AID FROM FRANCE; TRAITORS
This month of July, 1778, marked two vital changes in the war. The
first was the transfer by the British of the field of operations to
the South. The second was the introduction of naval warfare through
the coming of the French. The British seemed to desire, from the day
of Concord and Lexington on, to blast every part of the Colonies with
military occupation and battles. After Washington drove them out
of Boston in March, 1776, they left the seaboard, except Newport,
entirely free. Then for nearly three years they gave their chief
attention to New York City and its environs, and to Jersey down to,
and including, Philadelphia. On the whole, except for keeping their
supremacy in New York, they had lost ground steadily, although they
had always been able to put more men than the Americans could match in
the field, so that the Americans always had an uphill fight. Part of
this disadvantage was owing to the fact that the British had a fleet,
often a very large fleet, which could be sent suddenly to distant
points along the seacoast, much to the upsetting of the American
plans.
The French Alliance, ratified during the spring, not only gave the
Americans the moral advantage of the support of a great nation, but
actually the support of a powerful fleet. It opened French harbors to
American vessels, especially privateers, which could there take refuge
or fit out. It enabled the Continentals to carry on commerce, which
before the war had been the monopoly of England. Above all it brought
a large friendly fleet to American waters, which might aid the land
forces and must always be an object of anxiety to the British.
Such a fleet was that under Count d'Estaing, who reached the mouth of
Delaware Bay on July 8, 1778, with twelve ships of the line and four
frigates. He then went to New York, but the pilots thought his heavy
draught ships could not cross the bar above Sandy Hook; and so he
sailed off to Newport where a British fleet worsted him and he was
obliged to put into Boston for repairs. Late in the autumn he took up
his station in the West Indies for the winter. This first experiment
of French naval coöperation had not been crowned by victory as the
Americans had hoped, but many of the other advantages which they
expected from the French Alliance did ensue. The opening of the
American ports to the trade of the world, and incidentally the
promotion of American privateering, proved of capital assistance to
the cause itself.
The summer and autumn of 1778 passed uneventfully for Washington and
his army. He was not strong enough to risk any severe fighting, but
wished to be near the enemy's troops to keep close watch on them and
to take advantage of any mistake in their moves. We cannot see how he
could have saved himself if they had attacked him with force. But that
they never made the attempt was probably owing to orders from London
to be as considerate of the Americans as they could; for England in
that year had sent out three Peace Commissioners who bore the most
seductive offers to the Americans. The Government was ready to pledge
that there should never again be an attempt to quell the Colonists by
an army and that they should be virtually self-governing. But while
the Commissioners tried to persuade, very obviously, they did not
receive any official recognition from the Congress or the local
conventions, and when winter approached, they sailed back to England
with their mission utterly unachieved. Rebuffed in their purpose of
ending the war by conciliation, the British now resorted to treachery
and corruption. I do not know whether General Sir Henry Clinton was
more or less of a man of honor than the other high officers in the
British army at that time. We feel instinctively loath to harbor a
suspicion against the honor of these officers; and yet, the truth
demands us to declare that some one among them engaged in the
miserable business of bribing Americans to be traitors. Where the full
guilt lies, we shall never know, but the fact that so many of the
trails lead back to General Clinton gives us a reason for a strong
surmise. We have lists drawn up at British Headquarters of the
Americans who were probably approachable, and the degree of ease with
which it was supposed they could be corrupted. "Ten thousand guineas
and a major-general's commission were the price for which West Point,
with its garrison, stores, and outlying posts, was to be placed in the
hands of the British."[1] The person with whom the British made this
bargain was Benedict Arnold, who had been one of the most efficient of
Washington's generals, and of unquestioned loyalty. Major John André,
one of Clinton's adjutants, served as messenger between Clinton
and Arnold. On one of these errands André, somewhat disguised, was
captured by the Americans and taken before Washington, who ordered a
court-martial at once. Fourteen officers sat on it, including Generals
Greene, Lafayette, and Steuben. In a few hours they brought in a
verdict to the effect that "Major André ought to be considered a spy
from the enemy, and that agreeable to the law and usage of nations,
it is their opinion he ought to suffer death." [2] Throughout the
proceedings André behaved with great dignity. He was a young man
of sympathetic nature. Old Steuben, familiar with the usage in the
Prussian army, said: "It is not possible to save him. He put us to no
proof, but a premeditated design to deceive."[3]
[Footnote 1: Channing, III, 305.]
