadcast over the country. They were everywhere greeted with derision;
at one town in Rhode Island they were publicly burned under a gallows
which had been erected for the occasion. After fruitlessly trying all
the devices of flattery and intrigue, the commissioners lost their
temper; and just before sailing for England they issued a farewell
manifesto, in which they threatened the American people with exemplary
punishment for their contumacy. The conduct of the war, they said, was
now to be changed; these obstinate rebels were to be made to suffer the
extremes of distress, and no mercy was to be shown them. Congress
instantly published this document, and it was received with somewhat
more derision than the conciliatory bills had been. Under the
circumstances of that day, the threat could have but one meaning. It
meant arson along the coasts at the hands of the British fleet, and
murder on the frontiers at the hands of Indian auxiliaries. The
commissioners sought to justify their manifesto before Parliament, and
one of them vehemently declared that if all hell could be let loose
against these rebels, he should approve of the measure. "The
proclamation," said he, "certainly does mean a war of desolation: it can
mean nothing else." Lord Rockingham denounced the policy of the
manifesto, and few were found in Parliament willing to support it
openly. This barbarous policy, however, was neither more nor less than
that which Lord George Germain had deliberately made up his mind to
pursue for the remainder of the war. Giving up the problem of conquering
the Americans by systematic warfare, he thought it worth while to do as
much damage and inflict as much suffering as possible, in the hope that
by and by the spirit of the people might be broken and their patience
worn out. No policy could be more repugnant to the amiable soul of Lord
North, but his false position obliged him passively to sanction much
that he did not like. Besides this plan for tiring out the people, it
was designed to conduct a systematic expedition against Virginia and the
Carolinas, in order to detach these states from the rest of the
confederacy. Should it be found necessary, after all, to acknowledge the
independence of the United States, it seemed worth while at least to cut
down their territory as much as possible, and save to the British Crown
these rich countries of rice, and indigo, and tobacco. Such was the plan
now proposed by Germain, and adopted by the ministry of which he was a
member.
FOOTNOTES:
[15] Things seemed to be getting into somewhat the condition
contemplated in the satirical print of "The Man in the Moon,"
which appeared as frontispiece to a tract published in London
in 1776, entitled "A Plea of the Colonies on the Charges
brought against them by Lord Mansfield and others." The Man in
the Moon is George III. looking through a telescope held by
his Tory chief justice, whose sleeve shows the Scotch plaid of
Clan Murray. He looks upon a reversed and topsy-turvy world,
in which New York (whose true latitude is nearly the same as
that of Naples) appears farther north than London, and America
is east of Europe. The American coast is covered with vast
armies, and the whole British fleet is on its way thither,
leaving England exposed to the attack of a French host
gathered at Dunkirk. Meanwhile the Gallic cock crows lustily,
and the sketchy outline of Great Britain indicates that the
artist supposes the island "may be so far wasted before the
year 1800, that people will hardly know where the nation
resided that was once so formidable." See _Tracts_ 985,
Harvard University Library.
[16] "This episode appears to me the most criminal in the whole
reign of George III., and in my own judgment it is as criminal
as any of those acts which led Charles I. to the scaffold."
Lecky, _History of England in the Eighteenth Century_, vol. iv.
p. 83.
CHAPTER IX
VALLEY FORGE
[Sidenote: Distress in America]
Lord George Germain's scheme for tiring out the Americans could not seem
altogether hopeless. Though from a military point of view the honours of
the war thus far remained with them, yet the losses and suffering had
been very great. The disturbance of trade was felt even more severely in
America than in England, and it was further exacerbated by the evils of
a depreciated currency. The country had entered into the war heavily
handicapped by the voluntary stoppage of importation which had prevailed
for several years. The war had cut off New England from the Newfoundland
fisheries and the trade with the West Indies, and the coasting trade had
been nearly annihilated by British cruisers. The problem of managing the
expenses of a great war was something quite new to the Americans, and
the consequent waste and extravagance were complicated and enhanced by
the curse of paper money. Congress, as a mere advisory body, could only
recommend to the various states the measures of taxation which were
deemed necessary for the support of the army. It had no authority to
raise taxes in any state, nor had it any power to constrain the
government of a state to raise taxes. The states were accordingly all
delinquent, and there was no resource left for Congress but to issue its
promissory notes. Congress already owed more than forty million dollars,
and during the first half of the year 1778 the issues of paper money
amounted to twenty-three millions. The depreciation had already become
alarming, and the most zealous law-making was of course powerless to
stop it.
[Sidenote: Lack of organization]
Until toward the close of the Revolutionary War, indeed, the United
States had no regularly organized government. At the time of the
Declaration of Independence a committee had been appointed by Congress
to prepare articles of confederation, to be submitted to the states for
their approval. These articles were ready by the summer of 1778, but it
was not until the spring of 1781, that all the states had signed them.
While the thirteen distinct sovereignties in the United States were
visible in clear outline, the central government was something very
shadowy and ill-defined. Under these circumstances, the military
efficiency of the people was reduced to a minimum. The country never put
forth more than a small fraction of its available strength. Everything
suffered from the want of organization. In spite of the popular ardour,
which never seems to have been deficient when opportunities came for
testing it, there was almost as much difficulty in keeping up the
numbers of the army by enlistment as in providing equipment, sustenance,
and pay for the soldiers when once enlisted. The army of 80,000 men,
which Congress had devised in the preceding year, had never existed
except on paper. The action of Congress had not, indeed, been barren of
results, but it had fallen far short of the end proposed. During the
campaigns of 1777 the army of Washington had never exceeded 11,000 men;
while of the 20,000 or more who witnessed the surrender of Burgoyne, at
least half were local militia, assembled merely to meet the exigencies
of the moment. The whole country, indeed, cherished such a horror of
armies that it was unjust even to the necessary instrument by which its
independence was to be won; and it sympathized with Congress in the
niggardly policy which, by discouraging pensions, endangered the future
of brave and skilful officers who were devoting the best years of their
lives to the public service. Washington's earnest efforts to secure for
retired officers the promise of half pay for life succeeded only in
obtaining it for the term of seven years. The excessive dread of a
standing army made it difficult to procure long enlistments, and the
frequent changes in the militia, besides being ruinous to discipline,
entailed a sad waste of equipments and an interruption of agriculture
which added much to the burdens of the people.
