Some more years elapse, and when the curtain rises again on scenes of
war, momentous changes have occurred. To the last hour the former
officer of the colonial wars, now a man of forty-two, was still
expressing the wish "that the dispute had been left to posterity to
determine: but the crisis has arrived when we must assert our rights or
submit to every imposition that can be heaped upon us, till custom and
use make us as tame and abject slaves as the blacks we rule over with
such arbitrary sway." It was hard for him to reconcile himself to the
fact that the English were really to be the enemy; he long tried to
believe that the quarrel was not with England and her King, but only
with the ministry and their troops, which he calls the "ministerials."
Writing on the 31st of May, 1775, from Philadelphia, where he was
attending the second Continental Congress, to G.W. Fairfax in England,
he gave him an account of the clash between the "provincials" of
Massachusetts and "the ministerial troops: for we do not, nor can we yet
prevail upon ourselves to call them the King's troops."[158]
The war was to be, in his eyes, a fratricidal one: "Unhappy it is,
though, to reflect that a brother's sword has been sheathed in a
brother's breast, and that the once happy and peaceful plains of America
are either to be drenched with blood or inhabited by slaves. Sad
alternative! But can a virtuous man hesitate in his choice?"
Two weeks later the signer of this letter was appointed, on the
proposition of John Adams, of Massachusetts, commander-in-chief of a new
body of troops just entering history, and called the "Continental
Army."[159] Braddock's former aide was to become the leader of a yet
unborn nation, in an eight-year conflict with all-powerful Britain,
mistress of the coasts, mistress of the seas.
What that conflict was, and what the results have been, all the world
knows. There were sad days and bright days; there were Valley Forge and
Saratoga. "No man, I believe," Washington wrote concerning his own
fate, "had a greater choice of difficulties."[160]
The French had ceased by then to inspire Washington with disdain or
animosity; he was beginning to render them better justice, but his heart
was far as yet from being won. French volunteers had early begun to
flock to the American army, some of them as much an encumbrance as a
help. "They seem to be genteel, sensible men," wrote Washington to
Congress, in October, 1776, "and I have no doubt of their making good
officers as soon as they can learn so much of our language as to make
themselves well understood." One of them, the commander-in-chief
learned, was a young enthusiast who had left wife and child to serve the
American cause as a volunteer, and without pay, like George Washington
himself. He had crossed the ocean, escaping the British cruisers, on a
boat called _La Victoire_, he being called Lafayette. One more
encumbrance, audibly muttered the general, who wrote to Benjamin
Harrison: "What the designs of Congress respecting this gentleman were,
and what line of conduct I am to pursue to comply with their design and
his expectation, I know no more than the child unborn, and beg to be
instructed."[161]
"Give me a chance," pleaded Lafayette, still in Philadelphia; "I do not
want to be an honorary soldier." He came to camp, and it was a case of
friendship at first, or at least second, sight, which would need the pen
of a Plutarch to be told. In August, Washington had been wondering what
to do with the newcomer. On the 1st of November he wrote to Congress:
"... Besides, he is sensible, discreet in his manner, has made great
proficiency in our language, and from the disposition he discovered in
the battle of Brandywine possesses a large share of bravery and military
ardor."
Then it was that Washington had a chance to learn what those men really
were who had lodged so many bullets in his coat on the occasion of
Braddock's defeat; not at once, but by degrees he came to consider that
one peculiar trait in those former enemies made them worthy of his
friendship: their aptitude for disinterested enthusiasm for a cherished
idea.
Not at once; early prejudices and associations had left on him too deep
an imprint to be easily removed. He resisted longer than old Franklin,
and with a stiffer pen than that of the Philadelphia sage he would note
down his persisting suspicions and his reluctance to admit the
possibility of generous motives inspiring the French nation's policy. "I
have from the first," he wrote, in 1777, to his brother, John, "been
among those few who never built much upon a French war. I never did and
still do think they never meant more than to give us a kind of underhand
assistance; that is, to supply us with arms, etc., for our money and
trade. This may, indeed, if Great Britain has spirit and strength to
resent it, bring on a war; but the declaration of it on either side
must, I am convinced, come from the last-mentioned Power." It was not,
however, to be so.
Even after France alone had recognized the new nation, and she had
actually begun war on England, Washington remained unbending, his heart
would not melt. "Hatred of England," he wrote, "may carry some into an
excess of confidence in France.... I am heartily disposed to entertain
the most favorable sentiments of our new ally, and to cherish them in
others to a reasonable degree. But it is a maxim founded on the
universal experience of mankind that no nation is to be trusted farther
than it is bound by its interest, and no prudent statesman or politician
will venture to depart from it."[162]
After the Declaration of Independence, envoys had been sent to Europe
intrusted with the mission of securing the alliance, not especially of
France, but of all nations who might be touched by the fate of the
struggling colonists and inclined to help them in their fight for
liberty. Some of the envoys were not even admitted to the capitals of
the countries assigned to their efforts; others received only good
words.
Sent to Prussia, Arthur Lee, who had been previously refused admittance
to Madrid, could reach the capital (June 4, 1777), but not the King.