[Footnote 2: Channing, III, 307.]
[Footnote 3: _Ibid_., 307.]
He was sentenced to death by hanging--the doom of traitors. He did
not fear to die, but that doom repelled him and he begged to be shot
instead. Washington, however, in view of his great crime and as a
most necessary example in that crisis, firmly refused to commute the
sentence. So, on the second of October, 1780, André was hanged.
This is an appropriate place to refer briefly to one of the most
trying features of Washington's career as Commander-in-Chief. From
very early in the war jealousy inspired some of his associates with a
desire to have him displaced. He was too conspicuously the very head
and front of the American cause. Some men, doubtless open to dishonest
suggestions, wished to get rid of him in order that they might carry
on their treasonable conspiracy with greater ease and with a better
chance of success. Others bluntly coveted his position. Perhaps some
of them really thought that he was pursuing wrong methods or policy.
However it may be, few commanders-in-chief in history have had to
suffer more than Washington did from malice and faction.
The most serious of the plots against him was the so-called Conway
Cabal, whose head was Thomas Conway, an Irishman who had served in the
French army and had come over early in the war to the Colonies to make
his way as a soldier of fortune. He seems to have been one of the
typical Irishmen who had no sense of truth, who was talkative and
boastful, and a mirthful companion. It happened that Washington
received a letter from one of his friends which drew from him the
following note to Brigadier-General Conway:
A letter, which I received last night, contained the following
paragraph:
"In a letter from General Conway to General Gates he says, 'Heaven
has been determined to save your country, or a weak General and
bad counsellors would have ruined it.'"[1]
[Footnote 1: Ford, vi, 180.]
It was characteristic of Washington that he should tell Conway at once
that he knew of the latter's machinations. Nevertheless Washington
took no open step against him. The situation of the army at Valley
Forge was then so desperately bad that he did not wish to make it
worse, perhaps, by interjecting into it what might be considered a
matter personal to himself. In the Congress also there were members
who belonged to the Conway Cabal, and although it was generally known
that Washington did not trust him, Congress raised his rank to that of
Major-General and appointed him Inspector-General to the Army. On this
Conway wrote to Washington: "If my appointment is productive of any
inconvenience, or otherwise disagreeable to your Excellency, as I
neither applied nor solicited for this place, I am very ready to
return to France." The spice of this letter consists in the fact that
Conway's disavowal was a plain lie; for he had been soliciting for the
appointment "with forwardness," says Mr. Ford, "almost amounting to
impudence." Conway did not enjoy his new position long. Being wounded
in a duel with an American officer, and thinking that he was going to
die, he wrote to Washington: "My career will soon be over, therefore
justice and truth prompt me to declare my last sentiments. You are
in my eyes the great and good man. May you long enjoy the love,
veneration, and esteem of these states, whose liberties you have
asserted by your virtues."[1] But he did not die of his wound, and in
a few months he left for France. After his departure the cabal, of
which he seemed to be the centre, died.
[Footnote 1: Sparks, 254.]
The story of this cabal is still shrouded in mystery. Whoever had the
original papers either destroyed them or left them with some one who
deposited them in a secret place where they have been forgotten.
Persons of importance, perhaps of even greater importance than some of
those who are known, would naturally do their utmost to prevent being
found out.
Two other enemies of Washington had unsavory reputations in their
dealings with him. One of these was General Horatio Gates, who was
known as ambitious to be made head of the American army in place
of Washington. Gates won the Battle of Saratoga at which Burgoyne
surrendered his British army. Washington at that time was struggling
to keep his army in the Highlands, where he could watch the other
British forces. It was easy for any one to make the remark that
Washington had not won a battle for many months, whereas Gates was
the hero of the chief victory thus far achieved by the Americans.