[Illustration: WASHINGTON'S HEADQUARTERS AT VALLEY FORGE]
[Sidenote: Vexatious meddling of Congress]
[Sidenote: Sufferings at Valley Forge]
Besides these evils, for which no one in particular was to blame, since
they resulted so directly from the general state of the country, the
army suffered under other drawbacks, which were immediately traceable to
the incapacity of Congress. Just as afterwards, in the War of Secession,
the soldiers had often to pay the penalty for the sins of the
politicians. A single specimen of the ill-timed meddling of Congress may
serve as an example. At one of the most critical moments of the year
1777, Congress made a complete change in the commissariat, which had
hitherto been efficiently managed by a single officer, Colonel Joseph
Trumbull. Two commissary-generals were now appointed, one of whom was to
superintend the purchase and the other the issue of supplies; and the
subordinate officers of the department were to be accountable, not to
their superiors, but directly to Congress. This was done in spite of the
earnest opposition of Washington, and the immediate result was just what
he expected. Colonel Trumbull, who had been retained as
commissary-general for purchases, being unable to do his work properly
without controlling his subordinate officers, soon resigned his place.
The department was filled up with men selected without reference to
fitness, and straightway fell into hopeless confusion, whereby the
movements of the armies were grievously crippled for the rest of the
season. On the 22d of December Washington was actually prevented from
executing a most promising movement against General Howe, because two
brigades had become mutinous for want of food. For three days they had
gone without bread, and for two days without meat. The quartermaster's
department was in no better condition. The dreadful sufferings of
Washington's army at Valley Forge have called forth the pity and the
admiration of historians; but the point of the story is lost unless we
realize that this misery resulted from gross mismanagement rather than
from the poverty of the country. As the poor soldiers marched on the
17th of December to their winter quarters, their route could be traced
on the snow by the blood that oozed from bare, frost-bitten feet; yet at
the same moment, says Gordon, "hogsheads of shoes, stockings, and
clothing were lying at different places on the roads and in the woods,
perishing for want of teams, or of money to pay the teamsters." On the
23d, Washington informed Congress that he had in camp 2,898 men "unfit
for duty, because they are barefoot, and otherwise naked." For want of
blankets, many were fain "to sit up all night by fires, instead of
taking comfortable rest in a natural and common way." Cold and hunger
daily added many to the sick-list; and in the crowded hospitals, which
were for the most part mere log-huts or frail wigwams woven of twisted
boughs, men sometimes died for want of straw to put between themselves
and the frozen ground on which they lay. In the deficiency of oxen and
draft-horses, gallant men volunteered to serve as beasts of burden,
and, yoking themselves to wagons, dragged into camp such meagre supplies
as they could obtain for their sick and exhausted comrades. So great was
the distress that there were times when, in case of an attack by the
enemy, scarcely two thousand men could have been got under arms. When
one thinks of these sad consequences wrought by a negligent
quartermaster and a deranged commissariat, one is strongly reminded of
the remark once made by the eccentric Charles Lee, when with caustic
alliteration he described Congress as "a stable of stupid cattle that
stumbled at every step."
[Sidenote: Promoting officers for non-military reasons]
The mischief did not end, however, with the demoralization of the
departments that were charged with supplying the army. In the
appointment and promotion of general officers, Congress often acted upon
principles which, if consistently carried out, would have ruined the
efficiency of any army that ever existed. For absurdly irrelevant
political reasons, brave and well-tried officers were passed by, and
juniors, comparatively little known, were promoted over their heads. The
case of Benedict Arnold was the most conspicuous and flagrant example of
this. After his good name had been destroyed by his treason, it became
customary for historians to cite the restiveness of Arnold under such
treatment as one more proof of his innate wickedness. But Arnold was not
the only officer who was sensitive about his rank. In June, 1777, it was
rumoured about Washington's camp that a Frenchman named Ducoudray was
about to be appointed to the chief command of the artillery, with the
rank of major-general. Congress was continually beset with applications
from vagrant foreign officers in quest of adventure; and such
appointments as this were sometimes made, no doubt, in that provincial
spirit which it has taken Americans so long to outgrow, and which sees
all things European in rose-colour. As soon as the report concerning
Ducoudray reached the camp, Generals Greene, Sullivan, and Knox each
wrote a letter to Congress, proffering their resignations in case the
report were true; and the three letters were dated on the same day.
Congress was very angry at this, and the three generals were abused
without stint. The affair, however, was more serious than Congress had
supposed, and the contemplated appointment of Ducoudray was not made.
The language of John Adams with reference to matters of this sort was
more pungent than wise, and it gave clear expression to the principles
upon which Congress too often acted. This "delicate point of honour" he
stigmatized as "one of the most putrid corruptions of absolute
monarchy." He would be glad to see Congress elect all the general
officers annually; and if some great men should be obliged to go home in
consequence of this, he did not believe the country would be ruined! The
jealousy with which the several states insisted upon "a share of the
general officers" in proportion to their respective quotas of troops, he
characterized as a just and sound policy. It was upon this principle, he
confessed, that many promotions had been made; and if the generals were
so unreasonable as not to like it, they must "abide the consequences of
their discontent." Such expressions of feeling, in which John Adams
found many sympathizers, bear curious testimony to the intense distrust
with which our poor little army was regarded on account of the
monarchical tendencies supposed to be necessarily inherent in a military
organization. This policy, which seemed so "sound" to John Adams, was
simply an attempt to apply to the regimen of the army a set of
principles fit only for the organization of political assemblies; and if
it had been consistently adopted, it is probable that Lord George
Germain's scheme of tiring the Americans out would have succeeded beyond
his most sanguine expectations.
