pretence. Every nation on earth, whether friends or enemies, will unite
in despising you. 'Tis an incendiary war upon society, which nothing can
excuse or palliate,--an improvement upon beggarly villany--and shows an
inbred wretchedness of heart made up between the venomous malignity of a
serpent and the spiteful imbecility of an inferior reptile.
The laws of any civilized country would condemn you to the gibbet
without regard to your rank or titles, because it is an action foreign
to the usage and custom of war; and should you fall into our hands,
which pray God you may, it will be a doubtful matter whether we are to
consider you as a military prisoner or a prisoner for felony.
Besides, it is exceedingly unwise and impolitic in you, or any other
persons in the English service, to promote or even encourage, or wink
at the crime of forgery, in any case whatever. Because, as the riches of
England, as a nation, are chiefly in paper, and the far greater part of
trade among individuals is carried on by the same medium, that is, by
notes and drafts on one another, they, therefore, of all people in the
world, ought to endeavor to keep forgery out of sight, and, if possible,
not to revive the idea of it. It is dangerous to make men familiar with
a crime which they may afterwards practise to much greater advantage
against those who first taught them. Several officers in the English
army have made their exit at the gallows for forgery on their agents;
for we all know, who know any thing of England, that there is not a more
necessitous body of men, taking them generally, than what the English
officers are. They contrive to make a show at the expense of the
tailors, and appear clean at the charge of the washer-women.
England, has at this time, nearly two hundred million pounds sterling
of public money in paper, for which she has no real property: besides a
large circulation of bank notes, bank post bills, and promissory notes
and drafts of private bankers, merchants and tradesmen. She has the
greatest quantity of paper currency and the least quantity of gold and
silver of any nation in Europe; the real specie, which is about sixteen
millions sterling, serves only as change in large sums, which are always
made in paper, or for payment in small ones. Thus circumstanced, the
nation is put to its wit's end, and obliged to be severe almost to
criminality, to prevent the practice and growth of forgery. Scarcely
a session passes at the Old Bailey, or an execution at Tyburn, but
witnesses this truth, yet you, sir, regardless of the policy which her
necessity obliges her to adopt, have made your whole army intimate with
the crime. And as all armies at the conclusion of a war, are too apt to
carry into practice the vices of the campaign, it will probably happen,
that England will hereafter abound in forgeries, to which art the
practitioners were first initiated under your authority in America. You,
sir, have the honor of adding a new vice to the military catalogue; and
the reason, perhaps, why the invention was reserved for you, is, because
no general before was mean enough even to think of it.
That a man whose soul is absorbed in the low traffic of vulgar vice, is
incapable of moving in any superior region, is clearly shown in you by
the event of every campaign. Your military exploits have been without
plan, object or decision. Can it be possible that you or your employers
suppose that the possession of Philadelphia will be any ways equal
to the expense or expectation of the nation which supports you? What
advantages does England derive from any achievements of yours? To her it
is perfectly indifferent what place you are in, so long as the business
of conquest is unperformed and the charge of maintaining you remains the
same.
If the principal events of the three campaigns be attended to, the
balance will appear against you at the close of each; but the last, in
point of importance to us, has exceeded the former two. It is pleasant
to look back on dangers past, and equally as pleasant to meditate on
present ones when the way out begins to appear. That period is now
arrived, and the long doubtful winter of war is changing to the sweeter
prospects of victory and joy. At the close of the campaign, in 1775, you
were obliged to retreat from Boston. In the summer of 1776, you appeared
with a numerous fleet and army in the harbor of New York. By what
miracle the continent was preserved in that season of danger is a
subject of admiration! If instead of wasting your time against Long
Island you had run up the North River, and landed any where above
New York, the consequence must have been, that either you would have
compelled General Washington to fight you with very unequal numbers, or
he must have suddenly evacuated the city with the loss of nearly all
the stores of his army, or have surrendered for want of provisions; the
situation of the place naturally producing one or the other of these
events.
The preparations made to defend New York were, nevertheless, wise and
military; because your forces were then at sea, their numbers uncertain;
storms, sickness, or a variety of accidents might have disabled their
coming, or so diminished them on their passage, that those which
survived would have been incapable of opening the campaign with
any prospect of success; in which case the defence would have been
sufficient and the place preserved; for cities that have been raised
from nothing with an infinitude of labor and expense, are not to be
thrown away on the bare probability of their being taken. On these
grounds the preparations made to maintain New York were as judicious
as the retreat afterwards. While you, in the interim, let slip the very
opportunity which seemed to put conquest in your power.