The shallow might think as they chose, however: the backbone of the
country stood by Washington, and the trouble between him and Gates
came to no further outbreak.
The third intriguer was General Charles Lee, who, like Gates, was
an Englishman, and had served under General Braddock, being in the
disaster of Fort Duquesne. When the Revolution broke out, he took
sides with the Americans, and being a glib and forth-putting person he
talked himself into the repute of being a great general. The Americans
proudly gave him a very high commission, in which he stood second to
Washington, the Commander-in-Chief. But being taken prisoner by the
British, he had no opportunity of displaying his military talents for
more than two years. Then, when Washington was pursuing the enemy
across Jersey, Lee demanded as his right to lead the foremost
division. At Monmouth he was given the post of honor and he attacked
with such good effect that he had already begun to beat the British
division opposed to him when he suddenly gave strange orders which
threw his men into confusion.
Lafayette, who was not far away, noticed the disorder, rode up to Lee
and remarked that the time seemed to be favorable for cutting off a
squadron of the British troops. To this Lee replied: "Sir, you do not
know the British soldiers; we cannot stand against them; we shall
certainly be driven back at first, and we must be cautious."[1]
Washington himself had by this time perceived that something was wrong
and galloped up to Lee in a towering passion. He addressed him words
which, so far as I know, no historian has reported, not because there
was any ambiguity in them, and Lee's line was sufficiently re-formed
to save the day. Lee, however, smarted under the torrent of reproof,
as well he might. The next day he wrote Washington a very insulting
letter. Washington replied still more hotly. Lee demanded a
court-martial and was placed under arrest on three charges: "First,
disobedience of orders in not attacking the enemy agreeably to
repeated instructions; secondly, misbehavior before the enemy, in
making an unnecessary, disorderly and shameful retreat; thirdly,
disrespect to the Commander-in-Chief in two letters written after the
action."[2] By the ruling of the court all the charges against General
Lee were sustained with the exception that the word "shameful" was
omitted. Lee left the army, retired to Philadelphia, and died before
the end of the Revolution. General Mifflin, another conspicuous member
of the cabal, resigned at the end of the year, December, 1777. So the
traducers of Washington were punished by the reactions of their own
crimes.
[Footnote 1: Sparks, 275, note 1.]
[Footnote 2: Sparks, 278. Sparks tells the story that when Washington
administered the oath of allegiance to his troops at Valley Forge,
soon after Lee had rejoined the army, the generals, standing together,
held a Bible. But Lee deliberately withdrew his hand twice. Washington
asked why he hesitated. He replied, "As to King George, I am ready
enough to absolve myself from all allegiance to him, but I have some
scruples about the Prince of Wales." (Ibid., 278.)]
That the malicious hostility of his enemies really troubled
Washington, such a letter as the following from him to President
Laurens of the Congress well indicates. He says:
I cannot sufficiently express the obligation I feel to you, for
your friendship and politeness upon an occasion in which I am so
deeply interested. I was not unapprized that a malignant faction
had been for some time forming to my prejudice; which, conscious
as I am of having ever done all in my power to answer the
important purposes of the trust reposed in me, could not but give
me some pain on a personal account. But my chief concern arises
from an apprehension of the dangerous consequences, which
intestine dissensions may produce to the common cause.
As I have no other view than to promote the public good, and
am unambitious of honors not founded in the approbation of my
country, I would not desire in the least degree to suppress a free
spirit of inquiry into any part of my conduct, that even faction
itself may deem reprehensible. The anonymous paper handed to you
exhibits many serious charges, and it is my wish that it should
be submitted to Congress. This I am the more inclined to
the suppression or concealment may possibly involve you in
embarrassments hereafter, since it is uncertain how many or who
may be privy to the contents.