[Sidenote: Absurd talk of John Adams]
But the most dangerous ground upon which Congress ventured during the
whole course of the war was connected with the dark intrigues of those
officers who wished to have Washington removed from the chief command
that Gates might be put in his place. We have seen how successful Gates
had been in supplanting Schuyler on the eve of victory. Without having
been under fire or directing any important operation, Gates had carried
off the laurels of the northern campaign. From many persons, no doubt,
he got credit even for what had happened before he joined the army, on
the 19th of August. His appointment dated from the 2d, before either the
victory of Stark or the discomfiture of St. Leger; and it was easy for
people to put dates together uncritically, and say that before the 2d of
August Burgoyne had continued to advance into the country, and nothing
could check him until after Gates had been appointed to command. The
very air rang with the praises of Gates, and his weak head was not
unnaturally turned with so much applause. In his dispatches announcing
the surrender of Burgoyne, he not only forgot to mention the names of
Arnold and Morgan, who had won for him the decisive victory, but he even
seemed to forget that he was serving under a commander-in-chief, for he
sent his dispatches directly to Congress, leaving Washington to learn of
the event through hearsay. Thirteen days after the surrender, Washington
wrote to Gates, congratulating him upon his success. "At the same time,"
said the letter, "I cannot but regret that a matter of such magnitude,
and so interesting to our general operations, should have reached me by
report only, or through the channels of letters not bearing that
authenticity which the importance of it required, and which it would
have received by a line over your signature stating the simple fact."
[Sidenote: Gates is puffed up with success]
[Sidenote: and shows symptoms of insubordination]
But, worse than this, Gates kept his victorious army idle at Saratoga
after the whole line of the Hudson was cleared of the enemy, and would
not send reinforcements to Washington. Congress so far upheld him in
this as to order that Washington should not detach more than 2,500 men
from the northern army without consulting Gates and Governor Clinton. It
was only with difficulty that Washington, by sending Colonel Hamilton
with a special message, succeeded in getting back Morgan with his
riflemen. When reinforcements finally did arrive, it was too late. Had
they come more promptly, Howe would probably have been unable to take
the forts on the Delaware, without control of which he could not have
stayed in Philadelphia. But the blame for the loss of the forts was by
many people thrown upon Washington, whose recent defeats at Brandywine
and Germantown were now commonly contrasted with the victories at the
North.
[Portrait: A Hamilton]
[Signature: Thomas Conway]
[Portrait: Tho Mifflin]
[Sidenote: The Conway Cabal]
The moment seemed propitious for Gates to try his peculiar strategy once
more, and displace Washington as he had already displaced Schuyler.
Assistants were not wanting for this dirty work. Among the foreign
adventurers then with the army was one Thomas Conway, an Irishman, who
had been for a long time in the French service, and, coming over to
America, had taken part in the Pennsylvania campaign. Washington had
opposed Conway's claims for undue promotion, and the latter at once
threw himself with such energy into the faction then forming against the
commander-in-chief that it soon came to be known as the "Conway Cabal."
The other principal members of the cabal were Thomas Mifflin, the
quartermaster-general, and James Lovell, a delegate from Massachusetts,
who had been Schuyler's bitterest enemy in Congress. It was at one time
reported that Samuel Adams was in sympathy with the cabal, and the
charge has been repeated by many historians, but it seems to have
originated in a malicious story set on foot by some of the friends of
John Hancock. At the beginning of the war, Hancock, whose overweening
vanity often marred his usefulness, had hoped to be made
commander-in-chief, and he never forgave Samuel Adams for preferring
Washington for that position. In the autumn of 1777, Hancock resigned
his position as president of Congress, and was succeeded by Henry
Laurens, of South Carolina. On the day when Hancock took leave of
Congress, a motion was made to present him with the thanks of that body
in acknowledgment of his admirable discharge of his duty; but the New
England delegates, who had not been altogether satisfied with him,
defeated the motion on general grounds, and established the principle
that it was injudicious to pass such complimentary votes in the case of
any president. This action threw Hancock into a rage, which was chiefly
directed against Samuel Adams as the most prominent member of the
delegation; and after his return to Boston it soon became evident that
he had resolved to break with his old friend and patron. Artful stories,
designed to injure Adams, were in many instances traced to persons who
were in close relation with Hancock. After the fall of the cabal, no
more deadly stab could be dealt to the reputation of any man than to
insinuate that he had given it aid or sympathy; and there is good
ground for believing that such reports concerning Adams were
industriously circulated by unscrupulous partisans of the angry Hancock.
The story was revived at a later date by the friends of Hamilton, on the
occasion of the schism between Hamilton and John Adams, but it has not
been well sustained. The most plausible falsehoods, however, are those
which are based upon misconstrued facts; and it is certain that Samuel
Adams had not only favoured the appointment of Gates in the North, but
he had sometimes spoken with impatience of the so-called Fabian policy
of Washington. In this he was like many other ardent patriots whose
military knowledge was far from commensurate with their zeal. His
cousin, John Adams, was even more outspoken. He declared himself "sick
of Fabian systems." "My toast," he said, "is a short and violent war;"
and he complained of the reverent affection which the people felt for
Washington as an "idolatry" dangerous to American liberty. It was by
working upon such impatient moods as these, in which high-minded men
like the Adamses sometimes indulged, that unscrupulous men like Gates
hoped to attain their ends.
[Portrait: Benjamin Rush]
[Sidenote: Attempts to injure Washington]
[Sidenote: Conway's letter to Gates]
The first fruits of the cabal in Congress were seen in the
reorganization of the Board of War in November, 1777. Mifflin was chosen
a member of the board, and Gates was made its president, with permission
to serve in the field should occasion require it. Gates was thus, in a
certain sense, placed over Washington's head; and soon afterward Conway
was made inspector-general of the army, with the rank of major-general.