Through the whole of that campaign you had nearly double the forces
which General Washington immediately commanded. The principal plan at
that time, on our part, was to wear away the season with as little loss
as possible, and to raise the army for the next year. Long Island, New
York, Forts Washington and Lee were not defended after your superior
force was known under any expectation of their being finally maintained,
but as a range of outworks, in the attacking of which your time might be
wasted, your numbers reduced, and your vanity amused by possessing them
on our retreat. It was intended to have withdrawn the garrison from Fort
Washington after it had answered the former of those purposes, but
the fate of that day put a prize into your hands without much honor to
yourselves.
Your progress through the Jerseys was accidental; you had it not even
in contemplation, or you would not have sent a principal part of your
forces to Rhode Island beforehand. The utmost hope of America in the
year 1776, reached no higher than that she might not then be conquered.
She had no expectation of defeating you in that campaign. Even the
most cowardly Tory allowed, that, could she withstand the shock of that
summer, her independence would be past a doubt. You had then greatly
the advantage of her. You were formidable. Your military knowledge
was supposed to be complete. Your fleets and forces arrived without an
accident. You had neither experience nor reinforcements to wait for.
You had nothing to do but to begin, and your chance lay in the first
vigorous onset.
America was young and unskilled. She was obliged to trust her defence to
time and practice; and has, by mere dint of perseverance, maintained her
cause, and brought the enemy to a condition, in which she is now capable
of meeting him on any grounds.
It is remarkable that in the campaign of 1776 you gained no more,
notwithstanding your great force, than what was given you by consent of
evacuation, except Fort Washington; while every advantage obtained by
us was by fair and hard fighting. The defeat of Sir Peter Parker was
complete. The conquest of the Hessians at Trenton, by the remains of a
retreating army, which but a few days before you affected to despise, is
an instance of their heroic perseverance very seldom to be met with.
And the victory over the British troops at Princeton, by a harassed and
wearied party, who had been engaged the day before and marched all night
without refreshment, is attended with such a scene of circumstances and
superiority of generalship, as will ever give it a place in the first
rank in the history of great actions.
When I look back on the gloomy days of last winter, and see America
suspended by a thread, I feel a triumph of joy at the recollection of
her delivery, and a reverence for the characters which snatched her
from destruction. To doubt now would be a species of infidelity, and to
forget the instruments which saved us then would be ingratitude.
The close of that campaign left us with the spirit of conquerors. The
northern districts were relieved by the retreat of General Carleton over
the lakes. The army under your command were hunted back and had their
bounds prescribed. The continent began to feel its military importance,
and the winter passed pleasantly away in preparations for the next
campaign.
However confident you might be on your first arrival, the result of the
year 1776 gave you some idea of the difficulty, if not impossibility of
conquest. To this reason I ascribe your delay in opening the campaign of
1777. The face of matters, on the close of the former year, gave you
no encouragement to pursue a discretionary war as soon as the spring
admitted the taking the field; for though conquest, in that case, would
have given you a double portion of fame, yet the experiment was too
hazardous. The ministry, had you failed, would have shifted the whole
blame upon you, charged you with having acted without orders, and
condemned at once both your plan and execution.
To avoid the misfortunes, which might have involved you and your money
accounts in perplexity and suspicion, you prudently waited the arrival
of a plan of operations from England, which was that you should proceed
for Philadelphia by way of the Chesapeake, and that Burgoyne, after
reducing Ticonderoga, should take his route by Albany, and, if
necessary, join you.
The splendid laurels of the last campaign have flourished in the north.
In that quarter America has surprised the world, and laid the foundation
of this year's glory. The conquest of Ticonderoga, (if it may be called
a conquest) has, like all your other victories, led on to ruin. Even the
provisions taken in that fortress (which by General Burgoyne's return
was sufficient in bread and flour for nearly 5000 men for ten weeks, and
in beef and pork for the same number of men for one month) served only
to hasten his overthrow, by enabling him to proceed to Saratoga, the
place of his destruction. A short review of the operations of the last
campaign will show the condition of affairs on both sides.
You have taken Ticonderoga and marched into Philadelphia. These are all
the events which the year has produced on your part. A trifling campaign
indeed, compared with the expenses of England and the conquest of the
continent. On the other side, a considerable part of your northern force
has been routed by the New York militia under General Herkemer. Fort
Stanwix has bravely survived a compound attack of soldiers and savages,
and the besiegers have fled. The Battle of Bennington has put a thousand
prisoners into our hands, with all their arms, stores, artillery and
baggage. General Burgoyne, in two engagements, has been defeated;
himself, his army, and all that were his and theirs are now ours.
Ticonderoga and Independence [forts] are retaken, and not the shadow of
an enemy remains in all the northern districts. At this instant we
have upwards of eleven thousand prisoners, between sixty and seventy
[captured] pieces of brass ordnance, besides small arms, tents, stores,
etc.
