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Title: Life of George Washington, Vol. 4 (of 5)
Author: Washington Irving
Release date: February 7, 2026 [eBook #77882]
Language: English
Original publication: New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons, 1857
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LIFE OF GEORGE WASHINGTON, VOL. 4 (OF 5) ***
LIFE OF GEORGE WASHINGTON.
PEOPLE’S EDITION.
VOL. IV.
[Illustration:
LIFE OF WASHINGTON.
WASHINGTON
_From the Bust by G. Ceracchi taken from life (now in possession of
Gouverneur Kimble Esq. Cold Spring.)_
]
LIFE
OF
GEORGE WASHINGTON.
BY
WASHINGTON IRVING.
IN FIVE VOLS.
VOL. IV.
NEW YORK
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
27 AND 29 WEST 23D STREET
1884
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857, by
G. P. PUTNAM AND CO.,
in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for
the Southern District of New York.
[Illustration]
CONTENTS OF VOLUME IV.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Sufferings of the Army at Morristown.—Rigorous Winter.—Derangement
of the Currency.—Confusion in the Commissariat.—Impressment of
Supplies.—Patriotic Conduct of the People of New Jersey.—The Bay
of New York Frozen over.—Lord Stirling’s Expedition against
Staten Island.—Knyphausen’s Incursion into the
Jerseys.—Caldwell’s Church at Elizabethtown burnt.—Character of
its Pastor.—Foray into Westchester County.—Burning of Young’s
House in the Valley of the Neperan 1
CHAPTER II.
Arnold in Command of Philadelphia.—Unpopular Measures.—Arnold’s
Style of Living.—His Schemes and Speculations.—His Collisions
with the Executive Council.—His Land Project.—Charges sent
against him to Congress.—His Address to the Public.—Charges
referred to a Court-martial.—His Marriage.—Verdict of the
Court-martial.—Arnold reprimanded.—Obtains Leave of Absence from
the Army 11
CHAPTER III.
South Carolina threatened.—Its Condition and Population.—Stormy
Voyage of Sir Henry Clinton.—Loss of Horses.—Character of
Lieutenant-colonel Tarleton.—Fleet arrives at Tybee.—Sir Henry
Clinton advances upon Charleston.—Lincoln prepares for
Defense.—Commodore Whipple.—Governor Rutledge.—Forebodings of
Washington.—Embarkation of British Troops at New
York.—Washington sends De Kalb with Reinforcements.—His Hopeful
Letter to Steuben 25
CHAPTER IV.
Evils of the Continental Currency.—Military Reforms proposed by
Washington.—Congress Jealous of Military Power.—Committee of
Three sent to confer with Washington.—Losses by Depreciation of
the Currency to be made good to the Troops.—Arrival of
Lafayette.—Scheme for a Combined Attack upon New York.—Arnold
has Debts and Difficulties.—His Proposals to the French
Minister.—Anxious to return to the Army.—Mutiny of the
Connecticut Troops.—Washington writes to Reed for Aid from
Pennsylvania.—Good Effects of his Letter 35
CHAPTER V.
Siege of Charleston continued.—British Ships enter the
Harbor.—British Troops march from Savannah.—Tarleton and his
Dragoons.—His Brush with Colonel Washington.—Charleston
reinforced by Woodford.—Tarleton’s Exploits at Monk’s Corner.—At
Laneau’s Ferry.—Sir Henry Clinton reinforced.—Charleston
capitulates.—Affair of Tarleton and Buford on the Waxhaw.—Sir
Henry Clinton embarks for New York 49
CHAPTER VI.
Knyphausen marauds the Jerseys.—Sacking of Connecticut
Farms.—Murder of Mrs. Caldwell.—Arrival and Movements of Sir
Henry Clinton.—Springfield burnt.—The Jerseys evacuated 64
CHAPTER VII.
Washington applies to the State Legislatures for
Aid.—Subscriptions of the Ladies of Philadelphia.—Gates
appointed to command the Southern Department.—French Fleet
arrives at Newport.—Preparation for a Combined Movement against
New York.—Arnold obtains Command at West Point.—Greene resigns
the Office of Quartermaster-general 77
CHAPTER VIII.
North Carolina.—Difficulties of its Invasion.—Character of the
People and Country.—Sumter, his Character and Story.—Rocky
Mount.—Hanging Rock.—Slow Advance of De Kalb.—Gates takes
Command.—Desolate March.—Battle of Camden.—Flight of
Gates.—Sumter surprised by Tarleton at the Waxhaws.—Washington’s
Opinion of Militia.—His Letter to Gates 90
CHAPTER IX.
Treason of Arnold.—His Correspondence with the Enemy.—His
Negotiations with André.—Parting Scene with Washington.—Midnight
Conference on the Banks of the Hudson.—Return of André by
Land.—Circumstances of his Capture 110
CHAPTER X.
Interview of Washington with the French Officers at Hartford.—Plan
of Attack disconcerted.—Washington’s Return.—Scenes at Arnold’s
Head-quarters in the Highlands.—Tidings of André’s
Capture.—Flight of Arnold.—Letters from the
Traitor.—Washington’s Precautions.—Situation of Mrs. Arnold 135
CHAPTER XI.
André’s Conduct as a Prisoner.—His Conversations with Colonel
Tallmadge.—Story of Nathan Hale.—André’s Prison at
Tappan.—Correspondence on his Behalf.—His
Trial.—Execution.—Reward of the Captors.—Reward of Arnold.—His
Proclamation.—After Fortunes of Mrs. Arnold 146
CHAPTER XII.
Greene takes Command at West Point.—Insidious Attempts to shake
the Confidence of Washington in his Officers.—Plan to entrap
Arnold.—Character of Sergeant Champe.—Court of Inquiry into the
Conduct of Gates.—Greene appointed to the Southern
Department.—Washington’s Instructions to him.—Incursions from
Canada.—Mohawk Valley ravaged.—State of the Army.—Reforms
adopted. Enlistment for the War.—Half Pay 175
CHAPTER XIII.
The Marquis Lafayette and his Light infantry.—Proposes a Brilliant
Stroke.—Preparations for an Attack on the British Posts on New
York Island.—Visit of the Marquis of Chastellux to the American
Camp.—Washington at Head-quarters.—Attack on the British Posts
given up.—Stark forages Westchester County.—Exploit of Tallmadge
on Long Island 185
CHAPTER XIV.
Rigorous Measures of Cornwallis in South Carolina.—Ferguson sent
to Scour the Mountain Country between the Catawba and the
Yadkin.—Cornwallis in a Hornet’s Nest.—Movements of
Ferguson.—Mountain Men and Fierce Men from Kentucky.—Battle of
King’s Mountain.—Retrograde March of Cornwallis 194
CHAPTER XV.
Marion.—His Character.—Bye Names.—Haunts.—Tarleton in quest of
Him.—Sumter on the West Side of the Santee.—His Affair with
Tarleton at Black Stock Hill.—Gates at Hillsborough.—His
Domestic Misfortunes.—Arrival of Greene.—His Considerate
Conduct.—Gates retires to his Estate.—Condition of the
Army.—Stratagem of Colonel Washington at Clermont.—Morgan
detached to the District of Ninety Six.—Greene posts himself on
the Pedee 207
CHAPTER XVI.
Hostile Embarkations to the South.—Arnold in Command.—Necessitous
State of the Country.—Washington urges a Foreign Loan.—Mission
of Colonel Laurens to France to seek Aid in Men and
Money.—Grievances of the Pennsylvania Line.—Mutiny.—Negotiations
with the Mutineers.—Articles of Accommodation.—Policy doubted by
Washington.—Rigorous Course adopted by him with other
Malcontents.—Successful.—Ratification of the Articles of
Confederation of the States 220
CHAPTER XVII.
Expedition of Arnold into Virginia.—Buccaneering Ravages.—Checked
by Steuben.—Arnold at Portsmouth.—Congress resolves to form
Heads of Departments.—Hamilton suggested by Sullivan for
Department of Finance.—High Opinion of him expressed by
Washington.—Misunderstanding between Hamilton and the Commander
in chief 237
CHAPTER XVIII.
Cornwallis prepares to invade North Carolina.—Tarleton sent
against Morgan.—Battle at Cowpens.—Morgan pushes for the Catawba
with Spoils and Prisoners.—Cornwallis endeavors to intercept
him.—The Rising of the River.—Cornwallis at Ramsour’s Mills 248
CHAPTER XIX.
Greene joins Morgan on the Catawba.—Adopts the Fabian
Policy.—Movement of Cornwallis to cross the Catawba.—Affair at
McGowan’s Ford.—Militia surprised by Tarleton at Tarrant’s
Tavern.—Cornwallis checked by the Rising of the Yadkin.—Contest
of Skill and Speed of the Two Armies in a March to the Banks of
the Dan 261
CHAPTER XX.
Cornwallis takes post at Hillsborough.—His Proclamation.—Greene
recrosses the Dan.—Country scoured by Lee and Pickens.—Affair
with Colonel Pyle.—Maneuvers of Cornwallis to bring Greene to
Action.—Battle of Guilford Court-house.—Greene retreats to
Troublesome Creek.—Cornwallis marches toward Cape Fear.—Greene
pursues him.—Is brought to a Stand at Deep River.—Determines to
Face About and carry the War into South Carolina.—Cornwallis
marches for Virginia 273
CHAPTER XXI.
Arnold at Portsmouth in Virginia.—Expedition sent against
him.—Instructions to Lafayette.—Washington at
Newport.—Consultations with De Rochambeau.—Sailing of the French
Fleet.—Pursued by the English.—Expedition of Lafayette to
Virginia.—Engagement between the English and French
Fleets.—Failure of the Expedition against Arnold.—Letter of
Washington to Colonel Laurens.—Measure to reinforce
Greene.—General Phillips in Command at Portsmouth.—Marauds the
Country.—Checked by Lafayette.—Mount Vernon menaced.—Death of
Phillips 297
CHAPTER XXII.
Inefficient State of the Army.—Maraud of Delancey.—Death of
Colonel Greene.—Arrival of the Count de Barras.—French Naval
Force expected.—Interview of Washington and De Rochambeau at
Weathersfield.—Plan of Combined Operations.—Financial
Arrangement of Robert Morris.—Scheme to attack the Works on New
York Island and capture Delancey’s Corps.—Encampments of
American and French Armies in Westchester County.—Reconnoitering
Expeditions 314
CHAPTER XXIII.
Movements and Counter-movements of Cornwallis and Lafayette in
Virginia.—Tarleton and his Troopers scour the Country.—A Dash at
the State Legislature.—Attempt to Surprise the Governor at
Monticello.—Retreat of Jefferson to Carter’s Mountain.—Steuben
outwitted by Simcoe.—Lafayette joined by Wayne and Steuben.—Acts
on the Aggressive.—Desperate Melée of Macpherson and
Simcoe.—Cornwallis pursued to Jamestown Island.—Mad Anthony in a
Morass.—His Impetuous Valor.—Alertness of
Lafayette.—Washington’s Opinion of the Virginia Campaign 330
CHAPTER XXIV.
Greene’s Retrograde Operation in South Carolina.—Appears before
Camden.—Affair at Hobkirk’s Hill.—Rawdon abandons Camden.—Rapid
Successes of the Americans.—Greene’s Attack on the Fortress of
Ninety Six.—Operations against Lord Rawdon.—Greene on the High
Hills of Santee.—Sumter scours the Lower Country.—Dash of
Colonel Wade Hampton at the Gates of Charleston.—Exploits of Lee
and Hampton.—Of Captain Armstrong at Quimby Bridge.—Action in
the Neighborhood.—End of the Campaign 341
CHAPTER XXV.
Washington disappointed as to Reinforcements.—French Armament
destined for the Chesapeake.—Attempts on New York
postponed.—March of the Armies to the Chesapeake.—Stratagems to
deceive the Enemy.—Arnold ravages New London.—Washington at
Philadelphia.—March of the Two Armies through the
City.—Cornwallis at Yorktown.—Preparations to proceed against
Him.—Visit to Mount Vernon 354
CHAPTER XXVI.
Cornwallis aroused to his Danger.—His Retreat to the Carolinas cut
off.—Strengthens his Works.—Action between the French and
British Fleets.—Washington and De Rochambeau visit the French
Fleet.—Operations before Yorktown 372
CHAPTER XXVII.
Greene on the High Hills of Santee.—The Enemy harassed.—Greene
marches against Stuart.—Battle near Eutaw Springs 386
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Siege and Surrender of Yorktown 396
CHAPTER XXIX.
Dissolution of the Combined Armies.—Washington at Eltham.—Death of
John Parke Custis.—Washington at Mount Vernon.—Correspondence
about the Next Campaign.—Lafayette sails for France.—Washington
stimulates Congress to Military Preparations.—Project to
surprise and carry off Prince William Henry from New York.—The
Case of Captain Asgill 413
CHAPTER XXX.
Washington continues his Precautions.—Sir Gay Carleton brings
Pacific News.—Discontents of the Army.—Extraordinary Letter from
Colonel Nicola.—Indignant Reply of Washington.—Joint Letter of
Sir Guy Carleton and Admiral Digby.—Junction of the Allied
Armies on the Hudson.—Contemplated Reduction of the Army 426
CHAPTER XXXI.
Discontents of the Army at Newburg.—Memorial of the Officers to
Congress.—Anonymous Papers circulated in the Camp.—Meeting of
Officers called.—Address of Washington.—Resolutions in
Consequence.—Letters of Washington to the President.—His Opinion
of the Anonymous Addresses and their Author 434
CHAPTER XXXII.
News of Peace.—Letter of Washington in Behalf of the
Army.—Cessation of Hostilities proclaimed.—Order of the
Cincinnati formed.—Letter of Washington to the State
Governors.—Mutiny in the Pennsylvania Line.—Letter of Washington
on the Subject.—Tour to the Northern Posts 449
CHAPTER XXXIII.
The Army to be discharged.—Parting Address of
Washington.—Evacuation of New York.—Parting Scene of Washington
with his Officers at New York.—Washington resigns his Commission
to Congress.—Retires to Mount Vernon 465
CHAPTER XXXIV.
Washington at Mount Vernon.—A Soldier’s Repose.—Plans of Domestic
Life.—Kind Offer of the Council of Pennsylvania.—Historical
Applications.—News of Jacob Van Braam.—Opening of
Spring.—Agricultural Life resumed.—Recollections of the
Fairfaxes.—Meeting of the Order of Cincinnati.—Tour of
Washington and Dr. Craik to the West.—Ideas of Internal
Improvement.—Parting with Lafayette 477
CHAPTER XXXV.
Scheme of Inland Navigation.—Shares of Stock offered to
Washington.—Declined.—Rural Improvements.—The Tax of
Letter-writing.—The Tax of Sitting for Likenesses.—Ornamental
Gardening.—Management of the Estate.—Domestic Life.—Visit of Mr.
Watson.—Reverential Awe inspired by Washington.—Irksome to
him.—Instances of his Festive Gayety.—Of his Laughing.—Passion
for Hunting revived.—Death of General Greene.—His
Character.—Washington’s Regrets and Encomiums.—Letters to the
French Noblemen 493
CHAPTER XXXVI.
Washington doubts the Solidity of the
Confederation.—Correspondence with John Jay on the Subject.—Plan
of a Convention of all the States to revise the Federal
System.—Washington heads the Virginia Delegation.—Insurrection
in Massachusetts.—The Convention.—A Federal Constitution
organized.—Ratified 516
CHAPTER XXXVII.
Washington talked of for the Presidency.—His Letters on the
Subject expressing his Reluctance.—His Election.—His Progress to
the Seat of Government.—His Reception at New York.—The
Inauguration 534
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
LIFE OF WASHINGTON.
CHAPTER I.
Sufferings of the Army at Morristown.—Rigorous Winter.—Derangement of
the Currency.—Confusion in the Commissariat.—Impressment of
Supplies.—Patriotic Conduct of the People of New Jersey.—The Bay of
New York Frozen over.—Lord Stirling’s Expedition against Staten
Island—Knyphausen’s Incursion into the Jerseys.—Caldwell’s Church at
Elizabethtown burnt.—Character of its Pastor.—Foray into Westchester
County.—Burning of Young’s House in the Valley of the Neperan.
The dreary encampment at Valley Forge has become proverbial for its
hardships; yet they were scarcely more severe than those suffered by
Washington’s army during the present winter, while hutted among the
heights of Morristown. The winter set in early, and was uncommonly
rigorous. The transportation of supplies was obstructed; the magazines
were exhausted, and the commissaries had neither money nor credit to
enable them to replenish them. For weeks at a time the army was on half
allowance; sometimes without meat, sometimes without bread, sometimes
without both. There was a scarcity, too, of clothing and blankets, so
that the poor soldiers were starving with cold as well as hunger.
Washington wrote to President Reed of Pennsylvania, entreating aid and
supplies from that State to keep his army from disbanding. “We have
never,” said he, “experienced a like extremity at any period of the
war.”[1]
The year 1780 opened upon a famishing camp. “For a fortnight past,”
writes Washington, on the 8th of January, “the troops, both officers and
men, have been almost perishing with want. Yet,” adds he, feelingly,
“they have borne their sufferings with a patience that merits the
approbation, and ought to excite the sympathies of their countrymen.”
The severest trials of the Revolution, in fact, were not in the field,
where there were shouts to excite and laurels to be won; but in the
squalid wretchedness of ill-provided camps, where there was nothing to
cheer and everything to be endured. To suffer was the lot of the
revolutionary soldier.
A rigorous winter had much to do with the actual distresses of the army,
but the root of the evil lay in the derangement of the currency.
Congress had commenced the war without adequate funds, and without the
power of imposing direct taxes. To meet pressing emergencies, it had
emitted paper money, which, for a time, passed currently at par; but
sank in value as further emissions succeeded, and that already in
circulation remained unredeemed. The several States added to the evil by
emitting paper in their separate capacities: thus the country gradually
became flooded with a “Continental currency,” as it was called;
irredeemable, and of no intrinsic value. The consequence was a general
derangement of trade and finance. The Continental currency declined to
such a degree, that forty dollars in paper were equivalent to only one
in specie.
Congress attempted to put a stop to this depreciation, by making paper
money a legal tender, at its nominal value, in the discharge of debts,
however contracted. This opened the door to knavery, and added a new
feature to the evil.
The commissaries now found it difficult to purchase supplies for the
immediate wants of the army, and impossible to provide any stores in
advance. They were left destitute of funds, and the public credit was
prostrated by the accumulating debts suffered to remain uncanceled. The
changes which had taken place in the commissary department added to this
confusion. The commissary-general, instead of receiving, as heretofore,
a commission on expenditures, was to have a fixed salary in paper
currency; and his deputies were to be compensated in like manner,
without the usual allowance of rations and forage. No competent agents
could be procured on such terms; and the derangement produced throughout
the department compelled Colonel Wadsworth, the able and upright
commissary-general, to resign.
In the present emergency Washington was reluctantly compelled, by the
distresses of the army, to call upon the counties of the State for
supplies of grain and cattle, proportioned to their respective
abilities. These supplies were to be brought into the camp within a
certain time; the grain to be measured and the cattle estimated by any
two of the magistrates of the county in conjunction with the commissary,
and certificates to be given by the latter, specifying the quantity of
each and the terms of payment.
Wherever a compliance with this call was refused, the articles required
were to be impressed: it was a painful alternative, yet nothing else
could save the army from dissolution or starving. Washington charged his
officers to act with as much tenderness as possible, graduating the
exaction according to the stock of each individual, so that no family
should be deprived of what was necessary to its subsistance. “While your
measures are adapted to the emergency,” writes he to Colonel Matthias
Ogden, “and you consult what you owe to the service, I am persuaded you
will not forget that, as we are compelled by necessity to take the
property of citizens for the support of an army on which their safety
depends, we should be careful to manifest that we have a reverence for
their rights, and wish not to do anything which that necessity, and even
their own good, do not absolutely require.”
To the honor of the magistrates and the people of Jersey, Washington
testifies that his requisitions were punctually complied with, and in
many counties exceeded. Too much praise, indeed, cannot be given to the
people of this State for the patience with which most of them bore these
exactions, and the patriotism with which many of them administered to
the wants of their countrymen in arms. Exhausted as the State was by
repeated drainings, yet, at one time, when deep snows cut off all
distant supplies, Washington’s army was wholly subsisted by it.
“Provisions came in with hearty good-will from the farmers in Medham,
Chatham, Hanover, and other rural places, together with stockings,
shoes, coats, and blankets; while the women met together to knit and sew
for the soldiery.”[2]
As the winter advanced, the cold increased in severity. It was the most
intense ever remembered in the country. The great bay of New York was
frozen over. No supplies could come to the city by water. Provisions
grew scanty and there was such lack of fire-wood, that old transports
were broken up, and uninhabited wooden houses pulled down for fuel. The
safety of the city was endangered. The ships of war, immovably ice-bound
in its harbor, no longer gave it protection. The insular security of the
place was at an end. An army with its heaviest artillery and baggage
might cross the Hudson on the ice. The veteran Knyphausen began to
apprehend an invasion, and took measures accordingly; the seamen of the
ships and transports were landed and formed into companies, and the
inhabitants of the city were embodied, officered, and subjected to
garrison duty.
Washington was aware of the opportunity which offered itself for a
signal _coup de main_, but was not in a condition to profit by it. His
troops, hutted among the heights of Morristown, were half fed, half
clothed, and inferior in number to the garrison of New York. He was
destitute of funds necessary to fit them for the enterprise, and the
quartermaster could not furnish means of transportation.
Still, in the frozen condition of the bay and rivers, some minor blow
might be attempted, sufficient to rouse and cheer the spirits of the
people. With this view, having ascertained that the ice formed a bridge
across the strait between the Jersey shore and Staten Island, he
projected a descent upon the latter by Lord Stirling with twenty-five
hundred men, to surprise and capture a British force of ten or twelve
hundred.
His lordship crossed on the night of the 14th of January, from De Hart’s
Point to the island. His approach was discovered; the troops took refuge
in the works, which were too strongly situated to be attacked; a channel
remaining open through the ice across the bay, a boat was dispatched to
New York for reinforcements.
The projected surprise having thus proved a complete failure, and his
own situation becoming hazardous, Lord Stirling recrossed to the Jersey
shore with a number of prisoners whom he had captured. He was pursued by
a party of cavalry, which he repulsed, and effected a retreat to
Elizabethtown. Some few stragglers fell into the hands of the enemy, and
many of his men were severely frostbitten.
By way of retort, Knyphausen on the 25th of January, sent out two
detachments to harass the American outposts. One crossed to Paulus Hook,
and being joined by part of the garrison of that post, pushed on to
Newark, surprised and captured a company stationed there, set fire to
the academy, and returned without loss.
The other detachment, consisting of one hundred dragoons and between
three and four hundred infantry, under Lieutenant-colonel Boskirk,
crossed from Staten Island to Trembly’s Point, surprised the
picket-guard at Elizabethtown, and captured two majors, two captains,
and forty-two privates. This, likewise, was effected without loss. The
disgraceful part of the expedition was the burning of the town-house, a
church, and a private residence, and the plundering of the inhabitants.
The church destroyed was a Presbyterian place of worship, and its
pastor, the Rev. James Caldwell, had rendered himself an especial object
of hostility to both Briton and tory. He was a zealous patriot; had
served as chaplain to those portions of the American army that
successively occupied the Jerseys; and now officiated in that capacity
in Colonel Elias Dayton’s regiment, beside occasionally acting as
commissary. His church had at times served as hospital to the American
soldiers; or shelter to the hastily assembled militia. Its bell was the
tocsin of alarm; from its pulpit he had many a time stirred up the
patriotism of his countrymen by his ardent, eloquent, and pathetic
appeals, laying beside him his pistols before he commenced. His
popularity in the army, and among the Jersey people, was unbounded. He
was termed by his friends a “rousing gospel preacher,” and by the enemy
a “frantic priest” and a “rebel fire-brand.” On the present occasion,
his church was set on fire by a virulent tory of the neighborhood, who,
as he saw it wrapped in flames, “regretted that the black-coated rebel,
Caldwell, was not in his pulpit.” We shall have occasion to speak of the
fortunes of this pastor and his family hereafter.
Another noted maraud during Knyphausen’s military sway, was in the lower
part of Westchester County, in a hilly region lying between the British
and American lines, which had been the scene of part of the past year’s
campaign. Being often foraged, its inhabitants had become belligerent in
their habits, and quick to retaliate on all marauders.
In this region, about twenty miles from the British outposts, and not
far from White Plains, the Americans had established a post of three
hundred men at a stone building commonly known as Young’s house, from
the name of its owner. It commanded a road which passed from north to
south down along the narrow but fertile valley of the Sawmill River, now
known by its original Indian name of the Neperan. On this road the
garrison of Young’s house kept a vigilant eye, to intercept the convoys
of cattle and provisions which had been collected or plundered by the
enemy, and which passed down this valley toward New York. This post had
long been an annoyance to the enemy, but its distance from the British
lines had hitherto saved it from attack. The country now was covered
with snow; troops could be rapidly transported on sleighs; and it was
determined that Young’s house should be surprised, and this rebel nest
broken up.
On the evening of the 2d of February, an expedition set out for the
purpose from King’s Bridge, led by Lieutenant-colonel Norton, and
consisting of four flank companies of guards, two companies of Hessians,
and a party of Yagers, all in sleighs; besides a body of Yager cavalry,
and a number of mounted Westchester refugees, with two three-pounders.
The snow, being newly fallen, was deep; the sleighs broke their way
through it with difficulty. The troops at length abandoned them and
pushed forward on foot. The cannon were left behind for the same reason.
It was a weary tramp; the snow in many places was more than two feet
deep, and they had to take by-ways and cross-roads to avoid the American
patrols.
The sun rose while they were yet seven miles from Young’s house. To
surprise the post was out of the question; still they kept on. Before
they could reach the house the country had taken the alarm, and the
Westchester yeomanry had armed themselves, and were hastening to aid the
garrison.