In view of Washington's well-known opinions, the appointments of Mifflin
and Conway might be regarded as an open declaration of hostility on the
part of Congress. Some weeks before, in regard to the rumour that Conway
was to be promoted, Washington had written, "It will be impossible for
me to be of any further service, if such insuperable difficulties are
thrown in my way." Such language might easily be understood as a
conditional threat of resignation, and Conway's appointment was probably
urged by the conspirators with the express intention of forcing
Washington to resign. Should this affront prove ineffectual, they hoped,
by dint of anonymous letters and base innuendoes, to make the
commander's place too hot for him. It was asserted that Washington's
army had all through the year outnumbered Howe's more than three to one.
The distress of the soldiers was laid at his door; the sole result, if
not the sole object, of his many marches, according to James Lovell, was
to wear out their shoes and stockings. An anonymous letter to Patrick
Henry, then governor of Virginia, dated from York, where Congress was
sitting, observed: "We have wisdom, virtue, and strength enough to save
us, if they could be called into action. The northern army has shown us
what Americans are capable of doing with a general at their head. The
spirit of the southern army is no way inferior to the spirit of the
northern. A Gates, a Lee, or a Conway would in a few weeks render them
an irresistible body of men. Some of the contents of this letter ought
to be made public, in order to awaken, enlighten, and alarm our
country." Henry sent this letter to Washington, who instantly recognized
the well-known handwriting of Dr. Benjamin Rush. Another anonymous
letter, sent to President Laurens, was still more emphatic: "It is a
very great reproach to America to say there is only one general in it.
The great success to the northward was owing to a change of commanders;
and the southern army would have been alike successful if a similar
change had taken place. The people of America have been guilty of
idolatry by making a man their God, and the God of heaven and earth
will convince them by woful experience that he is only a man; for no
good can be expected from our army until Baal and his worshippers are
banished from camp." This mischievous letter was addressed to Congress,
but, instead of laying it before that body, the high-minded Laurens sent
it directly to Washington. But the commander-in-chief was forewarned,
and neither treacherous missives like these, nor the direct affronts of
Congress, were allowed to disturb his equanimity. Just before leaving
Saratoga, Gates received from Conway a letter containing an allusion to
Washington so terse and pointed as to be easily remembered and quoted,
and Gates showed this letter to his young confidant and aid-de-camp,
Wilkinson. A few days afterward, when Wilkinson had reached York with
the dispatches relating to Burgoyne's surrender, he fell in with a
member of Lord Stirling's staff, and under the genial stimulus of
Monongahela whiskey repeated the malicious sentence. Thus it came to
Stirling's ears, and he straightway communicated it to Washington by
letter, saying that he should always deem it his duty to expose such
wicked duplicity. Thus armed, Washington simply sent to Conway the
following brief note:--
"SIR,--A letter which I received last night contained the following
paragraph: 'In a letter from General Conway to General Gates, he says,
_Heaven has determined to save your country, or a weak General and bad
counsellors would have ruined it_.' I am, sir, your humble servant.
GEORGE WASHINGTON."
[Portrait: Stirling]
[Sidenote: Gates's letter to Washington]
Conway knew not what sort of answer to make to this startling note. When
Mifflin heard of it, he wrote at once to Gates, telling him that an
extract from one of Conway's letters had fallen into Washington's hands,
and advising him to take better care of his papers in future. All the
plotters were seriously alarmed; for their scheme was one which would
not bear the light for a moment, and Washington's curt letter left them
quite in the dark as to the extent of his knowledge. "There is scarcely
a man living," protested Gates, "who takes greater care of his papers
than I do. I never fail to lock them up, and keep the key in my pocket."
One thing was clear: there must be no delay in ascertaining how much
Washington knew and where he got his knowledge. After four anxious days
it occurred to Gates that it must have been Washington's aid-de-camp,
Hamilton, who had stealthily gained access to his papers during his
short visit to the northern camp. Filled with this idea, Gates chuckled
as he thought he saw a way of diverting attention from the subject
matter of the letters to the mode in which Washington had got possession
of their contents. He sat down and wrote to the commander-in-chief,
saying he had learned that some of Conway's confidential letters to
himself had come into his excellency's hands: such letters must have
been copied by stealth, and he hoped his excellency would assist him in
unearthing the wretch who prowled about and did such wicked things, for
obviously it was unsafe to have such creatures in the camp; they might
disclose precious secrets to the enemy. And so important did the matter
seem that he sent a duplicate of the present letter to Congress, in
order that every imaginable means might be adopted for detecting the
culprit without a moment's delay. The purpose of this elaborate artifice
was to create in Congress, which as yet knew nothing of the matter, an
impression unfavourable to Washington, by making it appear that he
encouraged his aids-de-camp in prying into the portfolios of other
generals. For, thought Gates, it is as clear as day that Hamilton was
the man; nobody else could have done it.
[Portrait: J Wilkinson]
[Sidenote: Washington's reply]
But Gates's silly glee was short-lived. Washington discerned at a glance
the treacherous purpose of the letter, and foiled it by the simple
expedient of telling the plain truth. "Your letter," he replied, "came
to my hand a few days ago, and, to my great surprise, informed me that a
copy of it had been sent to Congress, for what reason I find myself
unable to account; but as some end was doubtless intended to be answered
by it, I am laid under the disagreeable necessity of returning my answer
through the same channel, lest any member of that honourable body should
harbour an unfavourable suspicion of my having practised some indirect
means to come at the contents of the confidential letters between you
and General Conway." After this ominous prelude, Washington went on to
relate how Wilkinson had babbled over his cups, and a certain sentence
from one of Conway's letters had thereupon been transmitted to him by
Lord Stirling. He had communicated this discovery to Conway, to let that
officer know that his intriguing disposition was observed and watched.
He had mentioned this to no one else but Lafayette, for he thought it
indiscreet to let scandals arise in the army, and thereby "afford a
gleam of hope to the enemy." He had not known that Conway was in
correspondence with Gates, and had even supposed that Wilkinson's
information was given with Gates's sanction, and with friendly intent to
forearm him against a secret enemy. "But in this," he disdainfully adds,
"as in other matters of late, I have found myself mistaken."