My enemies take an ungenerous advantage of me. They know the
delicacy of my situation, and that motives of policy deprive me
of the defence, I might otherwise make against their insidious
attacks. They know I cannot combat their insinuations, however
injurious, without disclosing secrets, which it is of the utmost
moment to conceal. But why should I expect to be exempt from
censure, the unfailing lot of an elevated station? Merit and
talents, with which I can have no pretensions of rivalship, have
ever been subject to it. My heart tells me, that it has been my
unremitted aim to do the best that circumstances would permit; yet
I may have been very often mistaken in my judgment of the means,
and may in many instances deserve the imputation of error. (Valley
Forge, 31 January, 1778.)[1]
[Footnote 1: Ford, vi, 353.]
Such was the sort of explanation which was wrung from the Silent Man
when he explained to an intimate the secrets of his heart.
To estimate the harassing burden of these plots we must bear in mind
that, while Washington had to suffer them in silence, he had also to
deal every day with the Congress and with an army which, at Valley
Forge, was dying slowly of cold and starvation. There was literally no
direction from which he could expect help; he must hold out as long as
he could and keep from the dwindling, disabled army the fact that some
day they would wake up to learn that the last crumb had been eaten
and that death only remained for them. On one occasion, after he had
visited Philadelphia and had seen the Congress in action, he unbosomed
himself about it in a letter which contained these terrible words:
If I was to be called upon to draw a picture of the times and of
men, from what I have seen, and heard, and in part know, I should
in one word say that idleness, dissipation and extravagance
seems to have laid fast hold of most of them. That
speculation--peculation--and an insatiable thirst for riches seems
to have got the better of every other consideration and almost of
every order of men. That party disputes and personal quarrels are
the great business of the day whilst the momentous concerns of an
empire--a great and accumulated debt--ruined finances--depreciated
money--and want of credit (which in their consequences is the want
of everything) are but secondary considerations, and postponed
from day to day--from week to week as if our affairs wear the
most-promising aspect.
The events of 1778 made a lasting impression on King George III.
The alliance of France with the Americans created a sort of reflex
patriotism which the Government did what it could to foster. British
Imperialism flamed forth as an ideal, one whose purposes must be to
crush the French. The most remarkable episode was the return of the
Earl of Chatham, much broken and in precarious health, to the King's
fold. To the venerable statesman the thought that any one with British
blood in his veins should stand by rebels of British blood, or by
their French allies, was a cause of rage. On April 7, 1778, the great
Chatham appeared in the House of Lords and spoke for Imperialism and
against the Americans and French. There was a sudden stop in his
speaking, and a moment later, confusion, as he fell in a fit. He never
spoke there again, and though he was hurried home and cared for by the
doctors as best they could, he died on the eleventh of May. At the
end he reverted to the dominant ideal of his life--the supremacy of
England. So his chief rival in Parliament, Edmund Burke, who shocked
more than half of England by seeming to approve the nascent French
Revolution, died execrating it.
The failure of the Commission on Reconciliation to get even an
official hearing in America further depressed George III, and there
seemed to have flitted through his unsound mind more and more frequent
premonitions that England might not win after all. Having made
friendly overtures, which were rejected, he now planned to be more
savage than ever. In 1779 the American privateers won many victories
which gave them a reputation out of proportion to the importance of
the battles they fought, or the prizes they took. Chief among the
commanders of these vessels was a Scotchman, John Paul Jones, who
sailed the Bonhomme Richard and with two companion ships attacked the
Serapis and the Scarborough, convoying a company of merchantmen off
Flamborough Head. Night fell, darkness came, the Bonhomme Richard and
the Serapis kept up bombarding each other at short range. During a
brief pause, Pearson, the British captain, called out, "Have you
struck your colors?" at which Jones shouted back, "I have not yet
begun to fight." Before morning the Serapis surrendered and in the
forenoon the victorious Bonhomme Richard sank. Europe rang with the
exploit; not merely those easily thrilled by a spectacular engagement,
but those who looked deeper began to ask themselves whether the naval
power that must be reckoned with was not rising in the West.
Meanwhile, Washington kept his uncertain army near New York. The city
swarmed with Loyalists, who at one time boasted of having a volunteer
organization larger than Washington's army. These later years seem
to have been the hey-day of the Loyalists in most of the Colonies,
although the Patriots passed severe laws against them, sequestrating
their property and even banishing them. In places like New York, where
General Clinton maintained a refuge, they stayed on, hoping, as they
had done for several years, that the war would soon be over and the
King's authority restored.