The British light infantry and grenadiers invested the mansion; the
cavalry posted themselves on a neighboring eminence, to prevent retreat
or reinforcement, and the house was assailed. It made a brave
resistance, and was aided by some of the yeomanry stationed in an
adjacent orchard. The garrison, however, was overpowered; numbers were
killed, and ninety taken prisoners. The house was sacked and set in
flames; and thus having broken up this stronghold of the country, the
party hastened to effect a safe return to the lines with their
prisoners, some of whom were so badly wounded that they had to be left
at different farm-houses on the road. The detachment reached King’s
Bridge by nine o’clock the same evening, and boasted that, in this
enterprise, they had sustained no other loss than two killed and
twenty-three wounded.
Of the prisoners many were doubtless farmers and farmers’ sons, who had
turned out in defense of their homes, and were now to be transferred to
the horrors of the jail and sugar house in New York. We give this affair
as a specimen of the _petite guerre_ carried on in the southern part of
Westchester County; the NEUTRAL GROUND, as it was called, but subjected,
from its vicinity to the city, to be foraged by the royal forces, and
plundered and insulted by refugees and tories. No part of the Union was
more harried and trampled down by friend and foe, during the Revolution,
than this debatable region and the Jerseys.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER II.
Arnold in Command of Philadelphia.—Unpopular Measures.—Arnold’s Style
of Living.—His Schemes and Speculations.—His Collisions with the
Executive Council.—His Land Project.—Charges sent against him to
Congress.—His Address to the Public.—Charges referred to a
Court-martial.—His Marriage.—Verdict of the Court-martial.—Arnold
reprimanded.—Obtains Leave of Absence from the Army.
The most irksome duty that Washington had to perform during this
winter’s encampment at Morristown, regarded General Arnold and his
military government of Philadelphia in 1778. To explain it requires a
glance back to that period.
At the time of entering upon this command, Arnold’s accounts with
government were yet unsettled, the committee appointed by Congress, at
his own request, to examine them, having considered some of his charges
dubious, and others exorbitant. Washington, however, still looked upon
him with favor, and, but a month previously, had presented him with a
pair of epaulettes and a sword-knot, “as a testimony of his sincere
regard and approbation.”
The command of Philadelphia, at this time, was a delicate and difficult
one, and required to be exercised with extreme circumspection. The
boundaries between the powers vested in the military commander, and
those inherent in the State government, were ill defined. Disaffection
to the American cause prevailed both among the permanent and casual
residents, and required to be held in check with firmness but
toleration. By a resolve of Congress, no goods, wares, or merchandise
were to be removed, transferred, or sold, until the ownership of them
could be ascertained by a joint committee of Congress and of the Council
of Pennsylvania; any public stores belonging to the enemy were to be
seized and converted to the use of the army.
Washington, in his letter of instructions, left it to Arnold’s
discretion to adopt such measures as should appear to him most effectual
and least offensive in executing this resolve of Congress; in which he
was to be aided by an assistant quartermaster-general, subject to his
directions. “You will take every prudent step in your power,” writes
Washington, “to preserve tranquillity and order in the city, and give
security to individuals of every class and description, restraining, as
far as possible, till the restoration of civil government, every species
of persecution, insult, or abuse, either from the soldiery to the
inhabitants, or among each other.”
One of Arnold’s first measures was to issue a proclamation enforcing the
resolve of Congress. In so doing, he was countenanced by leading
personages of Philadelphia, and the proclamation was drafted by General
Joseph Reed. The measure excited great dissatisfaction, and
circumstances attending the enforcement of it gave rise to scandal.
Former instances of a mercenary spirit made Arnold liable to suspicions,
and it was alleged that, while by the proclamation he shut up the stores
and shops so that even the officers of the army could not procure
necessary articles of merchandise, he was privately making large
purchases for his own enrichment.
His style of living gave point to this scandal. He occupied one of the
finest houses in the city; set up a splendid establishment; had his
carriage and four horses and a train of domestics; gave expensive
entertainments, and indulged in a luxury and parade which were condemned
as little befitting a republican general; especially one whose accounts
with government were yet unsettled, and who had imputations of mercenary
rapacity still hanging over him.
Ostentatious prodigality, in fact, was Arnold’s besetting sin. To cope
with his overwhelming expenses, he engaged in various speculations, more
befitting the trafficking habits of his early life than his present
elevated position. Nay, he availed himself of that position to aid his
speculations, and sometimes made temporary use of the public moneys
passing through his hands. In his impatience to be rich, he at one time
thought of taking command of a privateer, and making lucrative captures
at sea.
In the exercise of his military functions, he had become involved in
disputes with the president (Wharton) and executive council of
Pennsylvania and by his conduct, which was deemed arbitrary and
arrogant, had drawn upon himself the hostility of that body, which
became stern and unsparing censors of his conduct.
He had not been many weeks in Philadelphia before he became attached to
one of its reigning belles, Miss Margaret Shippen, daughter of Mr.
Edward Shippen, in after years chief justice of Pennsylvania. Her family
were not considered well affected to the American cause; the young lady
herself, during the occupation of the city by the enemy, had been a
“toast” among the British officers, and selected as one of the beauties
of the Mischianza.
Arnold paid her addresses in an open and honorable style, first
obtaining by letter the sanction of the father. Party feeling at that
time ran high in Philadelphia on local subjects connected with the
change of the State government. Arnold’s connection with the Shippen
family increased his disfavor with the president and executive council,
who were whigs to a man; and it was sneeringly observed, that “he had
courted the loyalists from the start.”
General Joseph Reed, at that time one of the executive committee,
observes in a letter to General Greene, “Will you not think it
extraordinary that General Arnold made a public entertainment the night
before last, of which, not only common tory ladies, but the wives and
daughters of persons proscribed by the State, and now with the enemy at
New York, formed a very considerable number? The fact is literally
true.”
Regarded from a different point of view, this conduct might have been
attributed to the courtesy of a gallant soldier; who scorned to carry
the animosity of the field into the drawing-room, or to proscribe and
persecute the wives and daughters of political exiles.
In the beginning of December, General Reed became president of the
executive council of Pennsylvania, and under his administration the
ripening hostility to Arnold was brought to a crisis. Among the various
schemes of the latter for bettering his fortunes, and securing the means
of living when the war should come to an end, was one for forming a
settlement in the western part of the State of New York, to be composed,
principally, of the officers and soldiers who had served under him. His
scheme was approved by Mr. John Jay, the pure-minded patriot of New
York, at that time President of Congress, and was sanctioned by the New
York delegation. Provided with letters from them, Arnold left
Philadelphia about the 1st of January (1779), and set out for Albany to
obtain a grant of land for the purpose, from the New York Legislature.
Within a day or two after his departure, his public conduct was
discussed in the executive council of Pennsylvania, and it was resolved
unanimously, that the course of his military command in the city had
been in many respects oppressive, unworthy of his rank and station, and
highly discouraging to the liberties and interests of America, and
disrespectful to the supreme executive authority of the State.
As he was an officer of the United States, the complaints and grievances
of Pennsylvania were set forth by the executive council in eight
charges, and forwarded to Congress, accompanied by documents, and a
letter from President Reed.
Information of these facts, with a printed copy of the charges, reached
Arnold at Washington’s camp on the Raritan, which he had visited while
on the way to Albany. His first solicitude was about the effect they
might have upon Miss Shippen, to whom he was now engaged. In a letter
dated February 8th, he entreated her not to suffer these rude attacks on
him to give her a moment’s uneasiness—they could do him no injury.
On the following day he issued an address to the public, recalling his
faithful services of nearly four years, and inveighing against the
proceedings of the president and council; who, not content with injuring
him in a cruel and unprecedented manner with Congress, had ordered
copies of their charges to be printed and dispersed throughout the
several States, for the purpose of prejudicing the public mind against
him, while the matter was yet in suspense. “Their conduct,” writes he,
“appears the more cruel and malicious, in making the charges after I had
left the city; as my intention of leaving the city was known for five
weeks before.” This complaint, we must observe, was rebutted, on their
part, by the assertion that, at the time of his departure, he knew of
the accusation that was impending.
In conclusion, Arnold informed the public that he had requested Congress
to direct a court-martial to inquire into his conduct, and trusted his
countrymen would suspend their judgment in the matter, until he should
have an opportunity of being heard.
Public opinion was divided. His brilliant services spoke eloquently in
his favor. His admirers repined that a fame won by such daring exploits
on the field should be stifled down by cold calumnies in Philadelphia;
and many thought, dispassionately, that the State authorities had acted
with excessive harshness towards a meritorious officer, in widely
spreading their charges against him, and thus, in an unprecedented way,
putting a public brand upon him.
On the 16th of February, Arnold’s appeal to Congress was referred to the
committee which had under consideration the letter of President Reed and
its accompanying documents, and it was charged to make a report with all
convenient dispatch. A motion was made to suspend Arnold from all
command during the inquiry. To the credit of Congress it was negatived.
Much contrariety of feeling prevailed on the subject in the committee of
Congress and the executive council of Pennsylvania, and the
correspondence between those legislative bodies was occasionally
tinctured with needless acrimony.
Arnold, in the course of January, had obtained permission from
Washington to resign the command of Philadelphia, but deferred to act
upon it, until the charges against him should be examined, lest, as he
said, his enemies should misinterpret his motives, and ascribe his
resignation to fear of a disgraceful suspension in consequence of those
charges.
About the middle of March, the committee brought in a report exculpating
him from all criminality in the matters charged against him. As soon as
the report was brought in, he considered his name vindicated, and
resigned.
Whatever exultation he may have felt was short-lived. Congress did not
call up and act upon the report, as, in justice to him, they should have
done, whether to sanction it or not; but referred the subject anew to a
joint committee of their body and the assembly and council of
Pennsylvania. Arnold was at this time on the eve of marriage with Miss
Shippen, and, thus circumstanced, it must have been peculiarly galling
to his pride to be kept under the odium of imputed delinquencies.
The report of the joint committee brought up animated discussions in
Congress. Several resolutions recommended by the committee were merely
of a formal nature, and intended to soothe the wounded sensibilities
of Pennsylvania; these were passed without dissent; but it was
contended that certain charges advanced by the executive council of
that State were only cognizable by a court-martial, and, after a warm
debate, it was resolved (April 3d), by a large majority, that the
commander-in-chief should appoint such a court for the consideration
of them.
Arnold inveighed bitterly against the injustice of subjecting him to a
trial before a military tribunal for alleged offenses of which he had
been acquitted by the committee of Congress. He was sacrificed, he said,
to avoid a breach with Pennsylvania. In a letter to Washington, he
charged it all to the hostility of President Reed, who, he affirmed, had
by his address kept the affair in suspense for two months, and at last
obtained the resolution of Congress directing the court-martial. He
urged Washington to appoint a speedy day for the trial, that he might
not linger under the odium of an unjust public accusation. “I have no
doubt of obtaining justice from a court-martial,” writes he, “as every
officer in the army must feel himself injured by the cruel and
unprecedented treatment I have met with.... When your Excellency
considers my sufferings, and the cruel situation I am in, your own
humanity and feeling as a soldier will render everything I can say
further on the subject unnecessary.”
It was doubtless soothing to his irritated pride, that the woman on whom
he had placed his affections remained true to him; for his marriage with
Miss Shippen took place just five days after the mortifying vote of
Congress.
Washington sympathized with Arnold’s impatience, and appointed the 1st
of May for the trial, but it was repeatedly postponed; first, at the
request of the Pennsylvania council, to allow time for the arrival of
witnesses from the South; afterwards, in consequence of threatening
movements of the enemy, which obliged every officer to be at his post;
Arnold, in the mean time, continued to reside at Philadelphia, holding
his commission in the army, but filling no public office, getting deeper
and deeper in debt, and becoming more and more unpopular.
Having once been attacked in the street in the course of some popular
tumult, he affected to consider his life in danger, and applied to
Congress for a guard of Continental soldiers, “as no protection was to
be expected from the authority of the State for an honest man.”
He was told in reply that his application ought to have been made to the
executive authority of Pennsylvania; “in whose disposition to protect
every honest citizen, Congress had full confidence, _and highly
disapproved the insinuation of every individual to the contrary_.”
For months, Arnold remained in this anxious and irritated state. His
situation, he said, was cruel. His character would continue to suffer
until he should be acquitted by a court-martial, and he would be
effectually prevented from joining the army, which he wished to do as
soon as his wounds would permit, that he might render the country every
service in his power in this critical time. “For though I have been
ungratefully treated,” adds he, “I do not consider it as from my
countrymen in general, but from a set of men, who, void of principle,
are governed entirely by private interest.”
At length, when the campaign was over, and the army had gone into
winter-quarters, the longdelayed court-martial was assembled at
Morristown. Of the eight charges originally advanced against Arnold by
the Pennsylvania council, four only came under cognizance of the court.
Of two of these he was entirely acquitted. The remaining two were—
_First._ That while in the camp at Valley Forge, he, without the
knowledge of the commander-in-chief, or the sanction of the State
government, had granted a written permission for a vessel belonging to
disaffected persons, to proceed from the port of Philadelphia, then in
possession of the enemy, to any port of the United States.
_Second._ That, availing himself of his official authority, he had
appropriated the public wagons of Pennsylvania, when called forth on a
special emergency, to the transportation of private property, and that
of persons who voluntarily remained with the enemy, and were deemed
disaffected to the interests and independence of America.
In regard to the first of these charges, Arnold alleged that the person
who applied for the protection of the vessel, had taken the oath of
allegiance to the State of Pennsylvania required by the laws; that he
was not residing in Philadelphia at the time, but had applied on behalf
of himself and a company, and that the intentions of that person and his
associates with regard to the vessel and cargo appeared to be upright.
As to his having granted the permission without the knowledge of the
commander-in-chief, though present in the camp, Arnold alleged that it
was customary in the army for general officers to grant passes and
protections to inhabitants of the United States, friendly to the same,
and that the protection was given in the present instance, to prevent
the soldiery from plundering the vessel and cargo, coming from a place
in possession of the enemy, until the proper authority could take
cognizance of the matter.
In regard to the second charge, while it was proved that under his
authority wagons had been so used, it was allowed in extenuation, that
they had been employed at private expense, and without any design to
defraud the public or impede the military service.
In regard to both charges, nothing fraudulent on the part of Arnold was
proved, but the transactions involved in the first were pronounced
irregular, and contrary to one of the articles of war; and in the
second, imprudent and reprehensible, considering the high station
occupied by the general at the time; and the court sentenced him to be
reprimanded by the commander-in-chief. The sentence was confirmed by
Congress on the 12th of February (1780).
We have forborne to go into all the particulars of this trial, but we
have considered them attentively, discharging from our minds, as much as
possible, all impressions produced by Arnold’s subsequent history, and
we are surprised to find, after the hostility manifested against him by
the council of Pennsylvania, and their extraordinary measure to possess
the public mind against him, how venial are the trespasses of which he
stood convicted.
He may have given personal offense by his assuming vanity; by the
arrogant exercise of his military authority; he may have displeased by
his ostentation, and awakened distrust by his speculating propensities;
but as yet his patriotism was unquestioned. No turpitude had been proved
against him; his brilliant exploits shed a splendor round his name, and
he appeared before the public, a soldier crippled in their service. All
these should have pleaded in his favor, should have produced indulgence
of his errors, and mitigated that animosity which he always contended
had been the cause of his ruin.
The reprimand adjudged by the court-martial was administered by
Washington with consummate delicacy. The following were his words, as
repeated by M. de Marbois, the French secretary of legation:—
“Our profession is the chastest of all: even the shadow of a fault
tarnishes the lustre of our finest achievements. The least inadvertence
may rob us of the public favor, so hard to be acquired. I reprehend you
for having forgotten, that, in proportion as you had rendered yourself
formidable to our enemies, you should have been guarded and temperate in
your deportment towards your fellow-citizens.
“Exhibit anew those noble qualities which have placed you on the list of
our most valued commanders. I will myself furnish you, as far as it may
be in my power, with opportunities of regaining the esteem of your
country.”
A reprimand so mild and considerate, accompanied by such high eulogiums
and generous promises, might have had a favorable effect upon Arnold,
had he been in a different frame of mind but he had persuaded himself
that the court would incline in his favor and acquit him altogether and
he resented deeply a sentence, which he protested against as unmerited.
His resentment was aggravated by delays in the settlement of his
accounts, as he depended upon the sums he claimed as due to him, for the
payment of debts by which he was harassed. In following the matter up,
he became a weary, and probably irritable, applicant at the halls of
Congress, and, we are told, gave great offense to members by his
importunity, while he wore out the patience of his friends; but public
bodies are prone to be offended by the importunity of baffled claimants,
and the patience of friends is seldom proof against the reiterated story
of a man’s prolonged difficulties.
In the month of March, we find him intent on a new and adventurous
project. He had proposed to the Board of Admiralty an expedition,
requiring several ships of war and three or four hundred land troops,
offering to take command of it should it be carried into effect, as his
wounds still disabled him from duty on land. Washington, who knew his
abilities in either service, was disposed to favor his proposition, but
the scheme fell through from the impossibility of sparing the requisite
number of men from the army. What Arnold’s ultimate designs might have
been in seeking such a command, are rendered problematical by his
subsequent conduct. On the failure of the project, he requested and
obtained from Washington leave of absence from the army for the summer,
there being, he said, little prospect of an active campaign, and his
wounds unfitting him for the field.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER III.
South Carolina threatened.—Its Condition and Population.—Stormy
Voyage of Sir Henry Clinton.—Loss of Horses.—Character of
Lieutenant-colonel Tarleton.—Fleet arrives at Tybee.—Sir Henry
Clinton advances upon Charleston.—Lincoln prepares for
Defense.—Commodore Whipple.—Governor Rutledge.—Forebodings of
Washington.—Embarkation of British Troops at New York.—Washington
sends De Kalb with Reinforcements.—His Hopeful Letter to Steuben.
The return of spring brought little alleviation to the sufferings of the
army at Morristown. All means of supplying its wants or recruiting its
ranks were paralyzed by the continued depreciation of the currency.
While Washington saw his forces gradually diminishing, his solicitude
was intensely excited for the safety of the Southern States. The reader
will recall the departure from New York, in the latter part of December,
of the fleet of Admiral Arbuthnot with the army of Sir Henry Clinton,
destined for the subjugation of South Carolina. “The richness of the
country,” says Colonel Tarleton, in his history of the campaign, “its
vicinity to Georgia, and its distance from General Washington, pointed
out the advantage and facility of its conquest. While it would be an
unspeakable loss to the Americans, the possession of it would tend to
secure to the crown the southern part of the continent which stretches
beyond it.” It was presumed that the subjugation of it would be an easy
task. The population was scanty for the extent of the country, and was
made up of emigrants, or the descendants of emigrants, from various
lands and of various nations: Huguenots, who had emigrated from France
after the revocation of the edict of Nantz; Germans, from the
Palatinate; Irish Protestants, who had received grants of land from the
crown; Scotch Highlanders, transported hither after the disastrous
battle of Culloden; Dutch colonists, who had left New York, after its
submission to England, and been settled here on bounty lands.
Some of these foreign elements might be hostile to British domination,
but others would be favorable. There was a large class, too, that had
been born or had passed much of their lives in England, who retained for
it a filial affection, spoke of it as _home_, and sent their children to
be educated there.
The number of slaves within the province and of savages on its western
frontier, together with its wide extent of unprotected sea-coast, were
encouragements to an invasion by sea and land. Little combination of
militia and yeomanry need be apprehended from a population sparsely
scattered, and where the settlements were widely separated by swamps and
forests. Washington was in no condition to render prompt and effectual
relief, his army being at a vast distance, and considered, as “in a
great measure broken up.” The British, on the contrary, had the
advantage of their naval force, “there being nothing then in the
American seas which could even venture to look at it.”[3]
Such were some of the considerations which prompted the enemy to this
expedition; and which gave Washington great anxiety concerning it.
General Lincoln was in command at Charleston, but uncertain as yet of
the designs of the enemy, and at a loss what course to pursue. Diffident
of himself, and accustomed to defer to the wisdom of Washington, he
turns to him in his present perplexity. “It is among my misfortunes,”
writes he, modestly (January 23d), “that I am not near enough to your
Excellency to have the advantage of your advice and direction. I feel my
own insufficiency and want of experience. I can promise you nothing but
a disposition to serve my country. If this town should be attacked, as
now threatened, I know my duty will call me to defend it, as long as
opposition can be of any avail. I hope my inclination will coincide with
my duty.”
The voyage of Sir Henry Clinton proved long and tempestuous. The ships
were dispersed. Several fell into the hands of the Americans. One
ordnance vessel foundered. Most of the artillery horses, and all those
of the cavalry perished. The scattered ships rejoined each other about
the end of January, at Tybee Bay on Savannah River, where those that had
sustained damage were repaired as speedily as possible. The loss of the
cavalry horses was especially felt by Sir Henry. There was a corps of
two hundred and fifty dragoons, on which he depended greatly in the kind
of guerrilla warfare he was likely to pursue, in a country of forests
and morasses. Lieutenant-colonel Banastre Tarleton who commanded them,
was one of those dogs of war, which Sir Henry was prepared to let slip
on emergencies, to scour and maraud the country. This “bold dragoon,” so
noted in Southern warfare, was about twenty-six years of age, of a
swarthy complexion, with small, black, piercing eyes. He is described as
being rather below the middle size, square-built and strong, “with large
muscular legs.” It will be found that he was a first-rate partisan
officer, prompt, ardent, active, but somewhat unscrupulous.
Landing from the fleet, perfectly dismounted, he repaired with his
dragoons, in some of the quartermaster’s boats, to Port Royal Island, on
the seaboard of South Carolina, “to collect at that place, from friends
or enemies, by money or by force, all the horses belonging to the
islands in the neighborhood.” He succeeded in procuring horses, though
of an inferior quality to those he had lost, but consoled himself with
the persuasion that he would secure better ones in the course of the
campaign, by “exertion and enterprise,”—a vague phrase, but very
significant in the partisan vocabulary.
In the mean time the transports, having on board a great part of the
army, sailed under convoy on the 10th of February, from Savannah to
North Edisto Sound, where the troops disembarked on the 11th, on St.
John’s Island, about thirty miles below Charleston. Thence, Sir Henry
Clinton set out for the banks of Ashley River, opposite to the city,
while a part of the fleet proceeded round by sea, for the purpose of
blockading the harbor. The advance of Sir Henry was slow and cautious.
Much time was consumed by him in fortifying intermediate ports, to keep
up a secure communication with the fleet. He ordered from Savannah all
the troops that could be spared, and wrote to Knyphausen at New York,
for reinforcements from that place. Every precaution was taken by him to
insure against a second repulse from before Charleston, which might
prove fatal to his military reputation.
General Lincoln took advantage of this slowness on the part of his
assailant, to extend and strengthen the works. Charleston stands at the
end of an isthmus formed by the Ashley and Cooper rivers. Beyond the
main works on the land side he cut a canal, from one to the other of the
swamps which border these rivers. In advance of the canal were two rows
of abatis and a double picketed ditch. Within the canal, and between it
and the main works, were strong redoubts and batteries, to open a
flanking fire on any approaching column, while an inclosed horn-work of
masonry formed a kind of citadel.
A squadron commanded by Commodore Whipple, and composed of nine vessels
of war, of various sizes, the largest mounting forty-four guns, was to
coöperate with forts Moultrie and Johnston, and the various batteries,
in the defense of the harbor. They were to lie before the bar so as to
command the entrance of it. Great reliance also was placed on the bar
itself, which it was thought no ship of the line could pass.
Governor Rutledge, a man eminent for talents, patriotism, firmness, and
decision, was clothed with dictatorial powers during the present crisis;
he had called out the militia of the State, and it was supposed they
would duly obey the call. Large reinforcements of troops also were
expected from the North. Under all these circumstances, General Lincoln
yielded to the entreaties of the inhabitants, and instead of remaining
with his army in the open country, as he had intended, shut himself up
with them in the place for its defense, leaving merely his cavalry and
two hundred light troops outside, who were to hover about the enemy and
prevent small parties from marauding.
It was not until the 12th of March that Sir Henry Clinton effected his
tardy approach, and took up a position on Charleston Neck, a few miles
above the town. Admiral Arbuthnot soon showed an intention of
introducing his ships into the harbor; barricading their waists,
anchoring them in a situation where they might take advantage of the
first favorable spring-tide, and fixing buoys on the bar for their
guidance. Commodore Whipple had by this time ascertained by sounding
that a wrong idea had prevailed of the depth of water in the harbor, and
that his ships could not anchor nearer than within three miles of the
bar, so that it would be impossible for him to defend the passage of it.
He quitted his station within it, therefore, after having destroyed a
part of the enemy’s buoys, and took a position where his ships might be
abreast, and form a cross-fire with the batteries of Fort Moultrie,
where Colonel Pinckney commanded.
Washington was informed of these facts by letters from his former
aide-de-camp, Colonel Laurens, who was in Charleston at the time. The
information caused anxious forebodings. “The impracticability of
defending the bar, I fear, amounts to the loss of the town and
garrison,” writes he in reply. “It really appears to me, that the
propriety of attempting to defend the town, depended on the probability
of defending the bar, and that when this ceased, the attempt ought to
have been relinquished.” The same opinion was expressed by him in a
letter to Baron Steuben; “but at this distance,” adds he considerately,
“we can form a very imperfect judgment of its propriety or necessity. I
have the greatest reliance in General Lincoln’s prudence, but I cannot
forbear dreading the event.”
His solicitude for the safety of the South was increased, by hearing of
the embarkation at New York of two thousand five hundred British and
Hessian troops, under Lord Rawdon, reinforcements for Sir Henry Clinton.
It seemed evident the enemy intended to push their operations with vigor
at the South; perhaps, to make it the principal theatre of the war. “We
are now beginning,” said Washington, “to experience the fatal
consequences of the policy which delayed calling upon the States for
their quotas of men in time to arrange and prepare them for the duties
of the field. What to do for the Southern States, without involving
consequences equally alarming in this quarter, I know not.”