[Portrait: HORATIO GATES]
[Sidenote: Gates tries, unsuccessfully, to save himself by lying]
So the schemer had overreached himself. It was not Washington's
aid-de-camp who had pried, but it was Gates's own aid who had blabbed.
But for Gates's treacherous letter, Washington would not even have
suspected him; and, to crown all, he had only himself to thank for
rashly blazoning before Congress a matter so little to his credit, and
which Washington, in his generous discretion, would forever have kept
secret. Amid this discomfiture, however, a single ray of hope could be
discerned. It appeared that Washington had known nothing beyond the one
sentence which had come to him as quoted in conversation by Wilkinson. A
downright falsehood might now clear up the whole affair, and make
Wilkinson the scapegoat for all the others. Gates accordingly wrote
again to Washington, denying his intimacy with Conway, declaring that he
had never received but a single letter from him, and solemnly protesting
that this letter contained no such paragraph as that of which
Washington had been informed. The information received through Wilkinson
he denounced as a villainous slander. But these lies were too
transparent to deceive any one, for in his first letter Gates had
implicitly admitted the existence of several letters between himself and
Conway, and his manifest perturbation of spirit had shown that these
letters contained remarks that he would not for the world have had
Washington see. A cold and contemptuous reply from Washington made all
this clear, and put Gates in a very uncomfortable position, from which
there was no retreat.
[Sidenote: but is successful, as usual, in keeping from under fire]
When the matter came to the ears of Wilkinson, who had just been
appointed secretary of the Board of War, and was on his way to Congress,
his youthful blood boiled at once. He wrote bombastic letters to
everybody, and challenged Gates to deadly combat. A meeting was arranged
for sunrise, behind the Episcopal church at York, with pistols. At the
appointed hour, when all had arrived on the ground, the old general
requested, through his second, an interview with his young antagonist,
walked up a back street with him, burst into tears, called him his dear
boy, and denied that he had ever made any injurious remarks about him.
Wilkinson's wrath was thus assuaged for a moment, only to blaze forth
presently with fresh violence, when he made inquiries of Washington, and
was allowed to read the very letter in which his general had slandered
him. He instantly wrote a letter to Congress, accusing Gates of
treachery and falsehood, and resigned his position on the Board of War.
[Sidenote: The forged letters]
These revelations strengthened Washington in proportion as they showed
the malice and duplicity of his enemies. About this time a pamphlet was
published in London, and republished in New York, containing letters
which purported to have been written by Washington to members of his
family, and to have been found in the possession of a mulatto servant
taken prisoner at Fort Lee. The letters, if genuine, would have proved
their author to be a traitor to the American cause; but they were so
bunglingly concocted that every one knew them to be a forgery, and their
only effect was to strengthen Washington still more, while throwing
further discredit upon the cabal, with which many persons were inclined
to connect them.
[Illustration: PISTOL GIVEN TO WASHINGTON BY LAFAYETTE]
[Sidenote: Scheme for invading Canada]
The army and the people were now becoming incensed at the plotters, and
the press began to ridicule them, while the reputation of Gates suffered
greatly in Congress as the indications of his real character were
brought to light. All that was needed to complete the discomfiture of
the cabal was a military fiasco, and this was soon forthcoming. In order
to detach Lafayette from Washington, a winter expedition against Canada
was devised by the Board of War. Lafayette, a mere boy, scarcely twenty
years old, was invited to take the command, with Conway for his chief
lieutenant. It was said that the French population of Canada would be
sure to welcome the high-born Frenchman as their deliverer from the
British yoke; and it was further thought that the veteran Irish schemer
might persuade his young commander to join the cabal, and bring to it
such support as might be gained from the French alliance, then about to
be completed. Congress was persuaded to authorize the expedition, and
Washington was not consulted in the matter.
[Sidenote: The dinner at York]
[Sidenote: Lafayette's toast]
But Lafayette knew his own mind better than was supposed. He would not
accept the command until he had obtained Washington's consent, and then
he made it an indispensable condition that Baron de Kalb, who outranked
Conway, should accompany the expedition. These preliminaries having been
arranged, the young general went to York for his instructions. There he
found Gates, surrounded by schemers and sycophants, seated at a very
different kind of dinner from that to which Lafayette had lately been
used at Valley Forge. Hilarious with wine, the company welcomed the new
guest with acclamations. He was duly flattered and toasted, and a
glorious campaign was predicted. Gates assured him that on reaching
Albany he would find 3,000 regulars ready to march, while powerful
assistance was to be expected from the valiant Stark with his
redoubtable Green Mountain Boys. The marquis listened with placid
composure till his papers were brought him, and he felt it to be time to
go. Then rising as if for a speech, while all eyes were turned upon him
and breathless silence filled the room, he reminded the company that
there was one toast which, in the generous excitement of the occasion,
they had forgotten to drink, and he begged leave to propose the health
of the commander-in-chief of the armies of the United States. The deep
silence became still deeper. None dared refuse the toast, "but some
merely raised their glasses to their lips, while others cautiously put
them down untasted." With the politest of bows and a scarcely
perceptible shrug of the shoulder, the new commander of the northern
army left the room, and mounted his horse to start for his headquarters
at Albany.
[Illustration: SEALS GIVEN TO WASHINGTON BY LAFAYETTE]
[Sidenote: Absurdity of the scheme]
When he got there, he found neither troops, supplies, nor equipments in
readiness. Of the army to which Burgoyne had surrendered, the militia
had long since gone home, while most of the regulars had been withdrawn
to Valley Forge or the highlands of the Hudson. Instead of 3,000
regulars which Gates had promised, barely 1,200 could be found, and
these were in no wise clothed or equipped for a winter march through the
wilderness. Between carousing and backbiting, the new Board of War had
no time left to attend to its duties. Not an inch of the country but was
known to Schuyler, Lincoln, and Arnold, and they assured Lafayette that
an invasion of Canada, under the circumstances, would be worthy of Don
Quixote. In view of the French alliance, moreover, the conquest of
Canada had even ceased to seem desirable to the Americans; for when
peace should be concluded the French might insist upon retaining it, in
compensation for their services. The men of New England greatly
preferred Great Britain to France as a neighbour, and accordingly Stark,
with his formidable Green Mountain Boys, felt no interest whatever in
the enterprise, and not a dozen volunteers could be got together for
love or money.