In order to know the real value of those advantages, we must reverse
the scene, and suppose General Gates and the force he commanded to be at
your mercy as prisoners, and General Burgoyne, with his army of soldiers
and savages, to be already joined to you in Pennsylvania. So dismal a
picture can scarcely be looked at. It has all the tracings and colorings
of horror and despair; and excites the most swelling emotions of
gratitude by exhibiting the miseries we are so graciously preserved
from.
I admire the distribution of laurels around the continent. It is the
earnest of future union. South Carolina has had her day of sufferings
and of fame; and the other southern States have exerted themselves in
proportion to the force that invaded or insulted them. Towards the close
of the campaign, in 1776, these middle States were called upon and did
their duty nobly. They were witnesses to the almost expiring flame of
human freedom. It was the close struggle of life and death, the line of
invisible division; and on which the unabated fortitude of a Washington
prevailed, and saved the spark that has since blazed in the north with
unrivalled lustre.
Let me ask, sir, what great exploits have you performed? Through all the
variety of changes and opportunities which the war has produced, I know
no one action of yours that can be styled masterly. You have moved in
and out, backward and forward, round and round, as if valor consisted in
a military jig. The history and figure of your movements would be truly
ridiculous could they be justly delineated. They resemble the labors of
a puppy pursuing his tail; the end is still at the same distance, and
all the turnings round must be done over again.
The first appearance of affairs at Ticonderoga wore such an unpromising
aspect, that it was necessary, in July, to detach a part of the forces
to the support of that quarter, which were otherwise destined or
intended to act against you; and this, perhaps, has been the means of
postponing your downfall to another campaign. The destruction of one
army at a time is work enough. We know, sir, what we are about, what we
have to do, and how to do it.
Your progress from the Chesapeake, was marked by no capital stroke of
policy or heroism. Your principal aim was to get General Washington
between the Delaware and Schuylkill, and between Philadelphia and your
army. In that situation, with a river on each of his flanks, which
united about five miles below the city, and your army above him, you
could have intercepted his reinforcements and supplies, cut off all
his communication with the country, and, if necessary, have despatched
assistance to open a passage for General Burgoyne. This scheme was too
visible to succeed: for had General Washington suffered you to command
the open country above him, I think it a very reasonable conjecture that
the conquest of Burgoyne would not have taken place, because you could,
in that case, have relieved him. It was therefore necessary, while that
important victory was in suspense, to trepan you into a situation in
which you could only be on the defensive, without the power of
affording him assistance. The manoeuvre had its effect, and Burgoyne was
conquered.
There has been something unmilitary and passive in you from the time of
your passing the Schuylkill and getting possession of Philadelphia,
to the close of the campaign. You mistook a trap for a conquest, the
probability of which had been made known to Europe, and the edge of your
triumph taken off by our own information long before.
Having got you into this situation, a scheme for a general attack upon
you at Germantown was carried into execution on the 4th of October, and
though the success was not equal to the excellence of the plan, yet the
attempting it proved the genius of America to be on the rise, and her
power approaching to superiority. The obscurity of the morning was your
best friend, for a fog is always favorable to a hunted enemy. Some weeks
after this you likewise planned an attack on General Washington while
at Whitemarsh. You marched out with infinite parade, but on finding him
preparing to attack you next morning, you prudently turned about, and
retreated to Philadelphia with all the precipitation of a man conquered
in imagination.
Immediately after the battle of Germantown, the probability of
Burgoyne's defeat gave a new policy to affairs in Pennsylvania, and it
was judged most consistent with the general safety of America, to wait
the issue of the northern campaign. Slow and sure is sound work. The
news of that victory arrived in our camp on the 18th of October, and
no sooner did that shout of joy, and the report of the thirteen cannon
reach your ears, than you resolved upon a retreat, and the next day,
that is, on the 19th, you withdrew your drooping army into Philadelphia.
This movement was evidently dictated by fear; and carried with it a
positive confession that you dreaded a second attack. It was hiding
yourself among women and children, and sleeping away the choicest part
of the campaign in expensive inactivity. An army in a city can never
be a conquering army. The situation admits only of defence. It is mere
shelter: and every military power in Europe will conclude you to be
eventually defeated.
The time when you made this retreat was the very time you ought to have
fought a battle, in order to put yourself in condition of recovering in
Pennsylvania what you had lost in Saratoga. And the reason why you did
not, must be either prudence or cowardice; the former supposes your
inability, and the latter needs no explanation. I draw no conclusions,
sir, but such as are naturally deduced from known and visible facts,
and such as will always have a being while the facts which produced them
remain unaltered.