Gladly would he have hastened to the South in person, but at this moment
his utmost vigilance was required to keep watch upon New York and
maintain the security of the Hudson, the vital part of the confederacy.
The weak state of the American means of warfare in both quarters,
presented a choice of difficulties. The South needed support. Could the
North give it without exposing itself to ruin, since the enemy, by means
of their ships, could suddenly unite their forces, and fall upon any
point that they might consider weak? Such were the perplexities to which
he was continually subjected, in having, with scanty means, to provide
for the security of a vast extent of country, and with land forces
merely, to contend with an amphibious enemy.
“Congress will better conceive in how delicate a situation we stand,”
writes he, “when I inform them, that the whole operating force present
on this and the other side of the North River, amounts only to ten
thousand four hundred rank and file, of which about two thousand eight
hundred will have completed their term of service by the last of May;
while the enemy’s regular force at New York and its dependencies, must
amount, upon a moderate calculation, to about eleven thousand rank and
file. Our situation is more critical from the impossibility of
concentrating our force, as well for the want of the means of taking the
field, as on account of the early period of the season.”[4]
Looking, however, as usual, to the good of the whole Union, he
determined to leave something at hazard in the Middle States, where the
country was internally so strong, and yield further succor to the
Southern States, which had not equal military advantages. With the
consent of Congress, therefore, he put the Maryland line under marching
orders, together with the Delaware regiment, which acted with it and the
first regiment of artillery.
The Baron De Kalb, now at the head of the Maryland division, was
instructed to conduct this detachment with all haste to the aid of
General Lincoln. He might not arrive in time to prevent the fall of
Charleston, but he might assist to arrest the progress of the enemy and
save the Carolinas.
Washington had been put upon his guard of late against intrigues,
forming by members of the old Conway Cabal, who intended to take
advantage of every military disaster to destroy confidence in him. His
steady mind, however, was not to be shaken by suspicion. “Against
intrigues of this kind incident to every man of a public station,” said
he, “his best support will be a faithful discharge of his duty, and he
must rely on the justice of his country for the event.”
His feelings at the present juncture are admirably expressed in a letter
to the Baron de Steuben. “The prospect, my dear Baron, is gloomy, and
the storm threatens, but I hope we shall extricate ourselves, and bring
everything to a prosperous issue. I have been so inured to difficulties,
in the course of this contest, that I have learned to look upon them
with more tranquillity than formerly. Those which now present
themselves, no doubt require vigorous exertions to overcome them, _and I
am far from despairing of doing it_.”[5]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER IV.
Evils of the Continental Currency.—Military Reforms proposed by
Washington.—Congress Jealous of Military Power.—Committee of Three
sent to confer with Washington.—Losses by Depreciation of the
Currency to be made good to the Troops.—Arrival of Lafayette.—Scheme
for a Combined Attack upon New York.—Arnold has Debts and
Difficulties.—His Proposals to the French Minister.—Anxious to
return to the Army.—Mutiny of the Connecticut Troops.—Washington
writes to Reed for Aid from Pennsylvania.—Good Effects of his
Letter.
We have cited the depreciation of the currency as a main cause of the
difficulties and distresses of the army. The troops were paid in paper
money at its nominal value. A memorial of the officers of the Jersey
line to the legislature of their State, represented the depreciation to
be so great, that four months’ pay of a private soldier would not
procure for his family a single bushel of wheat; the pay of a colonel
would not purchase oats for his horse, and a common laborer or express
rider could earn four times the pay in paper of an American officer.
Congress, too, in its exigencies, being destitute of the power of
levying taxes, which vested in the State governments, devolved upon
those governments, in their separate capacities, the business of
supporting the army. This produced a great inequality in the condition
of the troops; according to the means and the degree of liberality of
their respective States. Some States furnished their troops amply, not
only with clothing, but with many comforts and conveniences; others were
more contracted in their supplies; while others left their troops almost
destitute. Some of the States, too, undertook to make good to their
troops the loss in their pay caused by the depreciation of the currency.
As this was not general, it increased the inequality of condition. Those
who fared worse than others were incensed, not only against their own
State, but against the confederacy. They were disgusted with a service
that made such injurious distinctions. Some of the officers resigned,
finding it impossible, under actual circumstances, to maintain an
appearance suitable to their rank. The men had not this resource. They
murmured and showed a tendency to seditious combinations.
These, and other defects in the military system, were pressed by
Washington upon the attention of Congress in a letter to the president:
“It were devoutly to be wished,” observed he, “that a plan could be
devised by which everything relating to the army could be conducted on a
general principle, under the direction of Congress. This alone can give
harmony and consistency to our military establishment, and I am
persuaded it will be infinitely conducive to public economy.”[6]
In consequence of this letter it was proposed in Congress to send a
committee of three of its members to head-quarters to consult with the
commander-in-chief, and, in conjunction with him, to effect such reforms
and changes in the various departments of the army as might be deemed
necessary. Warm debates ensued. It was objected that this would put too
much power into a few hands, and especially into those of the
commander-in-chief; “_that his influence was already too great; that
even his virtues afforded motives for alarm; that the enthusiasm of the
army, joined to the kind of dictatorship already confided to him, put
Congress and the United States at his mercy; that it was not expedient
to expose a man of the highest virtues to such temptations_.”[7]
The foregoing passage from a dispatch of the French minister to his
government, is strongly illustrative of the cautious jealousy still
existing in Congress with regard to military power, even though wielded
by Washington.
After a prolonged debate, a committee of three was chosen by ballot; it
consisted of General Schuyler and Messrs. John Mathews and Nathaniel
Peabody. It was a great satisfaction to Washington to have his old
friend and coadjutor, Schuyler, near him in this capacity, in which, he
declared, no man could be more useful, “from his perfect knowledge of
the resources of the country, the activity of his temper, his
fruitfulness of expedients, and his sound military sense.”[8]
The committee, on arriving at the camp, found the disastrous state of
affairs had not been exaggerated. For five months the army had been
unpaid. Every department was destitute of money or credit; there were
rarely provisions for six days in advance; on some occasions the troops
had been for several successive days without meat; there was no forage;
the medical department had neither tea, chocolate, wine, nor spirituous
liquors of any kind. “Yet the men,” said Washington, “have borne their
distress in general, with a firmness and patience never exceeded, and
every commendation is due to the officers for encouraging them to it by
exhortation and example. They have suffered equally with the men, and,
their relative situations considered, rather more.” Indeed, we have it
from another authority, that many officers for some time lived on bread
and cheese, rather than take any of the scanty allowance of meat from
the men.[9]
To soothe the discontents of the army, and counteract the alarming
effects of the currency, Congress now adopted the measure already
observed by some of the States, and engaged to make good to the
continental and the independent troops the difference in the value of
their pay caused by this depreciation; and that all moneys or other
articles heretofore received by them, should be considered as advanced
on account, and comprehended at their just value in the final
settlement.
At this gloomy crisis came a letter from the Marquis de Lafayette, dated
April 27th, announcing his arrival at Boston. Washington’s eyes, we are
told, were suffused with tears as he read this most welcome epistle, and
the warmth with which he replied to it, showed his affectionate regard
for this young nobleman. “I received your letter,” writes he, “with all
the joy that the sincerest friendship could dictate, and with that
impatience which an ardent desire to see you could not fail to
inspire.... I most sincerely congratulate you on your safe arrival in
America, and shall embrace you with all the warmth of an affectionate
friend when you come to head-quarters, where a bed is prepared for you.”
He would immediately have sent a troop of horse to escort the marquis
through the tory settlements between Morristown and the Hudson, had he
known the route he intended to take; the latter, however, arrived safe
at head-quarters on the 12th of May, where he was welcomed with
acclamations, for he was popular with both officers and soldiers.
Washington folded him in his arms in a truly parental embrace, and they
were soon closeted together to talk over the state of affairs, when
Lafayette made known the result of his visit to France. His generous
efforts at court had been crowned with success, and he brought the
animating intelligence that a French fleet, under the Chevalier de
Ternay, was to put to sea early in April, bringing a body of troops
under the Count de Rochambeau, and might soon be expected on the coast
to coöperate with the American forces; this, however, he was at liberty
to make known only to Washington and Congress.
Remaining but a single day at head-quarters, he hastened on to the seat
of government, where he met the reception which his generous enthusiasm
in the cause of American Independence had so fully merited. Congress, in
a resolution on the 16th of May, pronounced his return to America to
resume his command a fresh proof of the disinterested zeal and
persevering attachment which had secured him the public confidence and
applause, and received with pleasure a “tender of the further services
of so gallant and meritorious an officer.”
Within three days after the departure of the marquis from Morristown,
Washington, in a letter to him, gave his idea of the plan which it would
be proper for the French fleet and army to pursue on their arrival upon
the coast. The reduction of New York he considered the first enterprise
to be attempted by the coöperating forces. The whole effective land
force of the enemy he estimated at about eight thousand regulars and
four thousand refugees, with some militia, on which no great dependence
could be placed. Their naval force consisted of one seventy-four gun
ship, and three or four small frigates. In this situation of affairs the
French fleet might enter the harbor and gain possession of it without
difficulty, cut off its communications, and, with the coöperation of the
American army, oblige the city to capitulate. He advised Lafayette,
therefore, to write to the French commanders, urging them, on their
arrival on the coast, to proceed with their land and naval forces, with
all expedition, to Sandy Hook, and there await further advices; should
they learn, however, that the expedition under Sir Henry Clinton had
returned from the South to New York, they were to proceed to Rhode
Island.
General Arnold was at this time in Philadelphia, and his connection with
subsequent events requires a few words concerning his career, daily
becoming more perplexed. He had again petitioned Congress on the subject
of his accounts. The Board of Treasury had made a report far short of
his wishes. He had appealed, and his appeal, together with all the
documents connected with the case, was referred to a committee of three.
The old doubts and difficulties continued: there was no prospect of a
speedy settlement; he was in extremity. The French minister, M. de
Luzerne, was at hand; a generous-spirited man who had manifested
admiration of his military character. To him Arnold now repaired in his
exigency; made a passionate representation of the hardships of his case;
the inveterate hostility he had experienced from Pennsylvania; the
ingratitude of his country; the disorder brought into his private
affairs by the war, and the necessity he should be driven to of
abandoning his profession, unless he could borrow a sum equal to the
amount of his debts. Such a loan, he intimated, it might be the interest
of the king of France to grant, thereby securing the attachment and
gratitude of an American general of his rank and influence.
The French minister was too much of a diplomatist not to understand the
bearing of the intimation, but he shrank from it, observing that the
service required would degrade both parties.
“When the envoy of a foreign power,” said he, “gives, or if you will,
lends money, it is ordinarily to corrupt those who receive it, and to
make them the creatures of the sovereign whom he serves; or rather, he
corrupts without persuading; he buys and does not secure. But the league
entered into between the king and the United States, is the work of
justice and of the wisest policy. It has for its basis a reciprocal
interest and good-will. In the mission with which I am charged, my true
glory consists in fulfilling it without intrigue or cabal; without
resorting to any secret practices, and by the force alone of the
conditions of the alliance.”
M. de Luzerne endeavored to soften this repulse and reproof, by
complimenting Arnold on the splendor of his past career, and by alluding
to the field of glory still before him; but the pressure of debts was
not to be lightened by compliments, and Arnold retired from the
interview, a mortified and desperate man.
He was in this mood when he heard of the expected arrival of aid from
France, and the talk of an active campaign. It seemed as if his military
ambition was once more aroused. To General Schuyler, who was about to
visit the camp as one of the committee, he wrote on the 25th of May,
expressing a determination to rejoin the army, although his wounds still
made it painful to walk or ride, and intimated, that, in his present
condition, the command at West Point would be best suited to him.
In reply, General Schuyler wrote from Morristown, June 2d, that he had
put Arnold’s letter into Washington’s hands, and added: “He expressed a
desire to do whatever was agreeable to you, dwelt on your abilities,
your merits, your sufferings, and on the well-earned claims you have on
your country, and intimated, that as soon as his arrangements for the
campaign should take place, he would properly consider you.”
In the mean time, the army with which Washington was to coöperate in the
projected attack upon New York, was so reduced by the departure of
troops whose term had expired, and the tardiness in furnishing recruits,
that it did not amount quite to four thousand rank and file, fit for
duty. Among these was a prevalent discontent. Their pay was five months
in arrear; if now paid, it would be in Continental currency, without
allowance for depreciation, consequently, almost worthless for present
purposes.
A long interval of scarcity and several days of actual famine, brought
matters to a crisis. On the 15th of May, in the dusk of the evening, two
regiments of the Connecticut line assembled on their parade by beat of
drum, and declared their intention to march home bag and baggage, “or,
at best, to gain subsistence at the point of the bayonet.” Colonel
Meigs, while endeavoring to suppress the mutiny, was struck by one of
the soldiers. Some officers of the Pennsylvania line came to his
assistance, parading their regiments. Every argument and expostulation
was used with the mutineers. They were reminded of their past good
conduct, of the noble objects for which they were contending, and of the
future indemnifications promised by Congress. Their answer was, that
their sufferings were too great to be allayed by promises, in which they
had little faith; they wanted present relief, and some present
substantial recompense for their services.
It was with difficulty they could be prevailed upon to return to their
huts. Indeed, a few turned out a second time, with their packs, and were
not to be pacified. These were arrested and confined.
This mutiny, Washington declared, had given him infinitely more concern
than anything that had ever happened, especially as he had no means of
paying the troops excepting in Continental money, which, said he, “is
evidently impracticable from the immense quantity it would require to
pay them as much as would make up the depreciation.” His uneasiness was
increased by finding that printed handbills were secretly disseminated
in his camp by the enemy, containing addresses to the soldiery,
persuading them to desert.[10]
In this alarming state of destitution, Washington looked around
anxiously for bread for his famishing troops. New York, Jersey,
Pennsylvania, and Maryland, were what he termed his “flour country.”
Virginia was sufficiently tasked to supply the South. New York, by
legislative coercion, had already given all that she could spare from
the subsistence of her inhabitants. Jersey was exhausted by the long
residence of the army. Maryland had made great exertions, and might
still do something more, and Delaware might contribute handsomely, in
proportion to her extent: but Pennsylvania was now the chief dependence,
for that State was represented to be full of flour. Washington’s letter
of the 16th of December, to President Reed, had obtained temporary
relief from that quarter; he now wrote to him a second time, and still
more earnestly “Every idea you can form of our distresses, will fall
short of the reality. There is such a combination of circumstances to
exhaust the patience of the soldiery, that it begins at length to be
worn out, and we see in every line of the army, features of mutiny and
sedition. All our departments, all our operations, are at a stand, and
unless a system very different from that which has a long time prevailed
be immediately adopted throughout the States, our affairs must soon
become desperate beyond the possibility of recovery.”
Nothing discouraged Washington more than the lethargy that seemed to
deaden the public mind. He speaks of it with a degree of despondency
scarcely ever before exhibited. “I have almost ceased to hope. The
country is in such a state of insensibility and indifference to its
interests that I dare not flatter myself with any change for the
better.” And again, “The present juncture is so interesting, that if it
does not produce correspondent exertions, it will be a proof that
motives of honor, public good, and even self-preservation, have lost
their influence on our minds. This is a decisive moment; one of the
most, I will go further, and say, _the_ most important America has seen.
The court of France has made a glorious effort for our deliverance, and
if we disappoint its intentions by our supineness, we must become
contemptible in the eyes of all mankind, nor can we after that venture
to confide that our allies will persist in an attempt to establish what,
it will appear, we want inclination or ability to assist them in.” With
these and similar observations, he sought to rouse President Reed to
extraordinary exertions. “This is a time,” writes he, “to hazard and to
take a tone of energy and decision. All parties but the disaffected will
acquiesce in the necessity and give it their support.” He urges Reed to
press upon the legislature of Pennsylvania the policy of investing its
executive with plenipotentiary powers. “I should then,” writes he,
“expect everything from your ability and zeal. This is no time for
formality or ceremony. The crisis in every point of view is
extraordinary, and extraordinary expedients are necessary. I am decided
in this opinion.”
His letter procured relief for the army from the legislature, and a
resolve empowering the president and council, during its recess, to
declare martial law, should circumstances render it expedient. “This,”
observes Reed, “gives us a power of doing what may be necessary without
attending to the ordinary course of law, and we shall endeavor to
exercise it with prudence and moderation.”[11]
In like manner, Washington endeavored to rouse the dormant fire of
Congress, and impart to it his own indomitable energy. “Certain I am,”
writes he to a member of that body, “unless Congress speak in a more
decisive tone, unless they are vested with powers by the several States,
competent to the purposes of war, or assume them as matters of right,
and they and the States respectively act with more energy than they have
hitherto done, that our cause is lost. We can no longer drudge on in the
old way. By ill-timing the adoption of measures, by delays in the
execution of them, or by unwarrantable jealousies, we incur enormous
expenses and derive no benefit from them. One State will comply with a
requisition of Congress; another neglects to do it; a third executes it
by halves; and all differ, either in the manner, the matter, or so much
in point of time, that we are always working up-hill; and, while such a
system as the present one, or rather want of one, prevails, we shall
ever be unable to apply our strength or resources to any advantage—I see
one head gradually changing into thirteen, I see one army branching into
thirteen, which, instead of looking up to Congress as the supreme
controlling power of the United States, are considering themselves
dependent on their respective States. In a word, I see the powers of
Congress declining too fast for the consideration and respect which are
due to them as the great representative body of America, and I am
fearful of the consequences.”[12]
At this juncture came official intelligence from the South, to connect
which with the general course of events, requires a brief notice of the
operations of Sir Henry Clinton in that quarter.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER V.
Siege of Charleston continued.—British Ships enter the
Harbor.—British Troops march from Savannah.—Tarleton and his
Dragoons.—His Brush with Colonel Washington.—Charleston
reinforced by Woodford.—Tarleton’s Exploits at Monk’s Corner.—At
Laneau’s Ferry.—Sir Henry Clinton reinforced.—Charleston
capitulates.—Affair of Tarleton and Buford on the Waxhaw.—Sir
Henry Clinton embarks for New York.
In a preceding chapter we left the British fleet under Admiral
Arbuthnot, preparing to force its way into the harbor of Charleston.
Several days elapsed before the ships were able, by taking out their
guns, provisions, and water, and availing themselves of wind and tide,
to pass the bar. They did so on the 20th of March, with but slight
opposition from several galleys. Commodore Whipple, then, seeing the
vast superiority of their force, made a second retrograde move,
stationing some of his ships in Cooper River, and sinking the rest at
its mouth so as to prevent the enemy from running up that river, and
cutting off communication with the country on the east: the crews and
heavy cannon were landed to aid in the defense of the town.
The reinforcements expected from the North were not yet arrived; the
militia of the State did not appear at Governor Rutledge’s command, and
other reliances were failing. “Many of the North Carolina militia whose
terms have expired leave us to-day,” writes Lincoln to Washington, on
the 20th of March. “They cannot be persuaded to remain longer, though
the enemy are in our neighborhood.”[13]
At this time the reinforcements which Sir Henry Clinton had ordered from
Savannah were marching toward the Cambayee under Brigadier-general
Patterson. On his flanks moved Major Ferguson with a corps of riflemen,
and Major Cochrane with the infantry of the British legion, two brave
and enterprising officers. It was a toilsome march, through swamps and
difficult passes. Being arrived in the neighborhood of Port Royal, where
Tarleton had succeeded, though indifferently, in remounting his
dragoons, Patterson sent orders to that officer to join him. Tarleton
hastened to obey the order. His arrival was timely. The Carolina militia
having heard that all the British horses had perished at sea, made an
attack on the front of General Patterson’s force, supposing it to be
without cavalry. To their surprise, Tarleton charged them with his
dragoons, routed them, took several prisoners, and, what was more
acceptable, a number of horses, some of the militia, he says, “being
accoutred as cavaliers.”
Tarleton had soon afterwards to encounter a worthy antagonist in Colonel
William Washington, the same cavalry officer who had distinguished
himself at Trenton, and was destined to distinguish himself still more
in this Southern campaign. He is described as being six feet in height,
broad, stout, and corpulent. Bold in the field, careless in the camp,
kind to his soldiers, harassing to his enemies, gay and good-humored,
with an upright heart and a generous hand, a universal favorite. He was
now at the head of a body of continental cavalry, consisting of his own
and Bland’s light horse, and Pulaski’s hussars. A brush took place in
the neighborhood of Rantoul’s Bridge. Colonel Washington had the
advantage, took several prisoners, and drove back the dragoons of the
British legion, but durst not pursue them for want of infantry.[14]
On the 7th of April, Brigadier-general Woodford with seven hundred
Virginia troops, after a forced march of five hundred miles in thirty
days, crossed from the east side of Cooper River, by the only passage
now open, and threw himself into Charleston. It was a timely
reinforcement, and joyfully welcomed; for the garrison, when in greatest
force, amounted to a little more than two thousand regulars and one
thousand North Carolina militia.
About the same time Admiral Arbuthnot, in the _Roebuck_, passed
Sullivan’s Island, with a fresh southerly breeze, at the head of a
squadron of seven armed vessels and two transports. “It was a
magnificent spectacle, satisfactory to the royalists,” writes the
admiral. The whigs regarded it with a rueful eye. Colonel Pinckney
opened a heavy cannonade from the batteries of Fort Moultrie. The ships
thundered in reply, and clouds of smoke were raised, under the cover of
which they slipped by, with no greater loss than twenty-seven men killed
and wounded. A store-ship which followed the squadron ran aground, was
set on fire and abandoned, and subsequently blew up. The ships took a
position near Fort Johnston, just without the range of the shot from the
American batteries. After the passage of the ships, Colonel Pinckney and
a part of the garrison withdrew from Fort Moultrie.
The enemy had by this time completed his first parallel, and the town
being almost entirely invested by sea and land, received a joint summons
from the British general and admiral to surrender. “Sixty days have
passed,” writes Lincoln in reply, “since it has been known that your
intentions against this town were hostile, in which time has been
afforded to abandon it, but duty and inclination point to the propriety
of supporting it to the last extremity.”
The British batteries were now opened. The siege was carried on
deliberately by regular parallels, and on a scale of magnitude scarcely
warranted by the moderate strength of the place. A great object with the
besieged was to keep open the channel of communication with the country
by the Cooper River, the last that remained by which they could receive
reinforcements and supplies, or could retreat, if necessary. For this
purpose, Governor Rutledge, leaving the town in the care of
Lieutenant-governor Gadsden, and one half of the executive council, set
off with the other half, and endeavored to rouse the militia between the
Cooper and Santee rivers. His success was extremely limited. Two militia
posts were established by him, one between these rivers, the other at a
ferry on the Santee; some regular troops, also, had been detached by
Lincoln to throw up works about nine miles above the town, on the Wando,
a branch of Cooper River, and at Lempriere’s Point; and
Brigadier-general Huger,[15] with a force of militia and continental
cavalry, including those of Colonel William Washington, was stationed at
Monk’s Corner, about thirty miles above Charleston, to guard the passes
at the head waters of Cooper River.
Sir Henry Clinton, when proceeding with his second parallel, detached
Lieutenant-colonel Webster with fourteen hundred men to break up these
posts. The most distant one was that of Huger’s cavalry at Monk’s
Corner. The surprisal of this was intrusted to Tarleton, who, with his
dragoons, was in Webster’s advanced guard. He was to be seconded by
Major Patrick Ferguson with his riflemen.
Ferguson was a fit associate for Tarleton, in hardy, scrambling,
partisan enterprise; equally intrepid, and determined, but cooler and
more open to impulses of humanity. He was the son of an eminent Scotch
judge, had entered the army at an early age, and served in the German
wars. The British extolled him as superior to the American Indians, in
the use of the rifle; in short, as being the best marksman living. He
had invented one which could be loaded at the breech and discharged
seven times in a minute. It had been used with effect by his corps.
Washington, according to British authority, had owed his life at the
battle of Germantown, solely to Ferguson’s ignorance of his person,
having repeatedly been within reach of the major’s unerring rifle.[16]
On the evening of the 13th of April, Tarleton moved with the van toward
Monk’s Corner. A night march had been judged the most advisable. It was
made in profound silence and by unfrequented roads. In the course of the
march, a negro was descried attempting to avoid notice. He was seized. A
letter was found on him from an officer in Huger’s camp, from which
Tarleton learned something of its situation and the distribution of the
troops. A few dollars gained the services of the negro as a guide. The
surprisal of General Huger’s camp was complete. Several officers and men
who attempted to defend themselves, were killed or wounded. General
Huger, Colonel Washington, with many others, officers and men, escaped
in the darkness, to the neighboring swamps. One hundred officers,
dragoons, and hussars, were taken, with about four hundred horses and
near fifty wagons, laden with arms, clothing, and ammunition.
Biggin’s Bridge on Cooper River was likewise secured, and the way opened
for Colonel Webster to advance nearly to the head of the passes, in such
a manner as to shut up Charleston entirely.
In the course of the maraud which generally accompanies a surprisal of
the kind, several dragoons of the British legion broke into a house in
the neighborhood of Monk’s Corner, and maltreated and attempted violence
upon ladies residing there. The ladies escaped to Monk’s Corner, where
they were protected, and a carriage furnished to convey them to a place
of safety. The dragoons were apprehended and brought to Monk’s Corner,
where by this time Colonel Webster had arrived. Major Ferguson, we are
told, was for putting the dragoons to instant death, but Colonel Webster
did not think his powers warranted such a measure. “They were sent to
head-quarters,” adds the historian, “and, I believe, afterwards tried
and whipped.”[17]
We gladly record one instance in which the atrocities which disgraced
this invasion met with some degree of punishment; and we honor the rough
soldier, Ferguson, for the fiat of “instant death,” with which he would
have requited the most infamous and dastardly outrage that brutalizes
warfare.