[Sidenote: Downfall of the cabal]
The fiasco was so complete, and the scheme itself so emphatically
condemned by public opinion, that Congress awoke from its infatuation.
Lafayette and Kalb were glad to return to Valley Forge. Conway, who
stayed behind, became indignant with Congress over some fancied slight,
and sent a conditional threat of resignation, which, to his unspeakable
amazement, was accepted unconditionally. In vain he urged that he had
not meant exactly what he said, having lost the nice use of English
during his long stay in France. His entreaties and objurgations fell
upon deaf ears. In Congress the day of the cabal was over. Mifflin and
Gates were removed from the Board of War. The latter was sent to take
charge of the forts on the Hudson, and cautioned against forgetting that
he was to report to the commander-in-chief. The cabal and its deeds
having become the subject of common gossip, such friends as it had
mustered now began stoutly to deny their connection with it. Conway
himself was dangerously wounded a few months afterward in a duel with
General Cadwallader, and, believing himself to be on his deathbed, he
wrote a very humble letter to Washington, expressing his sincere grief
for having ever done or said anything with intent to injure so great and
good a man. His wound proved not to be mortal, but on his recovery,
finding himself generally despised and shunned, he returned to France,
and American history knew him no more.
[Illustration: POPULAR PORTRAITS FROM BICKERSTAFF'S ALMANAC, 1778]
[Sidenote: Decline of the Continental Congress]
Had Lord George Germain been privy to the secrets of the Conway cabal,
his hope of wearing out the American cause would have been sensibly
strengthened. There was really more danger in such intrigues than in an
exhausted treasury, a half-starved army, and defeat on the field. The
people felt it to be so, and the events of the winter left a stain upon
the reputation of the Continental Congress from which it never fully
recovered. Congress had already lost the high personal consideration to
which it was entitled at the outset. Such men as Franklin, Washington,
Jefferson, Henry, Jay, and Rutledge were now serving in other
capacities. The legislatures of the several states afforded a more
promising career for able men than the Continental Congress, which had
neither courts nor magistrates, nor any recognized position of
sovereignty. The meetings of Congress were often attended by no more
than ten or twelve members. Curious symptoms were visible which seemed
to show that the sentiment of union between the states was weaker than
it had been two years before. Instead of the phrase "people of the
United States," one begins, in 1778, to hear of "inhabitants of these
Confederated States." In the absence of any central sovereignty which
could serve as the symbol of union, it began to be feared that the new
nation might after all be conquered through its lack of political
cohesion. Such fears came to cloud the rejoicings over the victory of
Saratoga, as, at the end of 1777, the Continental Congress began visibly
to lose its place in public esteem, and sink, step by step, into the
utter degradation and impotence which was to overwhelm it before another
ten years should have expired.
[Sidenote: Increasing influence of Washington]
As the defeat of the Conway cabal marked the beginning of the decline of
Congress, it marked at the same time the rise of Washington to a higher
place in the hearts of the people than he had ever held before. As the
silly intrigues against him recoiled upon their authors, men began to
realize that it was far more upon his consummate sagacity and unselfish
patriotism than upon anything that Congress could do that the country
rested its hopes of success in the great enterprise which it had
undertaken. As the nullity of Congress made it ever more apparent that
the country as a whole was without a government, Washington stood forth
more and more conspicuously as the living symbol of the union of the
states. In him and his work were centred the common hopes and the common
interests of all the American people. There was no need of clothing him
with extraordinary powers. During the last years of the war he came,
through sheer weight of personal character, to wield an influence like
that which Perikles had wielded over the Athenians. He was all-powerful
because he was "first in the hearts of his countrymen." Few men, since
history began, had ever occupied so lofty a position; none ever made a
more disinterested use of power. His arduous labours taught him to
appreciate, better than any one else, the weakness entailed upon the
country by the want of a stable central government. But when the war was
over, and the political problem came into the foreground, instead of
using this knowledge to make himself personally indispensable to the
country, he bent all the weight of his character and experience toward
securing the adoption of such a federal constitution as should make
anything like a dictatorship forever unnecessary and impossible.
CHAPTER X.
MONMOUTH AND NEWPORT.
[Illustration: SWORD GIVEN TO WASHINGTON BY FREDERICK THE GREAT]
[Sidenote: Baron Friedrich von Steuben]
During the dreary winter at Valley Forge, Washington busied himself in
improving the organization of his army. The fall of the Conway cabal
removed many obstacles. Greene was persuaded, somewhat against his
wishes, to serve as quartermaster-general, and forthwith the duties of
that important office were discharged with zeal and promptness. Conway's
resignation opened the way for a most auspicious change in the
inspectorship of the army. Of all the foreign officers who served under
Washington during the War for Independence, the Baron von Steuben was in
many respects the most important. Member of a noble family which for
five centuries had been distinguished in the local annals of Magdeburg,
Steuben was one of the best educated and most experienced soldiers of
Germany. His grandfather, an able theologian, was well known as the
author of a critical treatise on the New Testament. His uncle, an
eminent mathematician, had been the inventor of a new system of
fortification. His father had seen half a century of honourable service
in the corps of engineers. He had himself held the rank of first
lieutenant at the beginning of the Seven Years' War, and after excellent
service in the battles of Prague, Rossbach, and Kunersdorf he was raised
to a position on the staff of Frederick the Great. At the end of the
war, when the thrifty king reduced his army, and Blücher with other
officers afterward famous left the service, Steuben retired to private
life, with the honorary rank of General of the Circle of Swabia. For
more than ten years he was grand marshal to the Prince of
Hohenzollern-Hechingen. Then he went travelling about Europe, until in
the spring of 1777 he arrived in Paris, and became acquainted with
Franklin and Beaumarchais.