In the South there were several minor fights, in which now the British
and now the Americans triumphed. At the end of December, 1779, Clinton
and Cornwallis with nearly eight thousand men went down to South
Carolina intending to reduce that State to submission. One of
Washington's lieutenants, General Lincoln, ill-advisedly thought that
he could defend Charleston. But as soon as the enemy were ready, they
pressed upon him hard and he surrendered. The year ended in gloom. The
British were virtually masters in the Carolinas and in Georgia. The
people of those States felt that they had been abandoned by the
Congress and that they were cut off from relations with the Northern
States. The glamour of glory at sea which had brightened them all
the year before had vanished. John Paul Jones might win a striking
sea-fight, but there was no navy, nor ships enough to transport troops
down to the Southern waters where they might have turned the tide
of battle on shore. During the winter the British continued their
marauding in the South. For lack of troops Washington was obliged
to stay in his quarters near New York and feel the irksomeness of
inactivity. General Nathanael Greene, a very energetic officer, next
indeed to Washington himself in general estimation, commanded in
the South. At the Cowpens (January 17, 1781) one of his
lieutenants--Morgan, a guerilla leader--killed or captured nearly all
of Tarleton's men, who formed a specially crack regiment. A little
later Washington marched southward to Virginia, hoping to coöperate
with the French fleet under Rochambeau and to capture Benedict Arnold,
now a British Major-General, who was doing much damage in Virginia.
Arnold was too wary to be caught. Cornwallis, the second in command of
the British forces, pursued Lafayette up and down Virginia. Clinton,
the British Commander-in-Chief, began to feel nervous for the
safety of New York and wished to detach some of his forces thither.
Cornwallis led his army into Yorktown and proceeded to fortify it, so
that it might resist a siege. Now at last Washington felt that he
had the enemy's army within his grasp. Sixteen thousand American and
French troops were brought down from the North to furnish the fighting
arm he required.
Yorktown lay on the south shore of the York River, an estuary of
Chesapeake Bay. On the opposite side the little town of Gloucester
projected into the river. In Yorktown itself the English had thrown up
two redoubts and had drawn some lines of wall. The French kept up an
unremitting cannonade, but it became evident that the redoubts must be
taken in order to subdue the place. Washington, much excited, took his
place in the central battery along with Generals Knox and Lincoln and
their staff. Those about him recognized the peril he was in, and one
of his adjutants called his attention to the fact that the place was
much exposed. "If you think so," said he, "you are at liberty to
step back." Shortly afterward a musket ball struck the cannon in the
embrasure and rolled on till it fell at his feet. General Knox took
him by the arm. "My dear General," he exclaimed, "we can't spare you
yet." "It is a spent ball," Washington rejoined calmly; "no harm is
done." When the redoubts were taken, he drew a long breath and said to
Knox: "The work is done, and well done."[1] Lord Cornwallis saw that
his position was desperate, if not hopeless. And on October 16th
he made a plucky attempt to retard the final blow, but he did not
succeed. That evening he thought of undertaking a last chance. He
would cross the York River in flatboats, land at Gloucester, and march
up the country through Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, and New York.
Any one who knew the actual state of that region understood that
Cornwallis's plan was crazy; but it is to be judged as the last
gallantry of a brave man. During the night he put forth on his
flatboats, which were driven out of their course and much dispersed by
untoward winds. They had to return to Yorktown by morning, and at ten
o'clock Cornwallis ordered that a parley should be beaten. Then he
despatched a flag of truce with a letter to Washington proposing
cessation of hostilities for twenty-four hours. Washington knew that
British ships were on their way from New York to bring relief and he
did not wish to grant so much delay. He, therefore, proposed that the
formal British terms should be sent to him in writing; upon which he
would agree to a two hours' truce. It was the morning of the 10th of
October that the final arrangement was made. Washington, on horseback,
attended by his staff, headed the American line. His troops, in
worn-out uniforms, but looking happy and victorious, were massed near
him. Count Rochambeau, with his suite, held place on the left of the
road, the French troops all well-uniformed and equipped; and they
marched on the field with a military band playing--the first time, it
was said, that this had been known in America. "About two o'clock the
garrison sallied forth and passed through with shouldered arms, slow
and solemn steps, colors cased, and drums beating a British march."[2]
General O'Hara, who led them, rode up to Washington and apologized for
the absence of Lord Cornwallis, who was indisposed. Washington pointed
O'Hara to General Lincoln, who was to receive the submission of the
garrison. They were marched off to a neighboring field where they
showed a sullen and dispirited demeanor and grounded their arms so
noisily and carelessly that General Lincoln had to reprove them.