After this retreat a new difficulty arose which exhibited the power of
Britain in a very contemptible light; which was the attack and defence
of Mud Island. For several weeks did that little unfinished fortress
stand out against all the attempts of Admiral and General Howe. It was
the fable of Bender realized on the Delaware. Scheme after scheme, and
force upon force were tried and defeated. The garrison, with scarce
anything to cover them but their bravery, survived in the midst of mud,
shot and shells, and were at last obliged to give it up more to the
powers of time and gunpowder than to military superiority of the
besiegers.
It is my sincere opinion that matters are in much worse condition with
you than what is generally known. Your master's speech at the opening of
Parliament, is like a soliloquy on ill luck. It shows him to be coming
a little to his reason, for sense of pain is the first symptom of
recovery, in profound stupefaction. His condition is deplorable. He is
obliged to submit to all the insults of France and Spain, without daring
to know or resent them; and thankful for the most trivial evasions to
the most humble remonstrances. The time was when he could not deign an
answer to a petition from America, and the time now is when he dare not
give an answer to an affront from France. The capture of Burgoyne's army
will sink his consequence as much in Europe as in America. In his speech
he expresses his suspicions at the warlike preparations of France and
Spain, and as he has only the one army which you command to support his
character in the world with, it remains very uncertain when, or in what
quarter it will be most wanted, or can be best employed; and this will
partly account for the great care you take to keep it from action and
attacks, for should Burgoyne's fate be yours, which it probably will,
England may take her endless farewell not only of all America but of all
the West Indies.
Never did a nation invite destruction upon itself with the eagerness and
the ignorance with which Britain has done. Bent upon the ruin of a
young and unoffending country, she has drawn the sword that has wounded
herself to the heart, and in the agony of her resentment has applied a
poison for a cure. Her conduct towards America is a compound of rage and
lunacy; she aims at the government of it, yet preserves neither dignity
nor character in her methods to obtain it. Were government a mere
manufacture or article of commerce, immaterial by whom it should be made
or sold, we might as well employ her as another, but when we consider
it as the fountain from whence the general manners and morality of a
country take their rise, that the persons entrusted with the execution
thereof are by their serious example an authority to support these
principles, how abominably absurd is the idea of being hereafter
governed by a set of men who have been guilty of forgery, perjury,
treachery, theft and every species of villany which the lowest wretches
on earth could practise or invent. What greater public curse can befall
any country than to be under such authority, and what greater blessing
than to be delivered therefrom. The soul of any man of sentiment would
rise in brave rebellion against them, and spurn them from the earth.
The malignant and venomous tempered General Vaughan has amused his
savage fancy in burning the whole town of Kingston, in York government,
and the late governor of that state, Mr. Tryon, in his letter to General
Parsons, has endeavored to justify it and declared his wish to burn the
houses of every committeeman in the country. Such a confession from
one who was once intrusted with the powers of civil government, is a
reproach to the character. But it is the wish and the declaration of a
man whom anguish and disappointment have driven to despair, and who is
daily decaying into the grave with constitutional rottenness.
There is not in the compass of language a sufficiency of words to
express the baseness of your king, his ministry and his army. They
have refined upon villany till it wants a name. To the fiercer vices of
former ages they have added the dregs and scummings of the most finished
rascality, and are so completely sunk in serpentine deceit, that there
is not left among them one generous enemy.
From such men and such masters, may the gracious hand of Heaven preserve
America! And though the sufferings she now endures are heavy, and
severe, they are like straws in the wind compared to the weight of evils
she would feel under the government of your king, and his pensioned
Parliament.
There is something in meanness which excites a species of resentment
that never subsides, and something in cruelty which stirs up the heart
to the highest agony of human hatred; Britain has filled up both these
characters till no addition can be made, and has not reputation left
with us to obtain credit for the slightest promise. The will of God has
parted us, and the deed is registered for eternity. When she shall be
a spot scarcely visible among the nations, America shall flourish the
favorite of heaven, and the friend of mankind.
For the domestic happiness of Britain and the peace of the world, I
wish she had not a foot of land but what is circumscribed within her own
island. Extent of dominion has been her ruin, and instead of civilizing
others has brutalized herself. Her late reduction of India, under Clive
and his successors, was not so properly a conquest as an extermination
of mankind. She is the only power who could practise the prodigal
barbarity of tying men to mouths of loaded cannon and blowing them away.
It happens that General Burgoyne, who made the report of that horrid
transaction, in the House of Commons, is now a prisoner with us,
and though an enemy, I can appeal to him for the truth of it, being
confident that he neither can nor will deny it. Yet Clive received the
approbation of the last Parliament.