[Portrait: Steuben]
[Portrait: Frederic]
The American alliance was already secretly contemplated by the French
ministry, and the astute Vergennes, knowing that the chief defect of our
armies lay in their want of organization and discipline, saw in the
scientific German soldier an efficient instrument for remedying the
evil. After much hesitation Steuben was persuaded to undertake the task.
That his arrival upon the scene might excite no heart-burning among the
American officers, the honorary rank which he held in Germany was
translated by Vergennes into the rank of lieutenant-general, which the
Americans would at once recognize as more eminent than any position
existing in their own army except that of the commander-in-chief.
[Sidenote: Steuben arrives in America]
Knowing no English, Steuben took with him as secretary and interpreter
the youthful Pierre Duponceau, afterward famous as a lawyer, and still
more famous as a philologist. One day, on shipboard, this gay young
Frenchman laid a wager that he would kiss the first Yankee girl he
should meet on landing. So as they came ashore at Portsmouth on a frosty
December day, he gravely stepped up to a pretty New Hampshire maiden who
was passing by, and told her that before leaving his native land to
fight for American freedom he had taken a vow to ask, in earnest of
victory, a kiss from the first lady he should meet. The prayer of
chivalry found favour in the eyes of the fair Puritan, and the token of
success was granted.
[Sidenote: and visits Congress at York]
At Boston John Hancock furnished the party with sleighs, drivers, and
saddle-horses for the inland journey of more than four hundred miles to
York. During this cheerful journey, which it took three weeks to
perform, Steuben's heart was warmed toward his new country by the
reminiscences of the Seven Years' War which he frequently encountered.
The name of Frederick was deservedly popular in America, and his
familiar features decorated the sign-board of many a wayside inn, while
on the coffee-room walls hung quaint prints with doggerel verses
commemorating Rossbach and Leuthen along with Louisburg and Quebec. On
arriving at York, the German general was received by Congress with
distinguished honours; and this time the confidence given to a trained
European soldier turned out to be well deserved. Throughout the war
Steuben proved no less faithful than capable. He came to feel a genuine
love for his adopted country, and after the war was over, retiring to
the romantic woodland near Oriskany, where so many families of German
lineage were already settled, and where the state of New York presented
him with a farm of sixteen thousand acres in acknowledgment of his
services, he lived the quiet life of a country gentleman until his death
in 1794. A little village some twelve miles north of the site of old
Fort Stanwix still bears his name and marks the position of his estate.
[Illustration: STEUBEN'S RUSTIC HOUSE AT ORISKANY]
[Sidenote: Steuben at Valley Forge]
After his interview with Congress, Steuben repaired at once to Valley
Forge, where Washington was not slow in recognizing his ability; nor was
Steuben, on the other hand, at a loss to perceive, in the ragged and
motley army which he passed in review, the existence of soldierly
qualities which needed nothing so much as training. Disregarding the
English prejudice which looked upon the drilling of soldiers as work fit
only for sergeants, he took musket in hand and showed what was to be
done. Alert and untiring, he worked from morning till night in showing
the men how to advance, retreat, or change front without falling into
disorder,--how to perform, in short, all the rapid and accurate
movements for which the Prussian army had become so famous. It was a
revelation to the American troops. Generals, colonels, and captains were
fired by the contagion of his example and his tremendous enthusiasm, and
for several months the camp was converted into a training-school, in
which masters and pupils worked with incessant and furious energy.
Steuben was struck with the quickness with which the common soldiers
learned their lessons. He had a harmlessly choleric temper, which was
part of his overflowing vigour, and sometimes, when drilling an awkward
squad, he would exhaust his stock of French and German oaths, and shout
for his aid to come and curse the blockheads in English. "Viens, mon ami
Walker," he would cry,--"viens, mon bon ami. Sacre-bleu! Gott-vertamn de
gaucherie of dese badauts. Je ne puis plus; I can curse dem no more!"
Yet in an incredibly short time, as he afterward wrote, these awkward
fellows had acquired a military air, had learned how to carry their
arms, and knew how to form into column, deploy, and execute manoeuvres
with precision. In May, 1778, after three months of such work, Steuben
was appointed inspector-general of the army, with the rank and pay of
major-general. The reforms which he introduced were so far-reaching that
after a year they were said to have saved more than 800,000 French
livres to the United States. No accounts had been kept of arms and
accoutrements, and owing to the careless good-nature which allowed every
recruit to carry home his musket as a keepsake, there had been a loss of
from five to eight thousand muskets annually. During the first year of
Steuben's inspectorship less than twenty muskets were lost. Half of the
arms at Valley Forge were found by Steuben without bayonets. The
American soldier had no faith in this weapon, because he did not know
how to use it; when he did not throw it away, he adapted it to culinary
purposes, holding on its point the beef which he roasted before his
camp-fire. Yet in little more than a year after Steuben's arrival we
shall see an American column, without firing a gun, storm the works at
Stony Point in one of the most spirited bayonet charges known to
history.
[Illustration: ENCAMPMENT AT VALLEY FORGE, 1777-1778]
[Illustration: HOWE'S HEADQUARTERS IN PHILADELPHIA]
[Sidenote: Steuben's manual of tactics]
Besides all this, it was Steuben who first taught the American army to
understand the value of an efficient staff. The want of such a staff had
been severely felt at the battle of Brandywine; but before the end of
the war Washington had become provided with a staff that Frederick need
not have despised. While busy with all these laborious reforms, the
good baron found time to prepare a new code of discipline and tactics,
based on Prussian experience, but adapted to the peculiar conditions of
American warfare; and this excellent manual held its place, long after
the death of its author, as the Blue Book of our army. In this
adaptation of means to ends, Steuben proved himself to be no martinet,
but a thorough military scholar; he was able not only to teach, but to
learn. And in the art of warfare there was one lesson which Europe now
learned from America. In woodland fights with the Indians, it had been
found desirable to act in loose columns, which could easily separate to
fall behind trees and reunite at brief notice; and in this way there had
been developed a kind of light infantry peculiar to America, and
especially adapted for skirmishing. It was light infantry of this sort
that, in the hands of Arnold and Morgan, had twice won the day in the
Saratoga campaign. Reduced to scientific shape by Steuben, and absorbed,
with all the other military knowledge of the age, by Napoleon, these
light-infantry tactics have come to play a great part on the European
battlefields of the nineteenth century.