[Footnote 1: Irving, iv, 378.]
[Footnote 2: Irving, iv, 383.]
With little delay Washington went back to the North with his army,
expecting to see the first fruits of the capitulation. There were
nearly seventeen thousand Allied troops at Yorktown of whom three
thousand were militia of Virginia. The British force under Cornwallis
numbered less than eight thousand men.
Months were required before the truce between the two belligerents
resulted in peace. But the people of America hailed the news of
Yorktown as the end of the war. They had hardly admitted to themselves
the gravity of the task while the war lasted, and being now
relieved of immediate danger, they gave themselves up to surprising
insouciance. A few among them who thought deeply, Washington above
all, feared that the British might indulge in some surprise which they
would find it hard to repel.
But the American Revolution was indeed ended, and the American
Colonies of 1775 were indeed independent and free. Even in the brief
outline of the course of events which I have given, it must appear
that the American Revolution was almost the most hare-brained
enterprise in history. After the first days of Lexington and Concord,
when the farmers and country-folk rushed to the centres to check
the British invaders, the British had almost continuously a large
advantage in position and in number of troops. And in those early days
the Colonists fought, not for Independence, but for the traditional
rights which the British Crown threatened to take from them. Now they
had their freedom, but what a freedom! There were thirteen unrelated
political communities bound together now only by the fact of having
been united in their common struggle against England. Each had adopted
a separate constitution, and the constitutions were not uniform nor
was there any central unifying power to which they all looked up and
obeyed. The vicissitudes of the war, which had been fought over the
region of twelve hundred miles of coast, had proved the repellent
differences of the various districts. The slave-breeder and the
slave-owner of Virginia and the States of the South had little in
common with the gnarled descendants of the later Puritans in New
England. What principle could be found to knit them together? The war
had at least the advantage of bringing home to all of them the evils
of war which they all instinctively desired to escape. The numbers of
the disaffected, particularly of the Loyalists who openly sided with
the King and with the British Government, were much larger than we
generally suppose, and they not only gave much direct help and comfort
to the enemy, but also much indirect and insidious aid. In the great
cities like New York and Philadelphia they numbered perhaps two fifths
of the total population, and, as they were usually the rich and
influential people, they counted for more than their showing in the
census. How could they ever be unified in the American Republic? How
many of them, like the traitorous General Charles Lee, would confess
that, although they were willing to pass by George III as King, they
still felt devotion and loyalty to the Prince of Wales?
Some of those who had leaned toward Loyalism, to be on what they
supposed would prove the winning side, quickly forgot their lapse and
were very enthusiastic in acclaiming the Patriotic victory. Those
Irreconcilables who had not already fled did so at once, leaving their
property behind them to be confiscated by the Government. On only one
point did there seem to be unanimity and accord. That was that the
dogged prosecution of the war and the ultimate victory must be
credited to George Washington. Others had fought valiantly and endured
hardships and fatigues and gnawing suspense, but without him, who
never wavered, they could not have gone on. He had among them some
able lieutenants, but not one who, had he himself fallen out of the
command by wound or sickness for a month, could have taken his place.
The people knew this and they now paid him in honor and gratitude for
what he had done for them. If there were any members of the old cabal,
any envious rivals, they either held their peace or spoke in whispers.
The masses were not yet weary of hearing Aristides called the Just.