During the progress of the siege, General Lincoln held repeated councils
of war, in which he manifested a disposition to evacuate the place. This
measure was likewise urged by General Du Portail, who had penetrated, by
secret ways, into the town. The inhabitants, however, in an agony of
alarm, implored Lincoln not to abandon them to the mercies of an
infuriated and licentious soldiery, and the general, easy and
kind-hearted, yielded to their entreaties.
The American cavalry had gradually reassembled on the north of the
Santee, under Colonel White of New Jersey, where they were joined by
some militia infantry, and by Colonel William Washington, with such of
his dragoons as had escaped at Monk’s Corner. Cornwallis had committed
the country between Cooper and Wando Rivers to Tarleton’s charge, with
orders to be continually on the move with the cavalry and infantry of
the legion; to watch over the landing-places; obtain intelligence from
the town, the Santee River, and the back country, and to burn such
stores as might fall into his hands, rather than risk their being
retaken by the enemy.
Hearing of the fortuitous assemblage of American troops, Tarleton came
suddenly upon them by surprise at Laneau’s Ferry. It was one of his
bloody exploits. Five officers and thirty-six men were killed and
wounded, and seven officers and six dragoons taken, with horses, arms,
and equipments. Colonels White, Washington, and Jamieson, with other
officers and men, threw themselves into the river, and escaped by
swimming; while some, who followed their example, perished.
The arrival of a reinforcement of three thousand men from New York
enabled Sir Henry to throw a powerful detachment, under Lord Cornwallis,
to the east of Cooper River, to complete the investment of the town and
cut off all retreat. Fort Moultrie surrendered. The batteries of the
third parallel were opened upon the town. They were so near, that the
Hessian yagers, or sharp-shooters, could pick off the garrison while at
their guns or on the parapets. This fire was kept up for two days. The
besiegers crossed the canal; pushed up a double sap to the inside of the
abatis, and prepared to make an assault by sea and land.
All hopes of successful defense were at an end. The works were in ruins;
the guns almost all dismounted; the garrison exhausted with fatigue, the
provisions nearly consumed. The inhabitants, dreading the horrors of an
assault, joined in a petition to General Lincoln, and prevailed upon him
to offer a surrender on terms which had already been offered and
rejected. These terms were still granted, and the capitulation was
signed on the 12th of May. The garrison were allowed some of the honors
of war. They were to march out and deposit their arms, between the canal
and the works, but the drums were not to beat a British march nor the
colors to be uncased. The continental troops and seamen were allowed
their baggage, but were to remain prisoners of war. The officers of the
army and navy were to retain their servants, swords, and pistols, and
their baggage unsearched; and were permitted to sell their horses; but
not to remove them out of the town. The citizens and the militia were to
be considered prisoners on parole; the latter to be permitted to return
home, and both to be protected in person and property as long as they
kept their parole. Among the prisoners were the lieutenant-governor and
five of the council.
The loss of the British in the siege was seventy-six killed and one
hundred and eighty-nine wounded; that of the Americans nearly the same.
The prisoners taken by the enemy, exclusive of the sailors, amounted to
five thousand six hundred and eighteen men; comprising every male adult
in the city. The continental troops did not exceed two thousand, five
hundred of whom were in the hospital; the rest were citizens and
militia.
Sir Henry Clinton considered the fall of Charleston decisive of the fate
of South Carolina. To complete the subjugation of the country, he
planned three expeditions into the interior. One, under
Lieutenant-colonel Brown, was to move up the Savannah River to Augusta,
on the borders of Georgia. Another, under Lieutenant-colonel Cruger, was
to proceed up the southwest side of the Santee River to the district of
Ninety Six,[18] a fertile and salubrious region, between the Savannah
and the Saluda rivers: while a third, under Cornwallis, was to cross the
Santee, march up the northeast bank, and strike at a corps of troops
under Colonel Buford, which were retreating to North Carolina with
artillery and a number of wagons, laden with arms, ammunition, and
clothing.
Colonel Buford, in fact, had arrived too late for the relief of
Charleston, and was now making a retrograde move; he had come on with
three hundred and eighty troops of the Virginia line, and two
field-pieces, and had been joined by Colonel Washington with a few of
his cavalry that had survived the surprisal by Tarleton. As Buford was
moving with celerity, and had the advantage of distance, Cornwallis
detached Tarleton in pursuit of him, with one hundred and seventy
dragoons, a hundred mounted infantry and a three-pounder. The bold
partisan pushed forward with his usual ardor and rapidity. The weather
was sultry, many of his horses gave out through fatigue and heat; he
pressed others by the way, leaving behind such of his troops as could
not keep pace with him. After a day and night of forced march, he
arrived about dawn at Rugeley’s Mills. Buford, he was told, was about
twenty miles in advance of him, pressing on with all diligence to join
another corps of Americans. Tarleton continued his march; the horses of
the three-pounder were knocked up and unable to proceed; his wearied
troops were continually dropping in the rear. Still he urged forward,
anxious to overtake Buford before he could form a junction with the
force he was seeking. To detain him he sent forward Captain Kinlock of
his legion with a flag, and the following letter:—
“SIR,—Resistance being vain, to prevent the effusion of blood, I make
offers which can never be repeated. You are now almost encompassed by
a corps of seven hundred light troops on horseback; half of that
number are infantry with cannons. Earl Cornwallis is likewise within
reach with nine British regiments. I warn you of the temerity of
further inimical proceedings.”
He concluded by offering the same conditions granted to the troops at
Charleston; “if you are rash enough to reject them,” added he, “the
blood be upon your head.”
Kinlock overtook Colonel Buford in full march on the banks of the
Waxhaw, a stream on the border of North Carolina, and delivered the
summons. The colonel read the letter without coming to a halt, detaining
the flag for some time in conversation, and then returned the following
note:—
“SIR,—I reject your proposals, and shall defend myself to the last
extremity.
“I have the honor,” etc.
Tarleton, who had never ceased to press forward, came upon Buford’s
rear-guard about three o’clock in the afternoon, and captured a sergeant
and four dragoons. Buford had not expected so prompt an approach of the
enemy. He hastily drew up his men in order of battle, in an open wood,
on the right of the road. His artillery and wagons, which were in the
advance escorted by part of his infantry, were ordered to continue on
their march.
There appears to have been some confusion on the part of the Americans,
and they had an impetuous foe to deal with. Before they were well
prepared for action they were attacked in front and on both flanks by
cavalry and mounted infantry. Tarleton, who advanced at the head of
thirty chosen dragoons and some infantry, states that when within fifty
paces of the continental infantry, they presented, but he heard their
officers command them to retain their fire until the British cavalry
were nearer. It was not until the latter were within ten yards that
there was a partial discharge of musketry. Several of the dragoons
suffered by this fire. Tarleton himself was unhorsed, but his troopers
rode on. The American battalion was broken; most of the men threw down
their arms and begged for quarter, but were cut down without mercy. One
hundred and thirteen were slain on the spot, and one hundred and fifty
so mangled and maimed that they could not be removed. Colonel Buford and
a few of the cavalry escaped, as did about a hundred of the infantry,
who were with the baggage in the advance. Fifty prisoners were all that
were in a condition to be carried off by Tarleton as trophies of this
butchery.
The whole British loss was two officers and three privates killed, and
one officer and fourteen privates wounded. What, then, could excuse this
horrible carnage of an almost prostrate enemy? We give Tarleton’s own
excuse for it. It commenced, he says, at the time he was dismounted, and
before he could mount another horse; and his cavalry were exasperated by
a report that he was slain. Cornwallis apparently accepted this excuse,
for he approved of his conduct in the expedition, and recommended him as
worthy of some distinguished mark of royal favor. The world at large,
however, have not been so easily satisfied, and the massacre at the
Waxhaw has remained a sanguinary stain on the reputation of that
impetuous soldier.
The two other detachments which had been sent out by Clinton, met with
nothing but submission. The people in general, considering resistance
hopeless, accepted the proffered protection, and conformed to its
humiliating terms. One class of the population in this colony seems to
have regarded the invaders as deliverers. “All the negroes,” writes
Tarleton, “men, women, and children, upon the appearance of any
detachment of king’s troops, thought themselves absolved from all
respect to their American masters, and entirely released from servitude.
They quitted the plantations and followed the army.”[19]
Sir Henry now persuaded himself that South Carolina was subdued, and
proceeded to station garrisons in various parts, to maintain it in
subjection. In the fullness of his confidence, he issued a proclamation
on the 3d of June, discharging all the military prisoners from their
paroles after the 20th of the month, excepting those captured in Fort
Moultrie and Charleston. All thus released from their parole were
reinstated in the rights and duties of British subjects; but, at the
same time, they were bound to take an active part in support of the
government hitherto opposed by them. Thus the protection afforded them
while prisoners was annulled by an arbitrary fiat—neutrality was at an
end. All were to be ready to take up arms at a moment’s notice. Those
who had families were to form a militia for home defense. Those who had
none, were to serve with the royal forces. All who should neglect to
return to their allegiance, or should refuse to take up arms against the
independence of their country were to be considered as rebels and
treated accordingly.
Having struck a blow, which, as he conceived, was to insure the
subjugation of the South, Sir Henry embarked for New York on the 5th of
June, with a part of his forces, leaving the residue under the command
of Lord Cornwallis, who was to carry the war into North Carolina, and
thence into Virginia.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER VI.
Knyphausen marauds the Jerseys.—Sacking of Connecticut Farms.—Murder
of Mrs. Caldwell.—Arrival and Movements of Sir Henry
Clinton.—Springfield burnt.—The Jerseys evacuated.
A handbill published by the British authorities in New York, reached
Washington’s camp on the 1st of June, and made known the surrender of
Charleston. A person from Amboy reported, moreover, that on the 30th of
May he had seen one hundred sail of vessels enter Sandy Hook. These
might bring Sir Henry Clinton with the whole or part of his force. In
that case, flushed with his recent success, he might proceed immediately
up the Hudson, and make an attempt upon West Point, in the present
distressed condition of the garrison. So thinking, Washington wrote to
General Howe, who commanded that important post, to put him on his
guard, and took measures to have him furnished with supplies.
The report concerning the fleet proved to be erroneous, but on the 6th
of June came a new alarm. The enemy, it was said, were actually landing
in force at Elizabethtown Point, to carry fire and sword into the
Jerseys!
It was even so. Knyphausen, through spies and emissaries, had received
exaggerated accounts of the recent outbreak in Washington’s camp, and of
the general discontent among the people of New Jersey; and was persuaded
that a sudden show of military protection, following up the news of the
capture of Charleston, would produce a general desertion among
Washington’s troops, and rally back the inhabitants of the Jerseys to
their allegiance to the crown.
In this belief he projected a descent into the Jerseys with about five
thousand men, and some light artillery, who were to cross in divisions
in the night of the 5th of June from Staten Island to Elizabethtown
Point.
The first division, led by Brigadier-general Sterling, actually landed
before dawn of the 6th, and advanced as silently as possible. The heavy
and measured tramp of the troops, however, caught the ear of an American
sentinel stationed at a fork where the roads from the old and new point
joined. He challenged the dimly descried mass as it approached, and
receiving no answer, fired into it. That shot wounded General Sterling
in the thigh, and ultimately proved mortal. The wounded general was
carried back, and Knyphausen took his place.
This delayed the march until sunrise, and gave time for the troops of
the Jersey line, under Colonel Elias Dayton, stationed in Elizabethtown,
to assemble. They were too weak in numbers, however, to withstand the
enemy, but retreated in good order, skirmishing occasionally. The
invading force passed through the village; in the advance, a squadron of
dragoons of Simcoe’s regiment of Queen’s Rangers, with drawn swords and
glittering helmets, followed by British and Hessian infantry.[20]
Signal guns and signal fires were rousing the country. The militia and
yeomanry armed themselves with such weapons as were at hand, and
hastened to their alarm posts. The enemy took the old road, by what was
called Galloping Hill, toward the village of Connecticut Farms; fired
upon from behind walls and thickets by the hasty levies of the country.
At Connecticut Farms, the retreating troops under Dayton fell in with
the Jersey brigade, under General Maxwell, and, a few militia joining
them, the Americans were enabled to make some stand, and even to hold
the enemy in check. The latter, however, brought up several
field-pieces, and being reinforced by a second division which had
crossed from Staten Island some time after the first, compelled the
Americans again to retreat. Some of the enemy, exasperated at the
unexpected opposition they had met with throughout their march, and
pretending that the inhabitants of this village had fired upon them from
their windows, began to pillage and set fire to the houses. It so
happened that to this village the Reverend James Caldwell, “the rousing
gospel preacher,” had removed his family as to a place of safety, after
his church at Elizabethtown had been burnt down by the British in
January. On the present occasion he had retreated with the regiment to
which he was chaplain. His wife, however, remained at the parsonage with
her two youngest children, confiding in the protection of Providence,
and the humanity of the enemy.
When the sacking of the village took place, she retired with her
children into a back room of the house. Her infant of eight months was
in the arms of an attendant; she herself was seated on the side of a bed
holding a child of three years by the hand, and was engaged in prayer.
All was terror and confusion in the village; when suddenly a musket was
discharged in at the window. Two balls struck her in the breast, and she
fell dead on the floor. The parsonage and church were set on fire, and
it was with difficulty her body was rescued from the flames.
In the mean time Knyphausen was pressing on with his main force towards
Morristown. The booming of alarm guns had roused the country; every
valley was pouring out its yeomanry. Two thousand were said to be
already in arms below the mountains.
Within half a mile of Springfield, Knyphausen halted to reconnoiter.
That village, through which passes the road to Springfield, had been
made the American rallying-point. It stands at the foot of what are
called the Short Hills, on the west side of Rahway River, which runs in
front of it. On the bank of the river, General Maxwell’s Jersey brigade
and the militia of the neighborhood were drawn up to dispute the
passage; and on the Short Hills in the rear was Washington with the main
body of his forces, not mutinous and in confusion, but all in good
order, strongly posted, and ready for action.
Washington had arrived and taken his position that afternoon, prepared
to withstand an encounter, though not to seek one. All night his camp
fires lighted up the Short Hills, and he remained on the alert,
expecting to be assailed in the morning; but in the morning no enemy was
to be seen.
Knyphausen had experienced enough to convince him that he had been
completely misinformed as to the disposition of the Jersey people and of
the army. Disappointed as to the main objects of his enterprise, he had
retreated under cover of the night, to the place of his debarkation,
intending to recross to Staten Island immediately.
In the camp at the Short Hills was the Reverend James Caldwell, whose
home had been laid desolate. He was still ignorant of the event, but had
passed a night of great anxiety, and, procuring the protection of a
flag, hastened back in the morning to Connecticut Farms. He found the
village in ashes, and his wife a mangled corpse!
In the course of the day Washington received a letter from Colonel
Alexander Hamilton, who was reconnoitering in the neighborhood of
Elizabethtown Point. “I have seen the enemy,” writes he. “Those in view
I calculate at about three thousand. There may be, and probably are,
enough others out of sight. They have sent all their horses to the other
side except about fifty or sixty. Their baggage has also been sent
across, and their wounded. It is not ascertained that any of their
infantry have passed on the other side.... The present movement may be
calculated to draw us down and betray us into an action. They may have
desisted from their intention of passing till night, for fear of our
falling upon their rear.”
As Washington was ignorant of the misinformation which had beguiled
Knyphausen into this enterprise, the movements of that general, his
sudden advance, and as sudden retreat, were equally inexplicable. At one
time, he supposed his inroad to be a mere foraging incursion; then, as
Hamilton had suggested, a device to draw him down from his stronghold
into the plain, where the superiority of the British force would give
them the advantage.
Knyphausen, in fact, had been impeded in crossing his troops to Staten
Island, by the low tide and deep muddy shore, which rendered it
difficult to embark the cavalry; and by a destructive fire kept up by
militia posted along the river banks, and the adjacent woods. In the
mean while he had time to reflect on the ridicule that would await him
in New York, should his expedition prove fruitless, and end in what
might appear a precipitate flight. This produced indecision of mind, and
induced him to recall the troops which had already crossed, and which
were necessary, he said, to protect his rear.
For several days he lingered with his troops at Elizabethtown and the
Point beyond; obliging Washington to exercise unremitting vigilance for
the safety of the Jerseys and of the Hudson. It was a great satisfaction
to the latter to be joined by Major Henry Lee, who with his troop of
horse had hastened on from the vicinity of Philadelphia, where he had
recently been stationed.
In the mean time, the tragical fate of Mrs. Caldwell produced almost as
much excitement throughout the country as that which had been caused in
a preceding year, by the massacre of Miss McCrea. She was connected with
some of the first people of New Jersey; was winning in person and
character, and universally beloved. Knyphausen was vehemently assailed
in the American papers, as if responsible for this atrocious act. The
enemy, however, attributed her death to a random shot, discharged in a
time of confusion, or to the vengeance of a menial who had a deadly
pique against her husband; but the popular voice persisted in execrating
it as the willful and wanton act of a British soldier.
On the 17th of June the fleet from the South actually arrived in the bay
of New York, and Sir Henry Clinton landed his troops on Staten Island;
but almost immediately reëmbarked them, as if meditating an expedition
up the river.
Fearing for the safety of West Point, Washington set off on the 21st
June, with the main body of his troops, towards Pompton; while General
Greene, with Maxwell and Stark’s brigades, Lee’s dragoons and the
militia of the neighborhood, remained encamped on the Short Hills, to
cover the country and protect the stores at Morristown.
Washington’s movements were slow and wary unwilling to be far from
Greene until better informed of the designs of the enemy. At Rockaway
Bridge, about eleven miles beyond Morristown, he received word on the
23d, that the enemy were advancing from Elizabethtown against
Springfield. Supposing the military depot at Morristown to be their
ultimate object, he detached a brigade to the assistance of Greene, and
fell back five or six miles, so as to be in supporting distance of him.
The reëmbarkation of the troops at Staten Island had, in fact, been a
stratagem of Sir Henry Clinton to divert the attention of Washington,
and enable Knyphausen to carry out the enterprise which had hitherto
hung fire. No sooner did the latter ascertain that the American
commander-in-chief had moved off with his main force towards the
Highlands, than he sallied from Elizabethtown five thousand strong, with
a large body of cavalry, and fifteen or twenty pieces of artillery;
hoping not merely to destroy the public stores at Morristown, but to get
possession of those difficult hills and defiles, among which
Washington’s army had been so securely posted, and which constituted the
strength of that part of the country.
It was early on the morning of the 23d that Knyphausen pushed forward
toward Springfield. Besides the main road which passes directly through
the village toward Morristown, there is another, north of it, called the
Vauxhall road, crossing several small streams, the confluence of which
forms the Rahway. These two roads unite beyond the village in the
principal pass of the Short Hills. The enemy’s troops advanced rapidly
in two compact columns, the right one by the Vauxhall road, the other,
by the main or direct road. General Greene was stationed among the Short
Hills, about a mile above the town. His troops were distributed at
various posts, for there were many passes to guard.
At five o’clock in the morning, signal guns gave notice of the approach
of the enemy. The drums beat to arms throughout the camp. The troops
were hastily called in from their posts among the mountain passes, and
preparations were made to defend the village.
Major Lee, with his dragoons and a picket-guard, was posted on the
Vauxhall road, to check the right column of the enemy in its advance.
Colonel Dayton, with his regiment of New Jersey militia, was to check
the left column on the main road. Colonel Angel of Rhode Island, with
about two hundred picked men, and a piece of artillery, was to defend a
bridge over the Rahway, a little west of the town. Colonel Shreve,
stationed with his regiment at a second bridge over a branch of the
Rahway east of the town, was to cover, if necessary, the retreat of
Colonel Angel. Those parts of Maxwell and Stark’s brigades which were
not thus detached, were drawn up on high grounds in the rear of the
town, having the militia on their flanks.
There was some sharp fighting at a bridge on the Vauxhall road, where
Major Lee with his dragoons and picket-guard held the right column at
bay; a part of the column, however, forded the stream above the bridge,
gained a commanding position, and obliged Lee to retire.
The left column met with similar opposition from Dayton and his Jersey
regiment. None showed more ardor in the fight than Caldwell the
chaplain. The image of his murdered wife was before his eyes. Finding
the men in want of wadding, he galloped to the Presbyterian church and
brought thence a quantity of Watts’ psalm and hymn books, which he
distributed for the purpose among the soldiers. “Now,” cried he, “put
Watts into them, boys!”
The severest fighting of the day was at the bridge over the Rahway. For
upwards of half an hour Colonel Angel defended it with his handful of
men against a vastly superior force. One fourth of his men were either
killed or disabled: the loss of the enemy was still more severe. Angel
was at length compelled to retire. He did so in good order, carrying off
his wounded, and making his way through the village to the bridge beyond
it. Here his retreat was bravely covered by Colonel Shreve, but he too
was obliged to give way before the overwhelming force of the enemy, and
join the brigades of Maxwell and Stark upon the hill.
General Greene, finding his front too much extended for his small force,
and that he was in danger of being outflanked on the left by the column
pressing forward on the Vauxhall road, took post with his main body on
the first range of hills, where the roads were brought near to a point,
and passed between him and the height occupied by Stark and Maxwell. He
then threw out a detachment which checked the further advance of the
right column of the enemy along the Vauxhall road, and secured that pass
through the Short Hills. Feeling himself now strongly posted, he awaited
with confidence the expected attempt of the enemy to gain the height. No
such attempt was made. The resistance already experienced, especially at
the bridge, and the sight of militia gathering from various points,
dampened the ardor of the hostile commander. He saw that, should he
persist in pushing for Morristown, he would have to fight his way
through a country abounding with difficult passes, every one of which
would be obstinately disputed; and that the enterprise, even if
successful, might cost too much, besides taking him too far from New
York, at a time when a French armament might be expected.
Before the brigade detached by Washington arrived at the scene of
action, therefore, the enemy had retreated. Previous to their retreat
they wreaked upon Springfield the same vengeance they had inflicted on
Connecticut Farms. The whole village, excepting four houses, was reduced
to ashes. Their second retreat was equally ignoble with their first.
They were pursued and harassed the whole way to Elizabethtown by light
scouting parties and by the militia and yeomanry of the country,
exasperated by the sight of the burning village. Lee, too, came upon
their rear-guard with his dragoons, captured a quantity of stores
abandoned by them in the hurry of retreat, and made prisoners of several
refugees.
It was sunset when the enemy reached Elizabethtown. During the night
they passed over to Staten Island by their bridge of boats. By six
o’clock in the morning all had crossed, and the bridge had been
removed—and the State of New Jersey, so long harassed by the
campaignings of either army, was finally evacuated by the enemy. It had
proved a school of war to the American troops. The incessant marchings
and counter-marchings; the rude encampments; the exposures to all kinds
of hardship and privation; the alarms; the stratagems; the rough
encounters and adventurous enterprises of which this had been the
theatre for the last three or four years, had rendered the patriot
soldier hardy, adroit, and long-suffering; had accustomed him to danger,
inured him to discipline, and brought him nearly on a level with the
European mercenary in the habitudes and usages of arms, while he had the
superior incitements of home, country, and independence. The ravaging
incursions of the enemy had exasperated the most peace-loving parts of
the country; made soldiers of the husbandmen, acquainted them with their
own powers, and taught them that the foe was vulnerable. The recent
ineffectual attempts of a veteran general to penetrate the fastnesses of
Morristown, though at the head of a veteran force, “which would once
have been deemed capable of sweeping the whole continent before it,” was
a lasting theme of triumph to the inhabitants; and it is still the
honest boast among the people of Morris County, that “the enemy never
were able to get a footing among our hills.” At the same time the
conflagration of villages, by which they sought to cover or revenge
their repeated failures, and their precipitate retreat, harassed and
insulted, by half-disciplined militia, and a crude, rustic levy, formed
an ignominious close to the British campaigns in the Jerseys.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER VII.
Washington applies to the State Legislatures for Aid.—Subscriptions of
the Ladies of Philadelphia.—Gates appointed to command the Southern
Department.—French Fleet arrives at Newport.—Preparation for a
Combined Movement against New York.—Arnold obtains Command at West
Point.—Greene resigns the Office of Quartermaster-general.
Apprehensive that the next move of the enemy would be up the Hudson,
Washington resumed his measures for the security of West Point; moving
towards the Highlands in the latter part of June. Circumstances soon
convinced him that the enemy had no present intention of attacking that
fortress, but merely menaced him at various points, to retard his
operations, and oblige him to call out the militia; thereby interrupting
agriculture, distressing the country, and rendering his cause unpopular.
Having, therefore, caused the military stores in the Jerseys to be
removed to more remote and secure places, he countermanded by letter the
militia, which were marching to camp from Connecticut and Massachusetts.
He now exerted himself to the utmost to procure from the different State
Legislatures their quotas and supplies for the regular army. “The
sparing system,” said he, “has been tried until it has brought us to a
crisis little less than desperate.” This was the time by one great
exertion to put an end to the war. The basis of everything was the
completion of the continental battalions to their full establishment;
otherwise, nothing decisive could be attempted, and this campaign, like
all the former, must be chiefly defensive. He warned against those
“indolent and narrow politicians, who, except at the moment of some
signal misfortune, are continually crying, _all is well_, and who to
save a little present expense, and avoid some temporary inconvenience,
with no ill designs in the main, would protract the war, and risk the
perdition of our liberties.”[21]
The desired relief, however, had to be effected through the
ramifications of general and State governments, and their committees.
The operations were tardy and unproductive. Liberal contributions were
made by individuals, a bank was established by the inhabitants of
Philadelphia to facilitate the supplies of the army, and an association
of ladies of that city raised by subscription between seven and eight
thousand dollars, which were put at the disposition of Washington, to be
laid out in such a manner as he might think “most honorable and
gratifying to the brave old soldiers who had borne so great a share of
the burden of the war.”
The capture of General Lincoln at Charleston had left the Southern
department without a commander-in-chief. As there were likely to be
important military operations in that quarter, Washington had intended
to recommend General Greene for the appointment. He was an officer on
whose abilities, discretion, and disinterested patriotism he had the
fullest reliance, and whom he had always found thoroughly disposed to
act in unison with him in his general plan of carrying on the war.