[Sidenote: Sir William Howe resigns his command]
[Sidenote: The Mischianza]
Thus from the terrible winter at Valley Forge, in which the accumulated
evils of congressional mismanagement had done their best to destroy the
army, it came forth, nevertheless, stronger in organization and bolder
in spirit than ever before. On the part of the enemy nothing had been
done to molest it. The position at Valley Forge was a strong one, and
Sir William Howe found it easier to loiter in Philadelphia than to play
a strategic game against Washington in the depths of an American winter.
When Franklin at Paris first heard the news that Howe had taken
Philadelphia, knowing well how slight was the military value of the
conquest, he observed that it would be more correct to say that
Philadelphia had taken General Howe. And so it turned out, in more ways
than one; for his conduct in going there at all was roundly blamed by
the opposition in Parliament, and not a word was said in his behalf by
Lord George Germain. The campaign of 1777 had been such a bungling piece
of work that none of the chief actors, save Burgoyne, was willing
frankly to assume his share of responsibility for it. Sir William Howe
did not wish to disclose the secret of his peculiar obligations to the
traitor Lee; and it would have ruined Lord George Germain to have told
the story of the dispatch that never was sent. Lord George, who was
never noted for generosity, sought to screen himself by throwing the
blame for everything indiscriminately upon the two generals. Burgoyne,
who sat in Parliament, defended himself ably and candidly; and when Howe
heard what was going on, he sent in his resignation, in order that he
too might go home and defend himself. Besides this, he had grown sick of
the war, and was more than ever convinced that it must end in failure.
On the 18th of May, Philadelphia was the scene of a grand farewell
banquet, called the _Mischianza_,--a strange medley combining the modern
parade with the mediæval tournament, wherein seven silk-clad knights of
the Blended Rose and seven more of the Burning Mountain did amicably
break lances in honour of fourteen blooming damsels dressed in Turkish
costume, while triumphal arches, surmounted by effigies of Fame,
displayed inscriptions commemorating in fulsome Latin and French the
glories of the departing general. In these curious festivities,
savouring more strongly of Bruges in the fifteenth century than of
Philadelphia in the eighteenth, it was long after remembered that the
most prominent parts were taken by the ill-starred Major André and the
charming Miss Margaret Shippen, who was soon to become the wife of
Benedict Arnold. With such farewell ceremonies Sir William Howe set sail
for England, and Sir Henry Clinton took his place as commander-in-chief
of the British armies in America.
[Portrait: MAJOR ANDRÉ]
[Sidenote: The British evacuate Philadelphia, June 18, 1778]
[Sidenote: Arnold takes command at Philadelphia]
Washington's position at Valley Forge had held the British in check
through the winter. They had derived no advantage from the possession of
the "rebel capital," for such poor work as Congress could do was as well
done from York as from Philadelphia, and the political life of the
United States was diffused from one end of the country to the other. The
place was worthless as a basis for military operations. It was harder to
defend and harder to supply with food than the insular city of New York;
and, moreover, a powerful French fleet, under Count d'Estaing, was
approaching the American coast. With the control of the Delaware
imperilled, Philadelphia would soon become untenable, and, in accordance
with instructions received from the ministry, Sir Henry Clinton prepared
to evacuate the place and concentrate his forces at New York. His first
intention was to go by water; but finding that he had not transports
enough for his whole army, together with the Tory refugees who had put
themselves under his protection, he changed his plan. The Tories, to the
number of 3,000, with their personal effects, were sent on in the fleet,
while the army, encumbered with twelve miles of baggage wagons, began
its retreat across New Jersey. On the morning of the 18th of June, 1778,
the rear-guard of the British marched out of Philadelphia, and before
sunset the American advance marched in and took possession of the city.
General Arnold, whose crippled leg did not allow him to take the field,
was put in command, and after a fortnight both Congress and the state
government returned. Of the Tories who remained behind, twenty-five were
indicted, under the laws of Pennsylvania, for the crime of offering aid
to the enemy. Two Quakers, who had actually conducted a party of British
to a midnight attack upon an American outpost, were found guilty of
treason and hanged. The other twenty-three were either acquitted or
pardoned. Across the river, seventeen Tories, convicted of treason under
the laws of New Jersey, all received pardon from the governor.
[Illustration: MISCHIANZA HEADDRESS]
[Sidenote: Return of Charles Lee]
The British retreat from Philadelphia was regarded by the Americans as
equivalent to a victory, and Washington was anxious to enhance the moral
effect of it by a sudden blow which should cripple Sir Henry Clinton's
army. In force he was about equal to the enemy, both armies now
numbering about 15,000, while in equipment and discipline his men were
better off than ever before. Unfortunately, the American army had just
received one addition which went far to neutralize these advantages.
The mischief-maker Lee had returned. In the preceding summer the British
Major-general Prescott had been captured in Rhode Island, and after a
tedious negotiation of nine months Lee was exchanged for him. He arrived
at Valley Forge in May, and as Washington had found a lenient
interpretation for his outrageous conduct before his capture, while
nothing whatever was known of his treasonable plot with the Howes, he
naturally came back unquestioned to his old position as senior
major-general of the army. What a frightful situation for the Americans;
to have for the second officer in their army the man whom the chances of
war might at any moment invest with the chief command, such a villain as
this who had so lately been plotting their destruction! What would
Washington, what would Congress have thought, had the truth in its
blackness been so much as dreamed of? But why, we may ask, did the
intriguer come back? Why did he think it worth his while to pose once
more in the attitude of an American? Could it have been with the
intention of playing into the hands of the enemy? and could Sir Henry
Clinton have been aware of this purpose?
[Portrait: H Clinton]
[Sidenote: Lee's reasons for returning]