"There is no name," Lee wrote appealingly to the monarch, "so highly
respected among us as that of your Majesty. Hence there is no King the
declaration of whose friendship would inspire our own people with so
much courage." But the King would not be persuaded; he refused all help
in "artillery, arms, and money," though, Lee wrote to the committee of
foreign affairs, "I was well informed he had a considerable sum in his
treasury." Frederick would not relent, giving as a reason that, if he
agreed, the result would be much "inconvenience" for himself. He even
refused to receive Lee, whom he, however, allowed to see his army: a
mechanism without peer, the American envoy wrote to Washington, but only
a mechanism:
"The Prussian army, which amounts to 220,000 horse and foot, are
disciplined by force of hourly exercise and caning to move with a
rapidity and order so as to certainly exceed any troops in Europe." They
practise each day: "Every man is filed off singly, and passes in review
before different officers, who beat his limbs into the position they
think proper, so that the man appears to be purely a machine in the hand
of a workman."[163]
The furthest Frederick consented to go was to cause Lee to be assured,
when he left Prussia the following month (July, 1777), that he would
always receive with pleasure the news of any English reverse.
To the American appeal France alone answered, _Adsum_: for what motives,
has been shown above,[164] love of liberty rather than hatred of England
being the chief reason, and the rebellious colonies being popular in
France not so much because they wanted to throw off an English yoke as
because they wanted to throw off a yoke.
Up to the time when Rochambeau arrived Washington had seen during the
war more or less numerous specimens of the French race, but only
isolated specimens. He had heard of what they were doing as soldiers and
sailors, without himself seeing them in action. As gentlemen and
soldiers he held them, at that date, to be fit representatives of a
nation "old in war, very strict in military etiquette, and apt to take
fire where others scarcely seem warmed."[165] He noticed, however, after
Savannah, that with all that warmth they could, when put to the test,
prove steady, level-headed, and careful of their words: "While," he said
to General Lincoln, "I regret the misfortune, I feel a very sensible
pleasure in contemplating the gallant behavior of the officers and men
of the French and American army; and it adds not a little to my
consolation to learn that, instead of the mutual reproaches which often
follow the failure of enterprises depending upon the co-operation of
troops of different nations, their confidence in and esteem of each
other is increased."[166]
Concerning the French as sailors Washington did not conceal, however, to
his intimate friends his misgivings. He early felt that the issue of the
whole war and the independence of his country might depend on an at
least momentary domination of the sea, but felt great doubt as to the
possibility of this goal being reached. "In all probability," he
thought, "the advantage will be on the side of the English. And then
what would become of America? We ought not to deceive ourselves.... It
is an axiom that the nation which has the most extensive commerce will
always have the most powerful marine.... It is true, France in a manner
created a fleet in a very short space, and this may mislead us in the
judgment we form of her naval abilities.... We should consider what was
done by France as a violent and unnatural effort of the government,
which for want of sufficient foundation cannot continue to operate
proportionable effects." Moreover, though "the ability of her present
financier (Necker) has done wonders," France is not a rich country.[167]
When Rochambeau came with his 5,000 troops, on Ternay's fleet, which
carried numerous naval officers and sailors besides, Washington took, so
to say, personal contact with France herself, and was no longer
dependent upon his reading of hostile books, his souvenirs of the
colonial wars, or his impression from acquaintanceship with separate
individuals. The portraits in the _Spectator_ could less and less be
considered as portraits. Washington found himself among men of steady
mind and courteous manners, noteworthy not only for their fighting
qualities, but their sense of duty, their patience and endurance, their
desire to do well. As for the troops, they observed, as is well known,
so strict a discipline that the inhabitants, who expected nothing of
the sort, rather the reverse, were astonished and delighted.
Little by little Washington's heart was won. We did not, in that war,
conquer any land for ourselves, but we conquered Washington. For some
time more he remained only officially ours; the praise bestowed by him
on his allies and their country found place in his letters to
themselves, or in his reports to Congress, which were, in fact, public
documents. At last the day came when, writing only for himself, in a
journal not meant to be seen by anybody, he inscribed those three words:
"our generous allies." That day, May 1, 1781, Washington's heart was
really won.
From that moment what Washington wrote concerning the French, were
it addressed to themselves or to Congress, can be taken at its face
value, and very pleasant reading it is to this day for the compatriots
of those officers and soldiers who had the great man for their
commander-in-chief--such statements as this one, for example, sent to
Congress seven days before the Yorktown capitulation: "I cannot but
acknowledge the infinite obligations I am under to his Excellency, the
Count de Rochambeau, the Marquis de Saint-Simon, commanding the troops
from the West Indies, the other general officers, and indeed the officers
of every denomination in the French army, for the assistance which they
afford me. The experience of many of those gentlemen in the business
before us is of the utmost advantage in the present operation.... The
greatest harmony prevails between the two armies. They seem actuated by
one spirit, that of supporting the honor of the allied armies."[168] When,
in the course of the following year, the two armies which have never met
since, were about to part, their leader thus summed up his impressions:
"It may, I believe, with much truth be said that a greater harmony between
two armies never subsisted than that which has prevailed between the
French and Americans since the first junction of them last year."[169]
By the beginning of 1783 peace and American independence had been
practically secured. Washington is found duly solemnizing the
anniversary of the French alliance which had rendered those events
possible. "I intended," he says to General Greene, "to have wrote you a
long letter on sundry matters, but Major Burnet popped in unexpectedly
at a time when I was preparing for the celebration of the day, and was
just going to a review of the troops, previous to the _feu de joie_."
The orders issued by him on the occasion read thus: "The
commander-in-chief, who wishes on the return of this auspicious day to
diffuse the feelings of gratitude and pleasure as extensively as
possible, is pleased to grant a full and free pardon to all military
prisoners now in confinement."[170]
The orderly book used by Washington is still in existence, and from it
we learn that the parole given for the day was "America and France," and
the countersigns, "United," "Forever."