Congress, however, with unbecoming precipitancy, gave that important
command to General Gates (June 13th), without waiting to consult
Washington’s views or wishes.
Gates, at the time, was on his estate in Virginia, and accepted the
appointment with avidity, anticipating new triumphs. His old associate,
General Lee, gave him an ominous caution at parting. “Beware that your
Northern laurels do not change to Southern willows!”
On the 10th of July a French fleet, under the Chevalier de Ternay,
arrived at Newport, in Rhode Island. It was composed of seven ships of
the line, two frigates and two bombs, and convoyed transports on board
of which there were upwards of five thousand troops. This was the first
division of the forces promised by France, of which Lafayette had
spoken. The second division had been detained at Brest for want of
transports, but might soon be expected.
The Count de Rochambeau, lieutenant-general of the royal armies, was
commander-in-chief of this auxiliary force. He was a veteran, fifty-five
years of age, who had early distinguished himself, when colonel of the
regiment of Auvergne, and had gained laurels in various battles,
especially that of Kloster Camp, of which he decided the success. Since
then, he had risen from one post of honor to another, until intrusted
with his present important command.[22]
Another officer of rank and distinction in this force, was Major-general
the Marquis de Chastellux, a friend and relative of Lafayette, but much
his senior, being now forty-six years of age. He was not only a soldier,
but a man of letters, and one familiar with courts as well as camps.
Count Rochambeau’s first dispatch to Vergennes, the French Minister of
State (July 16th) gave a discouraging picture of affairs. “Upon my
arrival here,” writes he, “the country was in consternation, the paper
money had fallen to sixty for one, and even the government takes it up
at forty for one. Washington had for a long time only three thousand men
under his command. The arrival of the Marquis de Lafayette, and the
announcement of succors from France, afforded some encouragement; but
the tories, who were very numerous, gave out that it was only a
temporary assistance, like that of Count D’Estaing. In describing to you
our reception at this place, we shall show you the feeling of all the
inhabitants of the continent. This town is of considerable size, and
contains, like the rest, both whigs and tories. I landed with my staff,
without troops; nobody appeared in the streets; those at the windows
looked sad and depressed. I spoke to the principal persons of the place,
and told them, as I wrote to General Washington, that this was merely
the advanced guard of a greater force, and that the king was determined
to support them with his whole power. In twenty-four hours their spirits
rose, and last night all the streets, houses, and steeples were
illuminated, in the midst of fire-works, and the greatest rejoicings. I
am now here with a single company of grenadiers, until wood and straw
shall have been collected; my camp is marked out, and I hope to have the
troops landed to-morrow.”
Still, however, there appears to have been a lingering feeling of
disappointment in the public bosom. “The whigs are pleased,” writes De
Rochambeau, “but they say that the king ought to have sent twenty
thousand men, and twenty ships to drive the enemy from New York; that
the country was infallibly ruined; that it is impossible to find a
recruit to send to General Washington’s army, without giving him one
hundred hard dollars to engage for six months’ service, and they beseech
His Majesty to assist them with all his strength. The war will be an
expensive one; we pay even for our quarters, and for the land covered
with the camp.”[23]
The troops were landed to the east of the town; their encampment was on
a fine situation, and extended nearly across the island. Much was said
of their gallant and martial appearance. There was the noted regiment of
Auvergne, in command of which the Count de Rochambeau had first gained
his laurels, but which was now commanded by his son the viscount, thirty
years of age. A legion of six hundred men also was especially admired;
it was commanded by the Duke de Lauzun (Lauzun-Biron), who had gained
reputation in the preceding year by the capture of Senegal. A feeling of
adventure and romance, associated with the American struggle, had caused
many of the young nobility to seek this new field of achievement, who,
to use De Rochambeau’s words, “brought out with them the heroic and
chivalrous courage of the ancient French nobility.” To their credit be
it spoken also, they brought with them the ancient French politeness,
for it was remarkable how soon they accommodated themselves to
circumstances, made light of all the privations and inconveniences of a
new country, and conformed to the familiar simplicity of republican
manners. General Heath, who, by Washington’s orders, was there to offer
his services, was, by his own account, “charmed with the officers,” who,
on their part, he said, expressed the highest satisfaction with the
treatment they received.
The instructions of the French ministry to the Count de Rochambeau
placed him entirely under the command of General Washington. The French
troops were to be considered as auxiliaries, and as such were to take
the left of the American troops, and, in all cases of ceremony, to yield
them the preference. This considerate arrangement had been adopted at
the suggestion of the Marquis de Lafayette, and was intended to prevent
the recurrence of those questions of rank and etiquette which had
heretofore disturbed the combined service.
Washington, in general orders, congratulated the army on the arrival of
this timely and generous succor, which he hailed as a new tie between
France and America; anticipating that the only contention between the
two armies would be to excel each other in good offices, and in the
display of every military virtue. The American cockade had hitherto been
black, that of the French was white; he recommended to his officers a
cockade of black and white intermingled in compliment to their allies,
and as a symbol of friendship and union.
His joy at this important reinforcement was dashed by the mortifying
reflection, that he was still unprovided with the troops and military
means requisite for the combined operations meditated. Still he took
upon himself the responsibility of immediate action, and forthwith
dispatched Lafayette to have an interview with the French commanders,
explain the circumstances of the case, and concert plans for the
proposed attack upon New York.
“Pressed on all sides by a choice of difficulties,” writes he to the
President, “I have adopted that line of conduct which suited the dignity
and faith of Congress, the reputation of these States, and the honor of
our arms. Neither the season nor a regard to decency would permit delay.
The die is cast, and it remains with the States to fulfill either their
engagements, preserve their credit and support their independence, or to
involve us in disgrace and defeat.... I shall proceed on the supposition
that they will ultimately consult their own interest and honor, and not
suffer us to fail for want of means, which it is evidently in their
power to afford. What has been done, and is doing, by some of the
States, confirms the opinion, I have entertained of the sufficient
resources of the country. As to the disposition of the people to submit
to any arrangements for bringing them forth, I see no reasonable grounds
to doubt. If we fail for want of proper exertions, in any of the
governments, I trust the responsibility will fall where it ought, and
that I shall stand justified to Congress, to my country, and to the
world.”
The arrival, however, of the British Admiral Graves, at New York, on the
13th of July, with six ships of the line, gave the enemy such a
superiority of naval force, that the design on New York was postponed
until the second French division should make its appearance, or a
squadron under the Count de Guichen, which was expected from the West
Indies.
In the mean time Sir Henry Clinton, who had information of all the plans
and movements of the allies, determined to forestall the meditated
attack upon New York, by beating up the French quarters on Rhode Island.
This he was to do in person at the head of six thousand men, aided by
Admiral Arbuthnot with his fleet. Sir Henry accordingly proceeded with
his troops to Throg’s Neck on the sound, there to embark on board of
transports which Arbuthnot was to provide. No sooner did Washington
learn that so large a force had left New York, than he crossed the
Hudson to Peekskill, and prepared to move towards King’s Bridge, with
the main body of his troops, which had recently been reinforced. His
intention was, either to oblige Sir Henry to abandon his project against
Rhode Island, or to strike a blow at New York during his absence. As
Washington was on horseback, observing the crossing of the last division
of his troops, General Arnold approached, having just arrived in the
camp. Arnold had been maneuvering of late to get the command of West
Point, and, among other means, had induced Mr. Robert R. Livingston,
then a New York member of Congress, to suggest it in a letter to
Washington as a measure of great expediency. Arnold now accosted the
latter to know whether any place had been assigned to him. He was told,
that he was to command the left wing, and Washington added, that they
would have further conversation on the subject when he returned to
head-quarters. The silence and evident chagrin with which the reply was
received surprised Washington, and he was still more surprised when he
subsequently learned that Arnold was more desirous of a garrison post
than of a command in the field, although a post of honor had been
assigned him, and active service was anticipated. Arnold’s excuse was
that his wounded leg still unfitted him for action either on foot or
horseback; but that at West Point he might render himself useful.
The expedition of Sir Henry was delayed by the tardy arrival of
transports. In the mean time he heard of the sudden move of Washington,
and learned, moreover, that the position of the French at Newport had
been strengthened by the militia from the neighboring country. These
tidings disconcerted his plans. He left Admiral Arbuthnot to proceed
with his squadron to Newport, blockade the French fleet, and endeavor to
intercept the second division, supposed to be on its way, while he with
his troops hastened back to New York.
In consequence of their return Washington again withdrew his forces to
the west side of the Hudson; first establishing a post and throwing up
small works at Dobbs’ Ferry, about ten miles above King’s Bridge, to
secure a communication across the river for the transportation of troops
and ordnance, should the design upon New York be prosecuted.
Arnold now received the important command which he had so earnestly
coveted. It included the fortress at West Point and the posts from
Fishkill to Kings Ferry, together with the corps of infantry and cavalry
advanced towards the enemy’s line on the east side of the river. He was
ordered to have the works at the Point completed as expeditiously as
possible, and to keep all his posts on their guard against surprise;
there being constant apprehensions that the enemy might make a sudden
effort to gain possession of the river.
Having made these arrangements, Washington recrossed to the west side of
the Hudson, and took post at Orangetown or Tappan, on the borders of the
Jerseys, and opposite to Dobbs’ Ferry, to be at hand for any attempt
upon New York.
The execution of this cherished design, however was again postponed by
intelligence that the second division of the French reinforcements was
blockaded in the harbor of Brest by the British: Washington still had
hopes that it might be carried into effect by the aid of the squadron of
the Count de Guichen from the West Indies; or of a fleet from Cadiz.
At this critical juncture, an embarrassing derangement took place in the
quartermaster-general’s department, of which General Greene was the
head. The reorganization of this department had long been in agitation.
A system had been digested by Washington, Schuyler, and Greene, adapted,
as they thought, to the actual situation of the country. Greene had
offered, should it be adopted, to continue in the discharge of the
duties of the department, without any extra emolument other than would
cover the expenses of his family. Congress devised a different scheme.
He considered it incapable of execution, and likely to be attended with
calamitous and disgraceful results; he therefore tendered his
resignation. Washington endeavored to prevent its being accepted.
“Unless effectual measures are taken,” said he, “to induce General
Greene and the other principal officers of that department to continue
their services, there must of necessity be a total stagnation of
military business. We not only must cease from the preparations for the
campaign, but in all probability, shall be obliged to disperse, if not
disband the army, for want of subsistence.”
The tone and manner, however, assumed by General Greene in offering his
resignation, and the time chosen, when the campaign was opened, the
enemy in the field, and the French commanders waiting for coöperation,
were deeply offensive to Congress. His resignation was promptly
accepted: there was a talk even of suspending him from his command in
the line.
Washington interposed his sagacious and considerate counsels to allay
this irritation, and prevent the infliction of such an indignity upon an
officer for whom he entertained the highest esteem and friendship. “A
procedure of this kind, without a proper trial,” said he, “must touch
the feelings of every officer. It will show in a conspicuous point of
view the uncertain tenure by which they hold their commissions. In a
word, it will exhibit such a specimen of power, that I question much if
there is an officer in the whole line that will hold a commission beyond
the end of the campaign, if he does till then. Such an act in the most
despotic government would be attended at least with loud complaints.”
The counsels of Washington prevailed; the indignity was not inflicted,
and Congress was saved from the error, if not disgrace, of discarding
from her service one of the ablest and most meritorious of her generals.
Colonel Pickering was appointed to succeed Greene as
quartermaster-general, but the latter continued for some time, at the
request of Washington, to aid in conducting the business of the
department. Colonel Pickering acquitted himself in his new office with
zeal, talents, and integrity but there were radical defects in the
system which defied all ability and exertion.
The commissariat was equally in a state of derangement. “At this very
juncture,” writes Washington (August, 20th), “I am reduced to the
painful alternative, either of dismissing a part of the militia now
assembling, or of letting them come forward to starve; which it will be
extremely difficult for the troops already in the field to avoid....
Every day’s experience proves more and more that the present mode of
supplies is the most uncertain, expensive, and injurious that could be
devised. It is impossible for us to form any calculations of what we are
to expect, and, consequently, to concert any plans for future execution.
No adequate provision of forage having been made, we are now obliged to
subsist the horses of the army by force, which, among other evils, often
gives rise to civil disputes, and prosecutions, as vexatious as they are
burdensome to the public.” In his emergencies he was forced to empty the
magazines at West Point; yet these afforded but temporary relief;
scarcity continued to prevail to a distressing degree, and on the 6th of
September, he complains that the army has for two or three days been
entirely destitute of meat. “Such injury to the discipline of the army,”
adds he, “and such distress to the inhabitants, result from these
frequent events, that my feelings are hurt beyond description at the
cries of the one and at seeing the other.”
The anxiety of Washington at this moment of embarrassment was heightened
by the receipt of disastrous intelligence from the south; the purport of
which we shall succinctly relate in another chapter.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER VIII.
North Carolina.—Difficulties of its Invasion.—Character of the People
and Country.—Sumter, his Character and Story.—Rocky Mount.—Hanging
Rock.—Slow Advance of De Kalb.—Gates takes Command.—Desolate
March.—Battle of Camden.—Flight of Gates.—Sumter surprised by
Tarleton at the Waxhaws.—Washington’s Opinion of Militia.—His Letter
to Gates.
Lord Cornwallis, when left in military command at the South by Sir Henry
Clinton, was charged, it will be recollected, with the invasion of North
Carolina. It was an enterprise in which much difficulty was to be
apprehended, both from the character of the people and the country. The
original settlers were from various parts, most of them men who had
experienced political or religious oppression, and had brought with them
a quick sensibility to wrong, a stern appreciation of their rights, and
an indomitable spirit of freedom and independence. In the heart of the
State was a hardy Presbyterian stock, the Scotch Irish, as they were
called, having emigrated from Scotland to Ireland, and thence to
America; and who were said to possess the impulsiveness of the Irishman,
with the dogged resolution of the Covenanter.
The early history of the colony abounds with instances of this spirit
among its people. “They always behaved insolently to their governors,”
complains Governor Barrington in 1731; “some they have driven out of the
country—at other times they set up a government of their own choice,
supported by men under arms.” It was in fact the spirit of popular
liberty and self-government which stirred within them, and gave birth to
the glorious axiom: “the rights of the many against the exactions of the
few.” So ripe was this spirit at an early day, that when the boundary
line was run, in 1727, between North Carolina and Virginia, the
borderers were eager to be included within the former province, “as
there they payed no tribute to God or Cæsar.”
It was this spirit which gave rise to the confederacy, called the
Regulation, formed to withstand the abuses of power; and the first blood
shed in our country, in resistance to arbitrary taxation, was at Almance
in this province, in a conflict between the regulators and Governor
Tryon. Above all, it should never be forgotten, that at Mecklenburg, in
the heart of North Carolina, was fulminated the first declaration of
independence of the British crown, upwards of a year before a like
declaration by Congress.
A population so characterized presented formidable difficulties to the
invader. The physical difficulties arising from the nature of the
country consisted in its mountain fastnesses in the northwestern part,
its vast forests, its sterile tracts, its long rivers, destitute of
bridges, and which, though fordable in fair weather, were liable to be
swollen by sudden storms and freshets, and rendered deep turbulent, and
impassable. These rivers, in fact, which rushed down from the mountain,
but wound sluggishly through the plains, were the military strength of
the country, as we shall have frequent occasion to show in the course of
our narrative.
Lord Cornwallis forbore to attempt the invasion of North Carolina until
the summer heats should be over and the harvests gathered in. In the
mean time he disposed of his troops in cantonments, to cover the
frontiers of South Carolina and Georgia, and maintain their internal
quiet. The command of the frontiers was given by him to Lord Rawdon, who
made Camden his principal post. This town, the capital of Kershaw
District, a fertile, fruitful country, was situated on the east bank of
the Wateree River, on the road leading to North Carolina. It was to be
the grand military depot for the projected campaign.
Having made these dispositions, Lord Cornwallis set up his head-quarters
at Charleston, where he occupied himself in regulating the civil and
commercial affairs of the province, in organizing the militia of the
lower districts, and in forwarding provisions and munitions of war to
Camden.
The proclamation of Sir Henry Clinton, putting an end to all neutrality,
and the rigorous penalties and persecutions with which all infractions
of its terms were punished, had for a time quelled the spirit of the
country. By degrees, however, the dread of British power gave way to
impatience of British exactions. Symptoms of revolt manifested
themselves in various parts. They were encouraged by intelligence that
De Kalb, sent by Washington, was advancing through North Carolina at the
head of two thousand men, and that the militia of that State and of
Virginia were joining his standard. This was soon followed by tidings
that Gates, the conqueror of Burgoyne, was on his way to take command of
the Southern forces.
The prospect of such aid from the North reanimated the Southern
patriots. One of the most eminent of these was Thomas Sumter, whom the
Carolinians had surnamed the Game Cock. He was between forty and fifty
years of age, brave, hardy, vigorous, resolute. He had served against
the Indians in his boyhood, during the old French war, and had been
present at the defeat of Braddock. In the present war he had held the
rank of lieutenant-colonel of riflemen in the continental line. After
the fall of Charleston, when patriots took refuge in contiguous States,
or in the natural fastnesses of the country, he had retired with his
family into one of the latter.
The lower part of South Carolina for upwards of a hundred miles back
from the sea is a level country, abounding with swamps, locked up in the
windings of the rivers which flow down from the Appalachian Mountains.
Some of these swamps are mere canebrakes, of little use until subdued by
cultivation, when they yield abundant crops of rice. Others are covered
with forests of cypress, cedar, and laurel, green all the year and
odoriferous, but tangled with vines and almost impenetrable. In their
bosoms, however, are fine savannahs; natural lawns, open to cultivation,
and yielding abundant pasturage. It requires local knowledge, however,
to penetrate these wildernesses, and hence they form strongholds to the
people of the country. In one of these natural fastnesses, on the
borders of the Santee, Sumter had taken up his residence, and hence he
would sally forth in various directions. During a temporary absence his
retreat had been invaded, his house burnt to the ground, his wife and
children driven forth without shelter. Private injury had thus been
added to the incentives of patriotism. Emerging from his hiding-place,
he had thrown himself among a handful of his fellow sufferers who had
taken refuge in North Carolina. They chose him at once as a leader, and
resolved on a desperate struggle for the deliverance of their native
State. Destitute of regular weapons, they forged rude substitutes out of
the implements of husbandry. Old mill-saws were converted into
broad-swords; knives at the ends of poles served for lances; while the
country housewives gladly gave up their pewter dishes and other
utensils, to be melted down and cast into bullets for such as had
firearms.
When Sumter led this gallant band of exiles over the border, they did
not amount in number to two hundred; yet, with these, he attacked and
routed a well-armed body of British troops and tories, the terror of the
frontier. His followers supplied themselves with weapons from the slain.
In a little while his band was augmented by recruits. Parties of
militia, also, recently embodied under the compelling measures of
Cornwallis, deserted to the patriot standard. Thus reinforced to the
amount of six hundred men, he made, on the 30th of July, a spirited
attack on the British post at Rocky Mount, near the Catawba, but was
repulsed. A more successful attack was made by him, eight days
afterwards, on another post at Hanging Rock. The Prince of Wales
regiment which defended it was nearly annihilated, and a large body of
North Carolina loyalists, under Colonel Brian, was routed and dispersed.
The gallant exploits of Sumter were emulated in other parts of the
country, and the partisan war thus commenced was carried on with an
audacity that soon obliged the enemy to call in their outposts, and
collect their troops in large masses.
The advance of De Kalb with reinforcements from the North, had been
retarded by various difficulties, the most important of which was want
of provisions. This had been especially the case, he said, since his
arrival in North Carolina. The legislative or executive power, he
complained, gave him no assistance, nor could he obtain supplies from
the people but by military force There was no flour in the camp, nor
were dispositions made to furnish any. His troops were reduced for a
time to short allowance, and at length, on the 6th of July, brought to a
positive halt at Deep River.[24] The North Carolina militia, under
General Caswell, were already in the field, on the road to Camden,
beyond the Pedee River. He was anxious to form a junction with them, and
with some Virginia troops, under Colonel Porterfield, reliques of the
defenders of Charleston: but a wide and sterile region lay between him
and them, difficult to be traversed, unless magazines were established
in advance, or he were supplied with provisions to take with him. Thus
circumstanced, he wrote to Congress and to the State Legislature,
representing his situation, and entreating relief. For three weeks he
remained in this encampment, foraging an exhausted country for a meagre
subsistence, and was thinking of deviating to the right, and seeking the
fertile counties of Mecklenburg and Rowan, when, on the 25th of July,
General Gates arrived at the camp.
The baron greeted him with a continental salute from his little park of
artillery, and received him with the ceremony and deference due to a
superior officer who was to take the command. There was a contest of
politeness between the two generals. Gates approved of De Kalb’s
standing orders, but at the first review of the troops, to the great
astonishment of the baron, gave orders for them to hold themselves in
readiness to march at a _moment’s warning_. It was evident he meant to
signalize himself by celerity of movement in contrast with protracted
delays.
It was in vain the destitute situation of the troops was represented to
him, and that they had not a day’s provision in advance. His reply was,
that wagons laden with supplies were coming on, and would overtake them
in two days.
On the 27th, he actually put the army in motion over the Buffalo Ford,
on the direct road to Camden. Colonel Williams, the adjutant-general of
De Kalb, warned him of the sterile nature of that route, and recommended
a more circuitous one further north, which the baron had intended to
take, and which passed through the abundant county of Mecklenburg. Gates
persisted in taking the direct route, observing that he should the
sooner form a junction with Caswell and the North Carolina militia; and
as to the sterility of the country, his supplies would soon overtake
him.
The route proved all that had been represented. It led through a region
of pine barrens, sand hills, and swamps, with few human habitations, and
those mostly deserted. The supplies of which he had spoken never
overtook him. His army had to subsist itself on lean cattle, roaming
almost wild in the woods; and to supply the want of bread with green
Indian corn, unripe apples, and peaches. The consequence was, a
distressing prevalence of dysentery.
Having crossed the Pedee River on the 3d of August, the army was joined
by a handful of brave Virginia regulars, under Lieutenant-colonel
Porterfield, who had been wandering about the country since the disaster
of Charleston; and, on the 7th, the much desired junction took place
with the North Carolina militia. On the 13th they encamped at Rugeley’s
Mills, otherwise called Clermont, about twelve miles from Camden, and,
on the following day were reinforced by a brigade of seven hundred
Virginia militia, under General Stevens.
On the approach of Gates, Lord Rawdon had concentrated his forces at
Camden. The post was flanked by the Wateree River and Pine-tree Creek,
and strengthened with redoubts. Lord Cornwallis had hastened hither from
Charleston on learning that affairs in this quarter were drawing to a
crisis, and had arrived here on the 13th. The British effective force
thus collected was something more than two thousand, including officers.
About five hundred were militia and tory refugees from North Carolina.
The forces under Gates, according to the return of his adjutant-general,
were three thousand and fifty-two fit for duty; more than two thirds of
them, however, were militia.
On the 14th, he received an express from General Sumter, who, with his
partisan corps, after harassing the enemy at various points, was now
endeavoring to cut off their supplies from Charleston. The object of the
express was to ask a reinforcement of regulars to aid him in capturing a
large convoy of clothing, ammunition, and stores, on its way to the
garrison, and which would pass Wateree Ferry, about a mile from Camden.
Gates accordingly detached Colonel Woolford of the Maryland line, with
one hundred regulars, a party of artillery, and two brass field-pieces.
On the same evening he moved with his main force to take post at a deep
stream about seven miles from Camden, intending to attack Lord Rawdon or
his redoubts should he march out in force to repel Sumter.
It seems hardly credible that Gates should have been so remiss in
collecting information concerning the movements of his enemy as to be
utterly unaware that Lord Cornwallis had arrived at Camden. Such,
however, we are assured by his adjutant-general, was the fact.[25]
By a singular coincidence, Lord Cornwallis on the very same evening
sallied forth from Camden to attack the American camp at Clermont.
About two o’clock at night, the two forces blundered, as it were, on
each other about half way. A skirmish took place between their advance
guards, in which Porterfield of the Virginia regulars was mortally
wounded. Some prisoners were taken on either side. From these the
respective commanders learnt the nature of the forces each had stumbled
upon. Both halted, formed their troops for action, but deferred further
hostilities until daylight.
Gates was astounded at being told that the enemy at hand was Cornwallis
with three thousand men. Calling a council of war, he demanded what was
best to be done. For a moment or two there was blank silence. It was
broken by General Stevens of the Virginia militia, with the question,
“Gentlemen, is it not too late now to do anything but fight?” No other
advice was asked or offered, and all were required to repair to their
respective commands,[26] though General de Kalb, we are told, was of
opinion that they should regain their position at Clermont, and there
await an attack.
In forming the line, the first Maryland division, including the
Delawares, was on the right, commanded by De Kalb. The Virginia militia
under Stevens, were on the left. Caswell with the North Carolinians
formed the centre. The artillery was in battery on the road. Each flank
was covered by a marsh. The second Maryland brigade formed a reserve, a
few hundred yards in rear of the first.
At daybreak (August 16th), the enemy were dimly descried advancing in
column; they appeared to be displaying to the right. The deputy
adjutant-general ordered the artillery to open a fire upon them, and
then rode to General Gates, who was in the rear of the line, to inform
him of the cause of the firing. Gates ordered that Stevens should
advance briskly with his brigade of Virginia militia and attack them
while in the act of displaying. No sooner did Stevens receive the order
than he put his brigade in motion, but discovered that the right wing of
the enemy was already in line. A few sharp-shooters were detached to run
forward, post themselves behind trees within forty or fifty yards of the
enemy to extort their fire while at a distance, and render it less
terrible to the militia. The expedient failed. The British rushed on
shouting and firing. Stevens called to his men to stand firm, and put
them in mind of their bayonets. His words were unheeded. The
inexperienced militia, dismayed and confounded by this impetuous
assault, threw down their loaded muskets and fled. The panic spread to
the North Carolina militia. Part of them made a temporary stand, but
soon joined with the rest in flight, rendered headlong and disastrous by
the charge and pursuit of Tarleton and his cavalry.
Gates, seconded by his officers, made several attempts to rally the
militia, but was borne along with them. The day was hazy; there was no
wind to carry off the smoke, which hung over the field of battle like a
thick cloud. Nothing could be seen distinctly. Supposing that the
regular troops were dispersed like the militia, Gates gave all up for
lost, and retreated from the field.
The regulars, however, had not given way. The Maryland brigades and the
Delaware regiment, unconscious that they were deserted by the militia,
stood their ground, and bore the brunt of the battle. Though repeatedly
broken, they as often rallied, and braved even the deadly push of the
bayonet. At length a charge of Tarleton’s cavalry on their flank threw
them into confusion, and drove them into the woods and swamps. None
showed more gallantry on this disastrous day than the Baron de Kalb; he
fought on foot with the second Maryland brigade, and fell exhausted
after receiving eleven wounds. His aide-de-camp, De Buysson, supported
him in his arms and was repeatedly wounded in protecting him. He
announced the rank and nation of his general, and both were taken
prisoners. De Kalb died in the course of a few days, dictating in his
last moments a letter expressing his affection for the officers and men
of his division who had so nobly stood by him in this deadly strife.
If the militia fled too soon in this battle, said the adjutant-general,
the regulars remained too long; fighting when there was no hope of
victory.[27]
General Gates in retreating, had hoped to rally a sufficient force at
Clermont to cover the retreat of the regulars, but the further they
fled, the more the militia were dispersed, until the generals were
abandoned by all but their aides. To add to the mortification of Gates,
he learned in the course of his retreat that Sumter had been completely
successful, and having reduced the enemy’s redoubt on the Wateree, and
captured one hundred prisoners and forty loaded wagons, was marching off
with his booty on the opposite side of the river; apprehending danger
from the quarter in which he had heard firing in the morning. Gates had
no longer any means of coöperating with him; he sent orders to him,
therefore, to retire in the best manner he could; while he himself
proceeded with General Caswell towards the village of Charlotte, about
sixty miles distant.
Cornwallis was apprehensive that Sumter’s corps might form a rallying
point to the routed army. On the morning of the 17th of August,
therefore, he detached Tarleton in pursuit with a body of cavalry and
light infantry, about three hundred and fifty strong. Sumter was
retreating up the western side of the Wateree, much encumbered by his
spoils and prisoners. Tarleton pushed up by forced and concealed marches
on the eastern side. Horses and men suffered from the intense heat of
the weather. At dusk Tarleton descried the fires of the American camp
about a mile from the opposite shore. He gave orders to secure all boats
on the river, and to light no fire in the camp. In the morning his
sentries gave word that the Americans were quitting their encampment. It
was evident they knew nothing of a British force being in pursuit of
them. Tarleton now crossed the Wateree; the infantry with a
three-pounder passed in boats; the cavalry swam their horses where the
river was not fordable. The delay in crossing, and the diligence of
Sumter’s march, increased the distance between the pursuers and the
pursued. About noon a part of Tarleton’s force gave out through heat and
fatigue. Leaving them to repose on the bank of Fishing Creek, he pushed
on with about one hundred dragoons, the freshest and most able; still
marching with great circumspection. As he entered a valley, a discharge
of small-arms from a thicket tumbled a dragoon from his saddle. His
comrades galloped up to the place, and found two American videttes whom
they sabred before Tarleton could interpose. A sergeant and five
dragoons rode up to the summit of a neighboring hill to reconnoiter.
Crouching on their horses they made signs to Tarleton. He cautiously
approached the crest of the hill, and looking over beheld the American
camp on a neighboring height, and apparently in a most negligent
condition.
Sumter, in fact, having pressed his retreat to the neighborhood of the
Catawba Ford, and taken a strong position at the mouth of Fishing Creek,
and his patrols having scoured the road without discovering any signs of
an enemy, considered himself secure from surprise. The two shots fired
by his videttes had been heard, but were supposed to have been made by
militia shooting cattle. The troops having for the last four days been
almost without food or sleep, were now indulged in complete relaxation.
Their arms were stacked, and they were scattered about, some strolling,
some lying on the grass under the trees, some bathing in the river.
Sumter himself had thrown off part of his clothes on account of the heat
of the weather.
Having well reconnoitered this negligent camp, indulging in summer
supineness and sultry repose, Tarleton prepared for instant attack. His
cavalry and infantry formed into one line, dashed forward with a general
shout, and, before the Americans could recover from their surprise, got
between them and the parade ground on which the muskets were stacked.
All was confusion and consternation in the American camp. Some
opposition was made from behind baggage wagons, and there was
skirmishing in various quarters, but in a little while there was a
universal flight to the river and the woods. Between three and four
hundred were killed and wounded; all their arms and baggage, with two
brass field-pieces, fell into the hands of the enemy, who also
recaptured the prisoners and booty taken at Camden. Sumter with about
three hundred and fifty of his men effected a retreat; he galloped off,
it is said, without saddle, hat, or coat.
Gates, on reaching the village of Charlotte, had been joined by some
fugitives from his army. He continued on to Hillsborough, one hundred
and eighty miles from Camden, where he made a stand and endeavored to
rally his scattered forces. His regular troops, however, were little
more than one thousand. As to the militia of North and South Carolina,
they had dispersed to their respective homes, depending upon the
patriotism and charity of the farmers along the road for food and
shelter.
It was not until the beginning of September that Washington received
word of the disastrous reverse at Camden. The shock was the greater, as
previous reports from that quarter had represented the operations a few
days preceding the action as much in our favor. It was evident to
Washington that the course of war must ultimately tend to the Southern
States, yet the situation of affairs in the North did not permit him to
detach any sufficient force for their relief. All that he could do for
the present was to endeavor to hold the enemy in check in that quarter.
For this purpose, he gave orders that some regular troops enlisted in
Maryland for the war, and intended for the main army, should be sent to
the southward. He wrote to Governor Rutledge of South Carolina (12th
September), to raise a permanent, compact, well-organized body of
troops, instead of depending upon a numerous army of militia, always
“inconceivably expensive, and too fluctuating and undisciplined” to
oppose a regular force. He was still more urgent and explicit on this
head in his letters to the President of Congress (September 15th).
“Regular troops alone,” said he, “are equal to the exigencies of modern
war, as well for defense as offense; and whenever a substitute is
attempted, it must prove illusory and ruinous. No militia will ever
acquire the habits necessary to resist a regular force. The firmness
requisite for the real business of fighting is only to be attained by a
constant course of discipline and service. I have never yet been witness
to a single instance, that can justify a different opinion; and it is
most earnestly to be wished, that the liberties of America may no longer
be trusted, in any material degree, to so precarious a dependence.... In
my ideas of the true system of war at the southward, the object ought to
be to have a good army, rather than a large one. Every exertion should
be made by North Carolina, Virginia, Maryland, and Delaware, to raise a
permanent force of six thousand men, exclusive of horse and artillery.
These, with the occasional aid of the militia in the vicinity of the
scene of action, will not only suffice to prevent the further progress
of the enemy, but, if properly supplied, to oblige them to compact their
force and relinquish a part of what they now hold. To expel them from
the country entirely is what we cannot aim at, till we derive more
effectual support from abroad; and by attempting too much, instead of
going forward, we shall go backward. Could such a force be once set on
foot, it would immediately make an inconceivable change in the face of
affairs not only in the opposition to the enemy, but in expense,
consumption of provisions, and waste of arms and stores. No magazines
can be equal to the demands of an army of militia, and none need economy
more than ours.”
He had scarce written the foregoing, when he received a letter from the
now unfortunate Gates, dated at Hillsborough, August 30th and September
3d, giving particulars of his discomfiture. No longer vaunting and
vainglorious, he pleads nothing but his patriotism, and deprecates the
fall which he apprehends awaits him. The appeal which he makes to
Washington’s magnanimity to support him in this day of his reverse, is
the highest testimonial he could give to the exalted character of the
man whom he once affected to underrate and aspired to supplant.
“Anxious for the public good,” said he, “I shall continue my unwearied
endeavors to stop the progress of the enemy, reinstate our affairs,
recommence an offensive war, and recover all our losses in the Southern
States. But if being unfortunate is solely a reason sufficient for
removing me from command, I shall most cheerfully submit to the orders
of Congress, and resign an office which few generals would be anxious to
possess, and where the utmost skill and fortitude are subject to be
baffled by difficulties, which must for a time surround the chief in
command here. That your Excellency may meet with no such difficulties,
that your road to fame and fortune may be smooth and easy, is the
sincere wish of your most humble servant.”
Again: “If I can yet render good service to the United States, it will
be necessary it should be seen that I have the support of Congress, and
of your Excellency; otherwise, some men may think they please my
superiors by blaming me, and thus recommend themselves to favor. But
you, sir, will be too generous to lend an ear to such men, if such there
be, and will show your greatness of soul rather by protecting than
slighting the unfortunate.”
Washington in his reply, while he acknowledged the shock and surprise
caused by the first account of the unexpected event, did credit to the
behavior of the continental troops. “The accounts,” added he, “which the
enemy give of the action, show that their victory was dearly bought.
Under present circumstances, the system which you are pursuing seems to
be extremely proper. It would add no good purpose to take a position
near the enemy while you are so far inferior in force. If they can be
kept in check by the light irregular troops under colonel Sumter and
other active officers, they will gain nothing by the time which must be
necessarily spent by you in collecting and arranging the new army,
forming magazines, and replacing the stores which were lost in the
action.”
Washington still cherished the idea of a combined attack upon New York
as soon as a French naval force should arrive. The destruction of the
enemy here would relieve this part of the Union from an internal war,
and enable its troops and resources to be united with those of France in
vigorous efforts against the common enemy elsewhere. Hearing, therefore,
that the Count de Guichen, with his West India squadron, was approaching
the coast, Washington prepared to proceed to Hartford in Connecticut,
there to hold a conference with the Count de Rochambeau and the
Chevalier de Ternay, and concert a plan for future operations, of which
the attack on New York was to form the principal feature.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER IX.
Treason of Arnold.—His Correspondence with the Enemy.—His Negotiations
with André.—Parting Scene with Washington.—Midnight Conference on
the Banks of the Hudson.—Return of André by Land.—Circumstances of
his Capture.
We have now to enter upon a sad episode of our revolutionary history—the
treason of Arnold. Of the military skill, daring enterprise, and
indomitable courage of this man, ample evidence has been given in the
foregoing pages. Of the implicit confidence reposed in his patriotism by
Washington, sufficient proof is manifested in the command with which he
was actually entrusted. But Arnold was false at heart, and, at the very
time of seeking that command, had been for many months in traitorous
correspondence with the enemy.
The first idea of proving recreant to the cause he had vindicated so
bravely, appears to have entered his mind when the charges preferred
against him by the council of Pennsylvania were referred by Congress to
a court-martial. Before that time he had been incensed against
Pennsylvania: but now his wrath was excited against his country, which
appeared so insensible to his services. Disappointment in regard to the
settlement of his accounts, added to his irritation, and mingled sordid
motives with his resentment; and he began to think how, while he wreaked
his vengeance on his country, he might do it with advantage to his
fortunes. With this view he commenced a correspondence with Sir Henry
Clinton in a disguised handwriting, and, under the signature of
_Gustavus_, representing himself as a person of importance in the
American service, who, being dissatisfied with the late proceedings of
Congress, particularly the alliance with France, was desirous of joining
the cause of Great Britain, could he be certain of personal security,
and indemnification for whatever loss of property he might sustain. His
letters occasionally communicated articles of intelligence of some
moment which proved to be true, and induced Sir Henry to keep up the
correspondence; which was conducted on his part by his aide-de-camp,
Major John André, likewise in a disguised hand, and under the signature
of John Anderson.
Months elapsed before Sir Henry discovered who was his secret
correspondent. Even after discovering it he did not see fit to hold out
any very strong inducements to Arnold for desertion. The latter was out
of command, and had nothing to offer but his services; which in his
actual situation were scarcely worth buying.
In the mean time the circumstances of Arnold were daily becoming more
desperate. Debts were accumulating, and creditors becoming more and more
importunate, as his means to satisfy them decreased. The public
reprimand he had received was rankling in his mind, and filling his
heart with bitterness. Still he hesitated on the brink of absolute
infamy, and attempted a half-way leap. Such was his proposition to M. de
Luzerne to make himself subservient to the policy of the French
government, on condition of receiving a loan equal to the amount of his
debts. This he might have reconciled to his conscience by the idea that
France was an ally, and its policy likely to be friendly. It was his
last card before resorting to utter treachery. Failing in it, his
desperate alternative was to get some important command, the betrayal of
which to the enemy might obtain for him a munificent reward.
He may possibly have had such an idea in his mind some time previously,
when he sought the command of a naval and military expedition, which
failed to be carried into effect; but such certainly was the secret of
his eagerness to obtain the command of West Point, the great object of
British and American solicitude, on the possession of which were
supposed by many to hinge the fortunes of the war.
He took command of the post and its dependencies about the beginning of
August, fixing his head-quarters at Beverley, a country seat a little
below West Point, on the opposite or eastern side of the river. It stood
in a lonely part of the Highlands, high up from the river, yet at the
foot of a mountain covered with woods. It was commonly called the
Robinson House, having formerly belonged to Washington’s early friend,
Colonel Beverley Robinson, who had obtained a large part of the
Phillipse estate in this neighborhood, by marrying one of the heiresses.
Colonel Robinson was a royalist; had entered into the British service,
and was now residing in New York, and Beverley with its surrounding
lands had been confiscated.
From this place Arnold carried on a secret correspondence with Major
André. Their letters, still in disguised hands, and under the names of
Gustavus and John Anderson, purported to treat merely of commercial
operations, but the real matter in negotiation was the betrayal of West
Point and the Highlands to Sir Henry Clinton. This stupendous piece of
treachery was to be consummated at the time when Washington, with the
main body of his army, would be drawn down towards King’s Bridge, and
the French troops landed on Long Island, in the projected coöperation
against New York. At such time, a flotilla under Rodney, having on board
a large land force, was to ascend the Hudson to the Highlands, which
would be surrendered by Arnold almost without opposition, under pretext
of insufficient force to make resistance. The immediate result of this
surrender, it was anticipated, would be the defeat of the combined
attempt upon New York; and its ultimate effect might be the
dismemberment of the Union and the dislocation of the whole American
scheme of warfare.
We have before had occasion to mention Major André, but the part which
he took in this dark transaction, and the degree of romantic interest
subsequently thrown around his memory, call for a more specific notice
of him. He was born in London, in 1751, but his parents were of Geneva
in Switzerland, where he was educated. Being intended for mercantile
life, he entered a London counting-house, but had scarce attained his
eighteenth year when he formed a romantic attachment to a beautiful
girl, Miss Honora Sneyd, by whom his passion was returned, and they
became engaged. This sadly unfitted him for the sober routine of the
counting-house. “All my mercantile calculations,” writes he in one of
his boyish letters, “go to the tune of dear Honora.”
The father of the young lady interfered, and the premature match was
broken off. André abandoned the counting-house and entered the army. His
first commission was dated March 4th, 1771; but he subsequently visited
Germany, and returned to England in 1773, still haunted by his early
passion. His lady love, in the mean time, had been wooed by other
admirers, and in the present year became the second wife of Richard
Lovell Edgeworth, a young widower of twenty-six.[28]
André came to America in 1774, as lieutenant of the Royal English
Fusileers; and was among the officers captured at Saint John’s, early in
the war, by Montgomery. He still bore about with him a memento of his
boyish passion, the “dear talisman,” as he called it, a miniature of
Miss Sneyd painted by himself in 1769. In a letter to a friend, soon
after his capture, he writes, “I have been taken prisoner by the
Americans, and stripped of everything except the picture of Honora,
which I concealed in my mouth. Preserving that, I yet think myself
fortunate.”
His temper, however, appears to have been naturally light and festive;
and if he still cherished this “tender remembrance,” it was but as one
of those documents of early poetry and romance, which serve to keep the
heart warm and tender among the gay and cold realities of life. What
served to favor the idea was a little song which he had composed when in
Philadelphia, commencing with the lines,—
“Return enraptured hours
When Delia’s heart was mine;”
and which was supposed to breathe the remembrance of his early and
ill-requited passion.[29]
His varied and graceful talents, and his engaging manners, rendered him
generally popular; while his devoted and somewhat subservient loyalty
recommended him to the favor of his commander, and obtained him, without
any distinguished military services, the appointment of adjutant-general
with the rank of major. He was a prime promoter of elegant amusement in
camp and garrison; manager, actor, and scene painter in those amateur
theatricals in which the British officers delighted. He was one of the
principal devisers of the Mischianza in Philadelphia, in which
semi-effeminate pageant he had figured as one of the knights champions
of beauty; Miss Shippen, afterwards Mrs. Arnold, being the lady whose
peerless charms he undertook to vindicate. He held, moreover, a facile,
and at times, satirical pen, and occasionally amused himself with
caricaturing in rhyme the appearance and exploits of the “rebel
officers.”
André had already employed that pen in a furtive manner after the
evacuation of Philadelphia by the British; having carried on a
correspondence with the leaders of a body of loyalists near the waters
of the Chesapeake, who were conspiring to restore the royal
government.[30] In the present instance he had engaged, nothing loth, in
a service of intrigue and maneuver, which, however sanctioned by
military usage, should hardly have invited the zeal of a high-minded
man. We say maneuver, because he appears to have availed himself of his
former intimacy with Mrs. Arnold, to make her an unconscious means of
facilitating a correspondence with her husband. Some have inculpated her
in the guilt of the transaction, but, we think, unjustly. It has been
alleged that a correspondence had been going on between her and André
previous to her marriage, and was kept up after it; but as far as we can
learn, only one letter passed between them, written by André in August
16th, 1779, in which he solicits her remembrance, assures her that
respect for her and the fair circle in which he had become acquainted
with her, remains unimpaired by distance or political broils, reminds
her that the Mischianza had made him a complete milliner, and offers his
services to furnish her with supplies in that department. “I shall be
glad,” adds he sportively, “to enter into the whole detail of cap-wire,
needles, gauze, etc., and to the best of my abilities render you, in
these trifles, services from which I hope you would infer a zeal to be
further employed.” The apparent object of this letter was to open a
convenient medium of communication, which Arnold might use without
exciting her suspicion.
Various circumstances connected with this nefarious negotiation, argue
lightness of mind and something of debasing alloy on the part of André.
The correspondence carried on for months in the jargon of traffic,
savored less of the camp than the counting-house; the protracted
tampering with a brave but necessitous man for the sacrifice of his fame
and the betrayal of his trust, strikes us as being beneath the range of
a truly chivalrous nature.
Correspondence had now done its part in the business; for the completion
of the plan and the adjustment of the traitor’s recompense, a personal
meeting was necessary between Arnold and André. The former proposed that
it should take place at his own quarters at the Robinson House, where
André should come in disguise, as a bearer of intelligence, and under
the feigned name of John Anderson. André positively objected to entering
the American lines; it was arranged, therefore, that the meeting should
take place on neutral ground, near the American outposts, at Dobbs’
Ferry, on the 11th of September, at twelve o’clock. André attended at
the appointed place and time, accompanied by Colonel Beverley Robinson,
who was acquainted with the plot. An application of the latter for the
restoration of his confiscated property in the Highlands, seemed to have
been used occasionally as a blind in these proceedings.
Arnold had passed the preceding night at what was called the White
House, the residence of Mr. Joshua Hett Smith, situated on the west side
of the Hudson, in Haverstraw Bay, about two miles below Stony Point. He
set off thence in his barge for the place of rendezvous; but, not being
protected by a flag, was fired upon and pursued by the British
guard-boats stationed near Dobbs’ Ferry. He took refuge at an American
post on the western shore, whence he returned in the night to his
quarters in the Robinson House. Lest his expedition should occasion some
surmise, he pretended, in a note to Washington, that he had been down
the Hudson to arrange signals in case of any movement of the enemy upon
the river.
New arrangements were made for an interview, but it was postponed until
after Washington should depart for Hartford, to hold the proposed
conference with Count Rochambeau and the other French officers. In the
mean time, the British sloop of war, _Vulture_, anchored a few miles
below Teller’s Point, to be at hand in aid of the negotiation. On board
was Colonel Robinson, who, pretending to believe that General Putnam
still commanded in the Highlands, addressed a note to him requesting an
interview on the subject of his confiscated property. This letter he
sent by a flag, inclosed in one addressed to Arnold; soliciting of him
the same boon should General Putnam be absent.
On the 18th September, Washington with his suite crossed the Hudson to
Verplanck’s Point, in Arnold’s barge, on his way to Hartford. Arnold
accompanied him as far as Peekskill, and on the way laid before him,
with affected frankness, the letter of Colonel Robinson, and asked his
advice. Washington disapproved of any such interview, observing, that
the civil authorities alone had cognizance of these questions of
confiscated property.
Arnold now openly sent a flag on board of the _Vulture_, as if bearing a
reply to the letter he had communicated to the commander-in-chief. By
this occasion he informed Colonel Robinson, that a person with a boat
and flag would be alongside the _Vulture_, on the night of the 20th; and
that any matter he might wish to communicate, would be laid before
General Washington on the following Saturday, when he might be expected
back from Newport.
On the faith of the information thus covertly conveyed, André proceeded
up the Hudson on the 20th, and went on board the _Vulture_, where he
found Colonel Robinson, and expected to meet Arnold. The latter,
however, had made other arrangements, probably with a view to his
personal security. About half-past eleven, of a still and starlight
night (the 21st), a boat was descried from on board, gliding silently
along, rowed by two men with muffled oars. She was hailed by an officer
on watch, and called to account. A man, seated in the stern, gave out
that they were from King’s Ferry, bound to Dobbs Ferry. He was ordered
alongside, and soon made his way on board. He proved to be Mr. Joshua
Hett Smith, already mentioned, whom Arnold had prevailed upon to go on
board of the _Vulture_, and bring a person on shore who was coming from
New York with important intelligence. He had given him passes to protect
him and those with him, in case he should be stopped either in going or
returning, by the American water guard, which patrolled the river in
whale-boats. He had made him the bearer of a letter addressed to Colonel
Beverley Robinson, which was to the following purport: “This will be
delivered to you by Mr. Smith, who will conduct you to a place of
safety. Neither Mr. Smith nor any other person shall be made acquainted
with your proposals; if they (which I doubt not) are of such a nature
that I can officially take notice of them, I shall do it with pleasure.
I take it for granted Colonel Robinson will not propose anything, that
is not for the interest of the United States as well as of himself.” All
this use of Colonel Robinson’s name was intended as a blind, should the
letter be intercepted.
Robinson introduced André to Smith by the name of John Anderson, who was
to go on shore in his place (he being unwell), to have an interview with
General Arnold. André wore a blue great coat which covered his uniform,
and Smith always declared that at the time he was totally ignorant of
his name and military character. Robinson considered this whole
nocturnal proceeding full of peril, and would have dissuaded André, but
the latter was zealous in executing his mission, and, embarking in the
boat with Smith, was silently rowed to the western side of the river,
about six miles below Stony Point. Here they landed a little after
midnight, at the foot of a shadowy mountain called the Long Clove; a
solitary place, the haunt of the owl and the whippoorwill, and well
fitted for a treasonable conference.
Arnold was in waiting, but standing aloof among thickets. He had come
hither on horseback from Smith’s house, about three or four miles
distant, attended by one of Smith’s servants, likewise mounted. The
midnight negotiation between André and Arnold was carried on in darkness
among the trees. Smith remained in the boat, and the servant drew off to
a distance with the horses. One hour after another passed away, when
Smith approached the place of conference, and gave warning that it was
near daybreak, and if they lingered much longer the boat would be
discovered.
The nefarious bargain was not yet completed, and Arnold feared the sight
of a boat going to the _Vulture_ might cause suspicion. He prevailed
therefore, upon André to remain on shore until the following night. The
boat was accordingly sent to a creek higher up the river, and André,
mounting the servant’s horse, set off with Arnold for Smith’s house. The
road passed through the village of Haverstraw. As they rode along in the
dark, the voice of a sentinel demanding the countersign startled André
with the fearful conviction that he was within the American lines but it
was too late to recede. It was daybreak when they arrived at Smith’s
house.
They had scarcely entered when the booming of cannon was heard from down
the river. It gave André uneasiness, and with reason. Colonel
Livingston, who commanded above at Verplanck’s Point, learning that the
_Vulture_ lay within shot of Teller’s Point, which divides Haverstraw
Bay from the Tappan Sea, had sent a party with cannon to that point in
the night, and they were now firing upon the sloop of war. André watched
the cannonade with an anxious eye from an upper window of Smith’s house.
At one time he thought the _Vulture_ was on fire. He was relieved from
painful solicitude when he saw the vessel weigh anchor, and drop down
the river out of reach of cannon-shot.
After breakfast, the plot for the betrayal of West Point and its
dependent posts was adjusted, and the sum agreed upon that Arnold was to
receive, should it be successful. André was furnished with plans of the
works, and explanatory papers, which, at Arnold’s request, he placed
between his stockings and his feet; promising, in case of accident, to
destroy them.
All matters being thus arranged, Arnold prepared to return in his own
barge to his head-quarters at the Robinson House. As the _Vulture_ had
shifted her ground, he suggested to André a return to New York by land,
as most safe and expeditious; the latter, however, insisted upon being
put on board of the sloop of war, on the ensuing night. Arnold
consented; but, before his departure, to provide against the possible
necessity of a return by land, he gave André the following pass, dated
from the Robinson House:—
“Permit Mr. John Anderson to pass the guards to the White Plains, or
below, if he chooses; he being on public business by my direction.
“B. ARNOLD, M. Genl.”
Smith also, who was to accompany him, was furnished with passports to
proceed either by water or by land.
Arnold departed about ten o’clock. André passed a lonely day, casting
many a wistful look toward the _Vulture_. Once on board of that ship he
would be safe; he would have fulfilled his mission; the capture of West
Point would be certain, and his triumph would be complete. As evening
approached he grew impatient, and spoke to Smith about departure. To his
surprise, he found the latter had made no preparation for it: he had
discharged his boatmen, who had gone home: in short, he refused to take
him on board of the _Vulture_. The cannonade of the morning had probably
made him fear for his personal safety, should he attempt to go on board,
the _Vulture_ having resumed her exposed position. He offered, however,
to cross the river with André at King’s Ferry, put him in the way of
returning to New York by land, and accompany him some distance on
horseback.
André was in an agony at finding himself, notwithstanding all his
stipulations, forced within the American lines; but there seemed to be
no alternative, and he prepared for the hazardous journey.
He wore, as we have noted, a military coat under a long blue surtout; he
was now persuaded to lay it aside, and put on a citizen’s coat of
Smith’s; thus adding disguise to the other humiliating and hazardous
circumstances of the case.
It was about sunset when André and Smith, attended by a negro servant of
the latter, crossed from King’s Ferry to Verplanck’s Point. After
proceeding about eight miles on the road toward White Plains, they were
stopped between eight and nine o’clock, near Crompond, by a patrolling
party. The captain of it was uncommonly inquisitive and suspicious. The
passports with Arnold’s signature satisfied him. He warned them,
however, against the danger of proceeding further in the night. Cow Boys
from the British lines were scouring the country, and had recently
marauded the neighborhood. Smith’s fears were again excited, and André
was obliged to yield to them. A bed was furnished them in a neighboring
house, where André passed an anxious and restless night, under the very
eye, as it were, of an American patrol.
At daybreak he awoke Smith, and hurried their departure, and his mind
was lightened of a load of care, when he found himself out of the reach
of the patrol and its inquisitive commander.
They were now approaching that noted part of the country, heretofore
mentioned as the Neutral Ground, extending north and south about thirty
miles, between the British and American lines. A beautiful region of
forest-clad hills, fertile valleys, and abundant streams, but now almost
desolated by the scourings of Skinners and Cow Boys: the former
professing allegiance to the American cause, the latter to the British,
but both arrant marauders.
One who had resided at the time in this region, gives a sad picture of
its state. Houses plundered and dismantled: inclosures broken down;
cattle carried away; fields lying waste; the roads grass-grown; the
country mournful, solitary, silent—reminding one of the desolation
presented in the song of Deborah. “In the days of Shamgar the son of
Anath, in the days of Jael, the highways were unoccupied, and the
travellers walked in bypaths. The inhabitants of the villages ceased;
they ceased in Israel.”[31]
About two and a half miles from Pine’s Bridge, on the Croton River,
André and his companion partook of a scanty meal at a farm-house which
had recently been harried by the Cow Boys. Here they parted, Smith to
return home, André to pursue his journey alone to New York. His spirits,
however, were cheerful; for, having got beyond the patrols, he
considered the most perilous part of his route accomplished.
About six miles beyond Pine’s Bridge he came to a place where the road
forked, the left branch leading toward White Plains in the interior of
the country, the right inclining toward the Hudson. He had originally
intended to take the left hand road, the other being said to be infested
by Cow Boys. These, however, were not to be apprehended by him, as they
belonged to the lower party or British; it led, too, more directly to
New York; so he turned down it, and took his course along the river
road.
He had not proceeded far, when coming to a place where a small stream
crossed the road and ran into a woody dell, a man stepped out from the
trees, leveled a musket, and brought him to a stand, while two other men
similarly armed, showed themselves prepared to second their comrade.
The man who had first stepped out wore a refugee uniform. At sight of
it, André’s heart leapt, and he felt himself secure. Losing all caution,
he exclaimed eagerly: “Gentlemen, I hope you belong to our party?”—“What
party?” was asked.—“The lower party,” said André.—“We do,” was the
reply. All reserve was now at an end. André declared himself to be a
British officer; that he had been up the country on particular business,
and must not be detained a single moment. He drew out his watch as he
spoke. It was a gold one, and served to prove to them that he was what
he represented himself, gold watches being seldom worn in those days,
excepting by persons of consequence.
To his consternation, the supposed refugee now avowed himself and his
companions to be Americans, and told André he was their prisoner!
It was even so. The sacking and burning of Young’s House, and the
carrying of its rustic defenders into captivity, had roused the spirit
of the Neutral Ground. The yeomanry of that harassed country had turned
out in parties to intercept freebooters from the British lines, who had
been recently on the maraud, and might be returning to the city with
their spoils. One of these parties, composed of seven men of the
neighborhood, had divided itself. Four took post on a hill above Sleepy
Hollow, to watch the road which crossed the country; the other three,
John Paulding, Isaac Van Wart, and David Williams by name, stationed
themselves on the road which runs parallel to the Hudson. Two of them
were seated on the grass playing at cards to pass away the time, while
one mounted guard.
The one in refugee garb who brought André to a stand, was John Paulding,
a stout-hearted youngster, who, like most of the young men of this
outraged neighborhood, had been repeatedly in arms to repel or resent
aggressions, and now belonged to the militia. He had twice been captured
and confined in the loathsome military prisons, where patriots suffered
in New York, first in the North Dutch Church, and last in the noted
Sugar House. Both times he had made his escape; the last time, only four
days previous to the event of which we are treating. The ragged refugee
coat, which had deceived André and been the cause of his betraying
himself, had been given to Paulding by one of his captors, in exchange
for a good yeoman garment of which they stripped him.[32] This slight
circumstance may have produced the whole discovery of the treason.
André was astounded at finding into what hands he had fallen; and how he
had betrayed himself by his heedless avowal. Promptly, however,
recovering his self-possession, he endeavoured to pass off his previous
account of himself as a subterfuge. “A man must do anything,” said he
laughingly, “to get along.” He now declared himself to be a continental
officer, going down to Dobbs’ Ferry to get information from below; so
saying, he drew forth and showed them the pass of General Arnold.
This, in the first instance, would have been sufficient, but his unwary
tongue had ruined him. The suspicions of his captors were completely
roused. Seizing the bridle of his horse, they ordered him to dismount.
He warned them that he was on urgent business for the general, and that
they would get themselves into trouble should they detain him. “We care
not for that,” was the reply, as they led him among the thickets, on the
border of the brook.
Paulding asked whether he had any letters about him. He answered no.
They proceeded to search him. A minute description is given of his
dress. He wore a round hat, a blue surtout, a crimson close-bodied coat,
somewhat faded; the button-holes worked with gold, and the buttons
covered with gold lace, a nankeen vest, and small-clothes and boots.
They obliged him to take off his coat and vest, and found on him eighty
dollars in Continental money, but nothing to warrant suspicion of
anything sinister, and were disposed to let him proceed, when Paulding
exclaimed: “Boys, I am not satisfied—his boots must come off.”
At this André changed color. His boots, he said, came off with
difficulty, and he begged he might not be subjected to the inconvenience
and delay. His remonstrances were in vain. He was obliged to sit down:
his boots were drawn off, and the concealed papers discovered. Hastily
scanning them, Paulding exclaimed, “My God! He is a spy!”
He demanded of André where he had gotten these papers.
“Of a man at Pine’s Bridge, a stranger to me,” was the reply.
While dressing himself, André endeavored to ransom himself from his
captors; rising from one offer to another. He would give any sum of
money if they would let him go. He would give his horse, saddle, bridle,
and one hundred guineas, and would send them to any place that might be
fixed upon.
Williams asked him if he would not give more.
He replied, that he would give any reward they might name either in
goods or money, and would remain with two of their party while one went
to New York to get it.
Here Paulding broke in and declared with an oath, that if he would give
ten thousand guineas, he should not stir one step.[33]
The unfortunate André now submitted to his fate, and the captors set off
with their prisoner for North Castle, the nearest American post, distant
ten or twelve miles. They proceeded across a hilly and woody region,
part of the way by the road, part across fields. One strode in front,
occasionally holding the horse by the bridle, the others walked on
either side. André rode on in silence, declining to answer further
questions until he should come before a military officer. About noon,
they halted at a farm-house where the inhabitants were taking their
mid-day repast. The worthy housewife, moved by André’s prepossessing
appearance and dejected air, kindly invited him to partake. He declined,
alleging that he had no appetite. Glancing at his gold-laced crimson
coat, the good dame apologized for her rustic fare. “O, madam,”
exclaimed poor André with a melancholy shake of the head, “it is all
very good—but, indeed, I cannot eat!”
This was related to us by a venerable matron, who was present on the
occasion, a young girl at the time, but who in her old days could not
recall the scene and the appearance of André without tears.
The captors with their prisoner being arrived at North Castle,
Lieutenant-colonel Jameson, who was in command there, recognized the
handwriting of Arnold in the papers found upon André, and, perceiving
that they were of a dangerous nature, sent them off by express to
General Washington, at Hartford.
André, still adhering to his assumed name, begged that the commander at
West Point might be informed that John Anderson, though bearing his
passport, was detained.
Jameson appears completely to have lost his head on the occasion. He
wrote to Arnold, stating the circumstances of the arrest, and that the
papers found upon the prisoner had been dispatched by express to the
commander-in-chief, and at the same time, he sent the prisoner himself,
under a strong guard, to accompany the letter.[34]
Shortly afterwards, Major Tallmadge, next in command to Jameson, but of
a much clearer head, arrived at North Castle, having been absent on duty
to White Plains. When the circumstances of the case were related to him,
he at once suspected treachery on the part of Arnold. At his earnest
entreaties, an express was sent after the officer who had André in
charge, ordering him to bring the latter back to North Castle; but by
singular perversity or obtuseness in judgment, Jameson neglected to
countermand the letter which he had written to Arnold.
When André was brought back, and was pacing up and down the room,
Tallmadge saw at once by his air and movements, and the mode of turning
on his heel, that he was a military man. By his advice, and under his
escort, the prisoner was conducted to Colonel Sheldon’s post at Lower
Salem, as more secure than North Castle.
Here André, being told that the papers found upon his person had been
forwarded to Washington, addressed to him immediately the following
lines:—
“I beg your Excellency will be persuaded that no alteration in the
temper of my mind or apprehensions for my safety, induces me to take the
step of addressing you; but that it is to secure myself from the
imputation of having assumed a mean character for treacherous purposes
or self-interest.... It is to vindicate my fame that I speak, and not to
solicit security.
“The person in your possession is Major John André, adjutant-general of
the British army.
“The influence of one commander in the army of his adversary is an
advantage taken in war. A correspondence for this purpose I held; as
confidential (in the present instance) with his Excellency, Sir Henry
Clinton. To favor it, I agreed to meet upon ground not within the posts
of either army, a person who was to give me intelligence. I came up in
the _Vulture_ man-of-war for this effect, and was fetched from the shore
to the beach. Being there, I was told that the approach of day would
prevent my return, and that I must be concealed until the next night. I
was in my regimentals, and had fairly risked my person.
“Against my stipulation, my intention, and without my knowledge
beforehand, I was conducted within one of your posts. Thus was I
betrayed into the vile condition of an enemy within your posts.
“Having avowed myself a British officer, I have nothing to reveal but
what relates to myself, which is true, on the honor of an officer and a
gentleman.
“The request I have made to your Excellency, and I am conscious that I
address myself well, is, that in any rigor policy may dictate, a decency
of conduct towards me may mark, that, though unfortunate, I am branded
with nothing dishonorable; as no motive could be mine, but the service
of my king, and as I was involuntarily an impostor.”
This letter he submitted to the perusal of Major Tallmadge, who was
surprised and agitated at finding the rank and importance of the
prisoner he had in charge. The letter being dispatched, and André’s
pride relieved on a sensitive point, he resumed his serenity, apparently
unconscious of the awful responsibility of his situation. Having a
talent for caricature, he even amused himself in the course of the day
by making a ludicrous sketch of himself and his rustic escort under
march, and presenting it to an officer in the room with him. “This,”
said he gayly, “will give you an idea of the style in which I have had
the honor to be conducted to my present abode.”
NOTE.
André’s propensity for caricature had recently been indulged in a mock
heroic poem in three cantos, celebrating an attack upon a British
picket by Wayne, with the driving into the American camp of a drove of
cattle by Lee’s dragoons. It is written with great humor, and is full
of grotesque imagery “Mad Anthony” especially is in broad caricature,
and represented to have lost his horse upon the great occasion.
“His horse that carried all his prog,
His military speeches,
His cornstalk whiskey for his grog—
Blue stockings and brown breeches.”
The cantos were published at different times in Rivington’s _Gazette_.
It so happened that the last canto appeared on the very day of André’s
capture and ended with the following stanza, which might be considered
ominous:—
“And now I’ve closed my epic strain,
I tremble as I show it,
Lest this same warrio-drover, Wayne,
Should ever catch the poet.”
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER X.
Interview of Washington with the French Officers at Hartford.—Plan of
Attack disconcerted.—Washington’s Return.—Scenes at
Arnold’s Head-quarters in the Highlands.—Tidings of André’s
Capture.—Flight of Arnold.—Letters from the Traitor.—Washington’s
Precautions.—Situation of Mrs. Arnold.
On the very day that the treasonable conference between Arnold and André
took place, on the banks of Haverstraw Bay, Washington had his interview
with the French officers at Hartford. It led to no important result.
Intelligence was received that the squadron of the Count de Guichen, on
which they had relied to give them superiority by sea, had sailed for
Europe. This disconcerted their plans, and Washington, in consequence,
set out two or three days sooner than had been anticipated on his return
to his head-quarters on the Hudson. He was accompanied by Lafayette and
General Knox with their suites; also, part of the way, by Count Matthew
Dumas, aide-de-camp to Rochambeau. The count, who regarded Washington
with an enthusiasm which appears to have been felt by many of the young
French officers, gives an animated picture of the manner in which he was
greeted in one of the towns through which they passed. “We arrived
there,” says he, “at night; the whole population had sallied forth
beyond the suburbs. We were surrounded by a crowd of children carrying
torches, and reiterating the acclamations of the citizens; all were
eager to touch the person of him whom they hailed with loud cries as
their father, and they thronged before us so as almost to prevent our
moving onward. General Washington, much affected, paused a few moments,
and pressing my hand, ‘We may be beaten by the English,’ said he, ‘it is
the chance of war; but there is the army they will never conquer!’”
These few words speak that noble confidence in the enduring patriotism
of his countrymen, which sustained him throughout all the fluctuating
fortunes of the Revolution; yet at this very moment it was about to
receive one of the cruelest of wounds.
On approaching the Hudson, Washington took a more circuitous route than
the one he had originally intended, striking the river at Fishkill just
above the Highlands, that he might visit West Point, and show the
marquis the works which had been erected there during his absence in
France. Circumstances detained them a night at Fishkill. Their baggage
was sent on to Arnold’s quarters in the Robinson House, with a message
apprising the general that they would breakfast there the next day. In
the morning (September 24th) they were in the saddle before break of
day, having a ride to make of eighteen miles through the mountains. It
was a pleasant and animated one. Washington was in excellent spirits,
and the buoyant marquis, and genial, warm-hearted Knox, were companions
with whom he was always disposed to unbend.
When within a mile of the Robinson House, Washington turned down a cross
road leading to the banks of the Hudson. Lafayette apprised him that he
was going out of the way, and hinted that Mrs. Arnold must be waiting
breakfast for him. “Ah, marquis!” replied he good-humoredly, “you young
men are all in love with Mrs. Arnold. I see you are eager to be with her
as soon as possible. Go you and breakfast with her, and tell her not to
wait for me. I must ride down and examine the redoubts on this side of
the river but will be with her shortly.”
The marquis and General Knox, however, turned off and accompanied him
down to the redoubts, while Colonel Hamilton and Lafayette’s
aide-de-camp, Major James McHenry, continued along the main road to the
Robinson House, bearing Washington’s apology, and request that the
breakfast might not be retarded.
The family with the two aides-de-camp sat down to breakfast. Mrs. Arnold
had arrived but four or five days previously from Philadelphia, with her
infant child, then about six months old. She was bright and amiable as
usual. Arnold was silent and gloomy. It was an anxious moment with him.
This was the day appointed for the consummation of the plot, when the
enemy’s ships were to ascend the river. The return of the
commander-in-chief from the East two days sooner than had been
anticipated, and his proposed visit to the forts, threatened to
disconcert everything. What might be the consequence Arnold could not
conjecture. An interval of fearful imaginings was soon brought to a
direful close. In the midst of the repast a horseman alighted at the
gate. It was the messenger bearing Jameson’s letter to Arnold, stating
the capture of André, and that dangerous papers found on him had been
forwarded to Washington.
The mine had exploded beneath Arnold’s feet; yet in this awful moment he
gave an evidence of that quickness of mind which had won laurels for him
when in the path of duty. Controlling the dismay that must have smitten
him to the heart, he beckoned Mrs. Arnold from the breakfast-table,
signifying a wish to speak with her in private. When alone with her in
her room up stairs, he announced in hurried words that he was a ruined
man, and must instantly fly for his life! Overcome by the shock, she
fell senseless on the floor. Without pausing to aid her, he hurried down
stairs, sent the messenger to her assistance, probably to keep him from
an interview with the other officers; returned to the breakfast room,
and informed his guests that he must haste to West Point to prepare for
the reception of the commander-in-chief: and mounting the horse of the
messenger, which stood saddled at the door, galloped down by what is
still called Arnold’s Path, to the landing-place, where his six-oared
barge was moored. Throwing himself into it, he ordered his men to pull
out into the middle of the river, and then made down with all speed for
Teller’s Point, which divides Haverstraw Bay from the Tappan Sea, saying
he must be back soon to meet the commander-in chief.
Washington arrived at the Robinson House shortly after the flight of the
traitor. Being informed that Mrs. Arnold was in her room, unwell, and
that Arnold had gone to West Point to receive him, he took a hasty
breakfast and repaired to the fortress, leaving word that he and his
suite would return to dinner.
In crossing the river, he noticed that no salute was fired from the
fort, nor was there any preparation to receive him on his landing.
Colonel Lamb, the officer in command, who came down to the shore,
manifested surprise at seeing him, and apologized for this want of
military ceremony, by assuring him he had not been apprised of his
intended visit.
“Is not General Arnold here?” demanded Washington.
“No, sir. He has not been here for two days past; nor have I heard from
him in that time.”
This was strange and perplexing, but no sinister suspicion entered
Washington’s mind. He remained at the Point throughout the morning,
inspecting the fortifications. In the mean time, the messenger whom
Jameson had dispatched to Hartford with a letter covering the papers
taken on André, arrived at the Robinson House. He had learnt, while on
the way to Hartford, that Washington had left that place, whereupon he
turned bridle to overtake him, but missed him in consequence of the
general’s change of route. Coming by the lower road, the messenger had
passed through Salem, where André was confined, and brought with him the
letter written by that unfortunate officer to the commander-in-chief,
the purport of which has already been given. These letters being
represented as of the utmost moment, were opened and read by Colonel
Hamilton, as Washington’s aide-de-camp and confidential officer. He
maintained silence as to their contents; met Washington, as he and his
companions were coming up from the river, on their return from West
Point, spoke to him a few words in a low voice, and they retired
together into the house. Whatever agitation Washington may have felt
when these documents of deep-laid treachery were put before him, he wore
his usual air of equanimity when he rejoined his companions. Taking Knox
and Lafayette aside, he communicated to them the intelligence, and
placed the papers in their hands. “Whom can we trust now?” was his only
comment, but it spoke volumes.
His first idea was to arrest the traitor. Conjecturing the direction of
his flight, he dispatched Colonel Hamilton on horseback to spur with all
speed to Verplanck’s Point, which commands the narrow part of the
Hudson, just below the Highlands, with orders to the commander to
intercept Arnold should he not already have passed that post. This done,
when dinner was announced, he invited the company to table. “Come,
gentlemen; since Mrs. Arnold is unwell, and the general is absent, let
us sit down without ceremony.” The repast was a quiet one, for none but
Lafayette and Knox, beside the general, knew the purport of the letters
just received.
In the mean time, Arnold, panic-stricken, had sped his caitiff flight
through the Highlands, infamy howling in his rear; arrest threatening
him in the advance; a fugitive past the posts which he had recently
commanded; shrinking at the sight of that flag which hitherto it had
been his glory to defend! Alas! how changed from the Arnold, who, but
two years previously, when repulsed, wounded and crippled, before the
walls of Quebec, could yet write proudly from a shattered camp, “I am in
the way of my duty, and I know no fear!”
He had passed through the Highlands in safety, but there were the
batteries at Verplanck’s Point yet to fear. Fortunately for him,
Hamilton, with the order for his arrest, had not arrived there.
His barge was known by the garrison. A white handkerchief displayed gave
it the sanction of a flag of truce: it was suffered to pass without
question, and the traitor effected his escape to the _Vulture_ sloop of
war, anchored a few miles below. As if to consummate his degradation by
a despicable act of treachery and meanness, he gave up to the commander
his coxswain and six bargemen as prisoners of war. We are happy to add,
that this perfidy excited the scorn of the British officers; and, when
it was found that the men had supposed they were acting under the
protection of a flag, they were released by order of Sir Henry Clinton.
Colonel Hamilton returned to the Robinson House and reported the escape
of the traitor. He brought two letters also to Washington, which had
been sent on shore from the _Vulture_, under a flag of truce. One was
from Arnold, of which the following is a transcript:—
“Sir,—The heart which is conscious of its own rectitude, cannot attempt
to palliate a step which the world may censure as wrong; I have ever
acted from a principle of love to my country, since the commencement of
the present unhappy contest between Great Britain and the colonies; the
same principle of love to my country actuates my present conduct,
however it may appear inconsistent to the world, who seldom judge right
of any man’s actions.
“I ask no favor for myself. I have too often experienced the ingratitude
of my country to attempt it; but, from the known humanity of your
Excellency, I am induced to ask your protection for Mrs. Arnold from
every insult and injury that a mistaken vengeance of my country may
expose her to. It ought to fall only on me; she is as good and as
innocent as an angel, and is incapable of doing wrong. I beg she may be
permitted to return to her friends in Philadelphia, or to come to me as
she may choose; from your Excellency I have no fears on her account, but
she may suffer from the mistaken fury of the country.”
The other letter was from Colonel Beverley Robinson, interceding for the
release of André, on the plea that he was on shore under the sanction of
a flag of truce, at the request of Arnold. Robinson had hoped to find
favor with Washington on the score of their early intimacy.
Notwithstanding Washington’s apparent tranquillity and real
self-possession, it was a time of appalling distrust. How far the
treason had extended; who else might be implicated in it, was unknown.
Arnold had escaped, and was actually on board of the _Vulture_; he knew
everything about the condition of the posts: might he not persuade the
enemy, in the present weak state of the garrisons, to attempt a _coup de
main_? Washington instantly, therefore, dispatched a letter to Colonel
Wade, who was in temporary command at West Point. “General Arnold is
gone to the enemy,” writes he. “I have just now received a line from him
inclosing one to Mrs. Arnold, dated on board the _Vulture_. I request
that you will be as vigilant as possible, and as the enemy may have it
in contemplation to attempt some enterprise, _even to-night_, against
these posts, I wish you to make, immediately after the receipt of this,
the best disposition you can of your force, so as to have a proportion
of men in each work on the west side of the river.”
A regiment stationed in the Highlands was ordered to the same duty, as
well as a body of the Massachusetts militia from Fishkill. At half-past
seven in the evening, Washington wrote to General Greene, who, in his
absence, commanded the army at Tappan; urging him to put the left
division in motion as soon as possible, with orders to proceed to King’s
Ferry, where, or before they should arrive there, they would be met with
further orders. “The division,” writes he, “will come on light, leaving
their heavy baggage to follow. You will also hold all the troops in
readiness to move on the shortest notice. Transactions of a most
interesting nature, and such as will astonish you, have been just
discovered.”
His next thought was about André. He was not acquainted with him
personally, and the intrigues in which he had been engaged, and the
errand on which he had come, made him consider him an artful and
resolute person. He had possessed himself of dangerous information, and
in a manner had been arrested with the key of the citadel in his pocket.
On the same evening, therefore, Washington wrote to Colonel Jameson,
charging that every precaution should be taken to prevent Major André
from making his escape. “He will no doubt effect it, if possible; and in
order that he may not have it in his power, you will send him under the
care of such a party and so many officers as to preclude him from the
least opportunity of doing it. That he may be less liable to be
recaptured by the enemy, who will no doubt make every effort to regain
him, he had better be conducted to this place by some upper road, rather
than by the route of Crompond. I would not wish Mr. André to be treated
with insult; but he does not appear to stand upon the footing of a
common prisoner of war, and, therefore, he is not entitled to the usual
indulgences which they receive, and is to be most closely and narrowly
watched.”
In the mean time, Mrs. Arnold remained in her room in a state bordering
on frenzy. Arnold might well confide in the humanity and delicacy of
Washington in respect to her. He regarded her with the sincerest
commiseration, acquitting her of all previous knowledge of her husband’s
guilt. On remitting to her, by one of his aides-de-camp, the letter of
her husband, written from on board of the _Vulture_, he informed her
that he had done all that depended upon himself to have him arrested,
but not having succeeded, he experienced a pleasure in assuring her of
his safety.[35]
A letter of Hamilton’s written at the time, with all the sympathies of a
young man, gives a touching picture of Washington’s first interview with
her. “She for a time entirely lost herself. The general went up to see
her, and she upbraided him with being in a plot to murder her child. One
moment she raved, another she melted into tears, sometimes she pressed
her infant to her bosom, and lamented its fate occasioned by the
imprudence of its father, in a manner that would have pierced
insensibility itself. All the sweetness of beauty, all the loveliness of
innocence, all the tenderness of a wife, and all the fondness of a
mother, showed themselves in her appearance and conduct.”
During the brief time she remained at the Robinson House, she was
treated with the utmost deference and delicacy, but soon set off, under
a passport of Washington, for her father’s house in Philadelphia.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XI.
André’s Conduct as a Prisoner.—His Conversations with
Colonel Tallmadge.—Story of Nathan Hale.—André’s Prison at
Tappan.—Correspondence on his Behalf.—His Trial.—Execution.—Reward
of the Captors.—Reward of Arnold.—His Proclamation.—After Fortunes
of Mrs. Arnold.
On the 26th of September, the day after the treason of Arnold had been
revealed to Washington, André arrived at the Robinson House, having been
brought on in the night, under escort and in charge of Major Tallmadge.
Washington made many inquiries of the major, but declined to have the
prisoner brought into his presence, apparently entertaining a strong
idea of his moral obliquity, from the nature of the scheme in which he
had been engaged, and the circumstances under which he had been
arrested.
The same evening he transmitted him to West Point, and shortly
afterwards, Joshua H. Smith, who had likewise been arrested. Still, not
considering them secure even there, he determined on the following day
to send them on to the camp. In a letter to Greene he writes: “They will
be under an escort of horse, and I wish you to have separate houses in
camp ready for their reception, in which they may be kept perfectly
secure; and also strong, trusty guards, trebly officered, that a part
may be constantly in the room with them. They have not been permitted to
be together, and must be kept apart. I would wish the room for Mr. André
to be a decent one, and that he may be treated with civility; but that
he may be so guarded as to preclude a possibility of his escaping, which
he will certainly attempt to effect, if it shall seem practicable in the
most distant degree.”
Major Tallmadge continued to have charge of André. Not regarding him
from the same anxious point with the commander-in-chief, and having had
opportunities of acquiring a personal knowledge of him, he had become
fascinated by his engaging qualities. “The ease and affability of his
manners,” writes he, “polished by the refinement of good society and a
finished education, made him a most delightful companion. It often drew
tears from my eyes, to find him so agreeable in conversation on
different subjects, when I reflected on his future fate, and that too,
as I feared, so near at hand.”
Early on the morning of the 28th, the prisoners were embarked in a
barge, to be conveyed from West Point to King’s Ferry. Tallmadge placed
André by his side on the after seat of the barge. Both being young, of
equal rank, and prepossessing manners, a frank and cordial intercourse
had grown up between them. By a cartel, mutually agreed upon, each might
put to the other any question not involving a third person. They were
passing below the rocky heights of West Point, and in full view of the
fortress, when Tallmadge asked André whether he would have taken an
active part in the attack on it, should Arnold’s plan have succeeded.
André promptly answered in the affirmative; pointed out a table of land
on the west shore, where he would have landed at the head of a select
corps, described the route he would have taken up the mountain to a
height in the rear of Fort Putnam, overlooking the whole parade of West
Point—“and this he did,” writes Tallmadge, “with much greater exactness
than I could have done. This eminence he would have reached without
difficulty, as Arnold would have disposed of the garrison in such manner
as to be capable of little or no opposition—_and then the key of the
country would have been in his hands, and he would have had the glory of
the splendid achievement_.”
Tallmadge fairly kindled into admiration as André, with hereditary
French vivacity, acted the scene he was describing. “It seemed to him,”
he said, “as if André were entering the fort sword in hand.”
He ventured to ask what was to have been his reward had he succeeded.
“Military glory was all he sought. The thanks of his general and the
approbation of his king would have been a rich reward for such an
undertaking.”
Tallmadge was perfectly charmed, but adds quietly, “I think he further
remarked, that, if he had succeeded, _he was to have been promoted to
the rank of a brigadier-general_.”
While thus the prisoner, confident of the merit of what he had
attempted, kindled with the idea of an imaginary triumph, and the
youthful officer who had him in charge caught fire from his enthusiasm,
the barge glided through that solemn defile of mountains, through which,
but a few days previously, Arnold, the panic-stricken traitor of the
drama, had fled like a felon.
After disembarking at King’s Ferry near Stony Point, they set off for
Tappan under the escort of a body of horse. As they approached the
Clove, a deep defile in the rear of the Highlands, André, who rode
beside Tallmadge, became solicitous to know the opinion of the latter as
to what would be the result of his capture, and in what light he would
be regarded by General Washington and by a military tribunal, should one
be ordered. Tallmadge evaded the question as long as possible, but being
urged to a full and explicit reply, gave it, he says, in the following
words; “I had a much-loved classmate in Yale College, by the name of
Nathan Hale, who entered the army in 1775. Immediately after the battle
of Long Island, General Washington wanted information respecting the
strength, position, and probable movements of the enemy. Captain Hale
tendered his services, went over to Brooklyn, and was taken, just as he
was passing the outposts of the enemy on his return; said I with
emphasis—‘Do you remember the sequel of the story?’ ‘Yes,’ said André.
‘He was hanged as a spy! But you surely do not consider his case and
mine alike?’ ‘Yes, precisely similar; and similar will be your
fate.’”[36]
“He endeavored,” adds Tallmadge, “to answer my remarks, but it was
manifest he was more troubled in spirit than I had ever seen him
before.”
“We stopped at the Clove to dine and let the horse-guard refresh,”
continues Tallmadge. “While there, André kept reviewing his shabby
dress, and finally remarked to me, that he was positively ashamed to go
to the head-quarters of the American army in such a plight. I called my
servant and directed him to bring my dragoon cloak, which I presented to
Major André. This he refused for some time; but I insisted on it, and he
finally put it on and rode in it to Tappan.”
The place which had been prepared to receive Major André, is still
pointed out as the “76 Stone House.” The caution which Washington had
given as to his safe keeping, was strictly observed by Colonel Scammel,
the adjutant-general, as may be seen by his orders to the officer of the
guards.
“Major André, the prisoner under your guard, is not only an officer of
distinction in the British army, but a man of infinite art and address,
who will leave no means unattempted to make his escape and avoid the
ignominious death which awaits him. You are therefore, in addition to
your sentries, to keep two officers constantly in the room with him,
with their swords drawn, whilst the other officers who are out of the
room are constantly to keep walking the entry and around the sentries,
to see that they are alert. No person whatever to be permitted to enter
the room, or speak with him, unless by direction of the
commander-in-chief. You are by no means to suffer him to go out of the
room on any pretext whatever.”[37]
The capture of André caused a great sensation at New York. He was
universally popular with the army and an especial favorite of Sir Henry
Clinton. The latter addressed a letter to Washington on the 29th,
claiming the release of André on similar ground to that urged by Colonel
Robinson—his having visited Arnold at the particular request of that
general officer, and under the sanction of a flag of truce; and his
having been stopped while travelling under Arnold’s passports. The same
letter inclosed one addressed by Arnold to Sir Henry, and intended as a
kind of certificate of the innocence of André. “I commanded at the time
at West Point,” writes the renegade, “had an undoubted right to send my
flag of truce to Major André, who came to me under that protection, and,
having held conversation with him, I delivered him confidential papers
in my own handwriting to deliver to your Excellency. Thinking it much
properer he should return by land, I directed him to make use of the
feigned name of John Anderson, under which he had, by my direction, come
on shore, and gave him my passports to go to the White Plains, on his
way to New York.... All which I had then a right to do, being in the
actual service of America, under the orders of General Washington, and
commanding general at West Point and its dependencies.” He concludes,
therefore, that André cannot fail of being immediately sent to New York.
Neither the official demand of Sir Henry Clinton, nor the impudent
certificate of Arnold, had any effect on the steady mind of Washington.
He considered the circumstances under which André had been taken such as
would have justified the most summary proceedings, but he determined to
refer the case to the examination and decision of a board of general
officers, which he convened on the 29th of September, the day after his
arrival at Tappan. It was composed of six major-generals, Greene,
Stirling, St. Clair, Lafayette, R. Howe, and Steuben; and eight
brigadiers, Parsons, James Clinton, Knox, Glover, Paterson, Hand,
Huntingdon, and Stark. General Greene, who was well versed in military
law, and was a man of sound head and kind heart, was president, and
Colonel John Lawrence, judge advocate-general.
Colonel Alexander Hamilton, who, like Tallmadge, had drawn to André in
his misfortunes, as had most of the young American officers, gives, in
letters to his friends, many interesting particulars concerning the
conduct of the prisoner. “When brought before the board of officers,”
writes he, “he met with every mark of indulgence and was required to
answer no interrogatory which would even embarrass his feelings. On his
part, while he carefully concealed everything that might implicate
others, he frankly confessed all the facts relating to himself, and upon
his confession, without the trouble of examining a witness, the board
made up their report.”
It briefly stated the circumstances of the case, and concluded with the
opinion of the court, that Major André, adjutant-general of the British
army, ought to be considered a spy from the enemy, and, agreeably to the
law and usage of nations, ought to suffer death. In a conversation with
Hamilton, André acknowledged the candor, liberality, and indulgence with
which the board had conducted themselves in their painful inquiry. He
met the result with manly firmness. “I foresee my fate,” said he; “and
though I pretend not to play the hero, or to be indifferent about life,
yet I am reconciled to whatever may happen; conscious that misfortune,
not guilt, has brought it upon me.”
Even in this situation of gathering horrors, he thought of others more
than of himself. “There is only one thing that disturbs my
tranquillity,” said he to Hamilton. “Sir Henry Clinton has been too good
to me; he has been lavish of his kindness. I am bound to him by too many
obligations, and love him too well, to bear the thought that he should
reproach himself, or others should reproach him, on the supposition of
my having conceived myself obliged, by his instructions, to run the risk
I did. I would not for the world leave a sting in his mind that should
embitter his future days.” He could scarce finish the sentence; bursting
into tears, in spite of his efforts to suppress them, and with
difficulty collected himself enough afterwards to add, “I wish to be
permitted to assure him that I did not act under this impression, but
submitted to a necessity imposed upon me, as contrary to my own
inclination, as to his wishes.”
His request was complied with, and he wrote a letter to Sir Henry
Clinton to the above purport. He made mention also of his mother and
three sisters, to whom the value of his commission would be an object.
“It is needless,” said he, “to be more explicit on this subject; I am
persuaded of your Excellency’s goodness.”[38]
He concluded by saying, “I receive the greatest attention from his
Excellency, General Washington, and from every person under whose charge
I happen to be placed.”
This letter accompanied one from Washington to Sir Henry Clinton,
stating the report of the board of inquiry, omitting the sentence. “From
these proceedings,” observes he, “it is evident that Major André was
employed in the execution of measures very foreign to the objects of
flags of truce, and such as they were never meant to authorize in the
most distant degree; and this gentleman confessed with the greatest
candor, in the course of his examination, that it was impossible for him
to suppose that he came on shore under the sanction of a flag.”
Captain Aaron Ogden, a worthy officer of the New Jersey line, was
selected by Washington to bear these dispatches to the enemy’s post at
Paulus Hook, thence to be conveyed across the Hudson to New York. Before
his departure, he called by Washington’s request on the Marquis
Lafayette, who gave him instructions to sound the officer commanding at
that post whether Sir Henry Clinton might not be willing to deliver up
Arnold in exchange for André. Ogden arrived at Paulus Hook in the
evening, and made the suggestion, as if incidentally, in the course of
conversation. The officer demanded if he had any authority from
Washington for such an intimation. “I have no such assurance from
General Washington,” replied he, “but I am prepared to say, that if such
a proposal were made, I believe it would be accepted, and Major André
set at liberty.”
The officer crossed the river before morning, and communicated the
matter to Sir Henry Clinton, but the latter instantly rejected the
expedient as incompatible with honor and military principle.
In the mean time, the character, appearance, deportment, and fortunes of
André, had interested the feelings of the oldest and sternest soldiers
around him, and completely captivated the sympathies of the younger
ones. He was treated with the greatest respect and kindness throughout
his confinement, and his table was supplied from that of the
commander-in-chief.
Hamilton, who was in daily intercourse with him, describes him as well
improved by education and travel, with an elegant turn of mind, and a
taste for the fine arts. He had attained some proficiency in poetry,
music, and painting. His sentiments were elevated, his elocution was
fluent, his address easy, polite, and engaging, with a softness that
conciliated affection. His talents and accomplishments were accompanied,
says Hamilton, by a diffidence that induced you to give him credit for
more than appeared.
No one felt stronger sympathy in his case than Colonel Tallmadge, no
doubt from the consideration that he had been the means of bringing him
into this awful predicament, by inducing Colonel Jameson to have him
conducted back when on the way to Arnold’s quarters. A letter lies
before us, written by Tallmadge to Colonel Samuel B. Webb, one of
Washington’s aides-de-camp. “Poor André, who has been under my charge
almost ever since he was taken, has yesterday had his trial, and though
his sentence is not known, a disgraceful death is undoubtedly allotted
him. By heavens, Colonel Webb, I never saw a man whose fate I foresaw
whom I so sincerely pitied. He is a young fellow of the greatest
accomplishments, and was the prime minister of Sir Harry on all
occasions. He has unbosomed his heart to me so fully, and indeed let me
know almost every motive of his actions since he came out on his late
mission, that he has endeared me to him exceedingly. Unfortunate man! He
will undoubtedly suffer death to-morrow; and though he knows his fate,
seems to be as cheerful as if he were going to an assembly. I am sure he
will go to the gallows less fearful for his fate, and with less concern
than I shall behold the tragedy. Had he been tried by a court of ladies,
he is so genteel, handsome, polite a young gentleman, that I am
confident they would have acquitted him. But enough of André, who,
though he dies lamented, falls justly.”
The execution was to have taken place on the 1st of October, at five
o’clock in the afternoon; but in the interim Washington received a
second letter from Sir Henry Clinton, dated September 30th, expressing
an opinion that the board of inquiry had not been rightly informed of
all the circumstances on which a judgment ought to be formed, and that,
in order that he might be perfectly apprised of the state of the matter
before he proceeded to put that judgment in execution, he should send a
commission on the following day, composed of Lieutenant-governor Elliot,
William Smith, chief justice of the province, and Lieutenant-general
Robertson, to wait near Dobbs’ Ferry for permission and safe conduct to
meet Washington, or such persons as he should appoint to converse with
them on the subject.
This letter caused a postponement of the execution, and General Greene
was sent to meet the commissioners at Dobbs’ Ferry. They came up in the
morning of the 1st of October, in a schooner, with a flag of truce, and
were accompanied by Colonel Beverley Robinson. General Robertson,
however, was the only commissioner permitted to land, the others not
being military officers. A long conference took place between him and
General Greene, without any agreement of opinion upon the question at
issue. Greene returned to camp promising to report faithfully to
Washington the arguments urged by Robertson, and to inform the latter of
the result.
A letter also was delivered to Greene for Washington, which Arnold had
sent by the commissioners, in which the traitor reasserted the right he
had possessed, as commanding officer of the department, to transact all
the matters with which André was inculpated, and insisted that the
latter ought not to suffer for them. “But,” added he, “if after this
just and candid representation of Major André’s case, the board of
general officers adhere to their former opinion, I shall suppose it
dictated by passion and resentment and if that gentleman should suffer
the severity of their sentence, I shall think myself bound, by every tie
of duty and honor, to retaliate on such unhappy persons of your army as
may fall within my power, that the respect due to flags, and to the laws
of nations, may be better understood and observed. I have further to
observe, that forty of the principal inhabitants of South Carolina have
justly forfeited their lives, which have hitherto been spared by the
clemency of his Excellency, Sir Henry Clinton, who cannot in justice
extend his mercy to them any longer, if Major André suffers; which, in
all probability, will open a scene of blood at which humanity shudders.
“Suffer me to entreat your Excellency, for your own sake and the honor
of humanity, and the love you have of justice, that you suffer not an
unjust sentence to touch the life of Major André. But if this warning
should be disregarded, and he suffer, I call Heaven and earth to
witness, that your Excellency will be justly answerable for the torrent
of blood that may be spilt in consequence.”
Beside this impudent and despicable letter, there was another from
Arnold, containing the farce of a resignation, and concluding with the
following sentence: “At the same time I beg leave to assure your
Excellency, that my attachment to the true interests of my country is
invariable, and that I am actuated by the same principle which has ever
been the governing rule of my conduct in this unhappy context.”
The letters of Arnold were regarded with merited contempt. Greene, in a
brief letter to General Robertson, informed him that he had made as full
a report of their conference to the commander-in-chief, as his memory
would serve, but that it had made no alteration in Washington’s opinion
and determination. Robertson was piqued at the brevity of the note, and
professed to doubt whether Greene’s memory had served him with
sufficient fullness and exactness; he addressed therefore to Washington
his own statement of reasoning on the subject; after dispatching which
he and the other commissioners returned in the schooner to New York.
During this day of respite André had conducted himself with his usual
tranquillity. A likeness of himself, seated at a table in his
guard-room, which he sketched with a pen and gave to the officer on
guard, is still extant. It being announced to him that one o’clock on
the following day was fixed on for his execution, he remarked that,
since it was his lot to die, there was still a choice in the mode; he
therefore addressed the following note to Washington:—
“SIR.—Buoyed above the terror of death by the consciousness of a life
devoted to honorable pursuits, and stained with no action that can
give me remorse, I trust that the request I make to your Excellency at
this serious period, and which is to soften my last moments, will not
be rejected. Sympathy towards a soldier will surely induce your
Excellency and a military tribunal to adapt the mode of my death to
the feelings of a man of honor.
“Let me hope, sir, that if aught in my character impresses you with
esteem towards me; if aught in my misfortunes marks me as the victim
of policy and not of resentment, I shall experience the operation of
these feelings in your breast by being informed that I am not to die
on a gibbet.”
Had Washington consulted his feelings merely, this affecting appeal
might not have been in vain, for though not impulsive, he was eminently
benevolent. André himself had testified to the kind treatment he had
experienced from the commander-in-chief since his capture, though no
personal interview had taken place. Washington had no popular censure to
apprehend should he exercise indulgence, for the popular feeling was
with the prisoner. But he had a high and tenacious sense of the duties
and responsibilities of his position, and never more than in this trying
moment, when he had to elevate himself above the contagious sympathies
of those around him, dismiss all personal considerations, and regard the
peculiar circumstances of the case. The long course of insidious
operations which had been pursued to undermine the loyalty of one of his
most trusted officers; the greatness of the evil which the treason would
have effected, if successful; the uncertainty how far the enemy had
carried, or might still be carrying, their scheme of corruption, for
anonymous intimations spoke of treachery in other quarters; all these
considerations pointed this out as a case in which a signal example was
required.
And what called for particular indulgence to the agent, if not
instigator of this enormous crime, who had thus been providentially
detected in disguise, and with the means of its consummation concealed
upon his person? His errand, as it has been eloquently urged, “viewed in
the light of morality, and even of that chivalry from which modern war
pretends to derive its maxims, was one of infamy. He had been
commissioned to buy with gold what steel could not conquer; to drive a
bargain with one ready for a price to become a traitor; to count out the
thirty pieces of silver by which British generals and British gentlemen
were not ashamed to purchase the betrayal of a cause, whose shining
virtue repelled their power, and dimmed the glory of their arms.”[39]
Even the language of traffic in which this negotiation had been carried
on between the pseudo-Gustavus and John Anderson, had, as has before
been observed, something ignoble and debasing to the chivalrous aspirant
who stooped to use it; especially when used as a crafty covering in
bargaining for a man’s soul.[40]
It has been alleged in André’s behalf, as a mitigating circumstance,
that he was involuntarily a spy. It is true, he did not come on shore in
borrowed garb, nor with a design to pass himself off for another, and
procure secret information; but he came, under cloak of midnight, in
supposed safety, to effect the betrayal of a holy trust; and it was his
undue eagerness to secure the objects of this clandestine interview,
that brought him into the condition of an undoubted spy. It certainly
should not soften our view of his mission, that he embarked in it
without intending to subject himself to danger. A spice of danger would
have given it a spice of heroism, however spurious. When the rendezvous
was first projected, he sought, through an indirect channel, to let
Arnold know that he would come out with a flag. (We allude to a letter
written by him from New York on the 7th of September, under his feigned
signature, to Colonel Sheldon; evidently intended to be seen by Arnold;
“I will endeavor to obtain permission to go out with a flag.”) If an
interview had taken place under that sacred protection, and a triumphant
treason had been the result, what a brand it would have affixed to
André’s name, that he had prostituted a flag of truce to such an end.
We dwell on these matters, not to check the sentiment of sympathy
awakened in André’s behalf by his personal qualities, but to vindicate
the fair name of Washington from that “blot” which some have attempted
to cast upon it, because, in exercising his stern duty as protector of
the public weal, during a time of secret treason, he listened to policy
and justice rather than mercy. In doing so, he took counsel with some of
his general officers. Their opinions coincided with his own—that under
present circumstances, it was important to give a signal warning to the
enemy, by a rigorous observance of the rules of war and the usages of
nations in like cases.[41]
But although André’s request as to the mode of his death was not to be
granted, it was thought best to let him remain in uncertainty on the
subject; no answer, therefore, was returned to his note. On the morning
of the 2d, he maintained a calm demeanor, though all around him were
gloomy and silent. He even rebuked his servant for shedding tears.
Having breakfasted, he dressed himself with care in the full uniform of
a British officer, which he had sent for to New York, placed his hat
upon the table, and accosting the officers on guard,—“I am ready,” said
he, “at any moment, gentlemen, to wait upon you.”
He walked to the place of execution between two subaltern officers, arm
in arm, with a serene countenance, bowing to several gentlemen whom he
knew. Colonel Tallmadge accompanied him, and we quote his words. “When
he came within sight of the gibbet, he appeared to be startled, and
inquired with some emotion whether he was not to be shot. Being informed
that the mode first appointed for his death could not consistently be
altered, he exclaimed, ‘How hard is my fate!’ but immediately added, ‘it
will soon be over.’ I then shook hand with him under the gallows, and
retired.”[42]
While waiting near the gallows until preparations were made, says
another authority, who was present, he evinced some nervousness, putting
his foot on a stone and rolling it; and making an effort to swallow, as
if checking an hysterical affection of the throat. All things being
ready, he stepped into the wagon; appeared to shrink for an instant,
recovering himself, exclaimed: “It will be but a momentary pang!”
Taking off his hat and stock, and opening his shirt collar, he
deliberately adjusted the noose to his neck, after which he took out a
handkerchief, and tied it over his eyes. Being told by the officer in
command that his arms must be bound, he drew out a second handkerchief,
with which they were pinioned. Colonel Scammel now told him that he had
an opportunity to speak, if he desired it. His only reply was, “I pray
you to bear witness that I meet my fate like a brave man.” The wagon
moved from under him, and left him suspended. He died almost without a
struggle.[43] He remained suspended for about half an hour, during which
time a death-like stillness prevailed over the surrounding multitude.
His remains were interred within a few yards of the place of his
execution; whence they were transferred to England in 1821, by the
British consul, then resident in New York, and were buried in
Westminster Abbey, near a mural monument which had been erected to his
memory.
Never has any man, suffering under like circumstances, awakened a more
universal sympathy even among those of the country against which he had
practiced. His story is one of the touching themes of the Revolution,
and his name is still spoken of with kindness in the local traditions of
the neighborhood where he was captured.
Washington, in a letter to the President of Congress, passed a high
eulogium on the captors of André, and recommended them for a handsome
gratuity; for having, in all probability, prevented one of the severest
strokes that could have been meditated by the enemy. Congress
accordingly expressed, in a formal vote, a high sense of their virtuous
and patriotic conduct; awarded to each of them a farm, a pension for
life of two hundred dollars, and a silver medal, bearing on one side an
escutcheon on which was engraved the word FIDELITY, and on the other
side the motto, _Vincit amor patriæ_. These medals were delivered to
them by General Washington at head-quarters, with impressive ceremony.
Isaac Van Wart, one of the captors, had been present at the execution of
André, and was deeply affected by it. He was not fond of recalling the
subject, and in after life could rarely speak of André without tears.
Joshua H. Smith, who aided in bringing André and Arnold together, was
tried by a court-martial, on a charge of participating in the treason,
but was acquitted, no proof appearing of his having had any knowledge of
Arnold’s plot, though it was thought he must have been conscious of
something wrong in an interview so mysteriously conducted.
Arnold was now made brigadier-general in the British service, and put on
an official level with honorable men who scorned to associate with the
traitor. What golden reward he was to have received had his treason been
successful, is not known; but six thousand three hundred and fifteen
pounds sterling were paid to him, as a compensation for losses which he
pretended to have suffered in going over to the enemies of his country.
The vilest culprit, however, shrinks from sustaining the obloquy of his
crimes. Shortly after his arrival in New York, Arnold published an
address to the inhabitants of America, in which he endeavored to
vindicate his conduct. He alleged that he had originally taken up arms
merely to aid in obtaining a redress of grievances. He had considered
the Declaration of Independence precipitate, and the reasons for it
obviated by the subsequent proffers of the British government; and he
inveighed against Congress for rejecting those offers, without
submitting them to the people.
Finally, the treaty with France, a proud, ancient and crafty foe, the
enemy of the Protestant faith and of real liberty, had completed, he
said, the measure of his indignation, and determined him to abandon a
cause sustained by iniquity and controlled by usurpers.
Besides this address, he issued a proclamation inviting the officers and
soldiers of the American army, who had the real interest of their
country at heart, and who were determined to be no longer the tools and
dupes of Congress, and of France, to rally under the royal standard, and
fight for true American liberty; holding out promises of large bounties
and liberal subsistence, with compensation for all the implements and
accoutrements of war they might bring with them.
Speaking of this address, “I am at a loss,” said Washington, “which to
admire most, the confidence of Arnold in publishing it, or the folly of
the enemy in supposing that a production signed by so infamous a
character will have any weight with the people of these States, or any
influence upon our officers abroad.” He was right. Both the address and
the proclamation were regarded by Americans with the contempt they
merited. None rallied to the standard of the renegade but a few
deserters and refugees, who were already within the British lines, and
prepared for any desperate or despicable service.[44]
Colonel John Laurens, former aide-de-camp to Washington, in speaking of
André’s fate, observed, “Arnold must undergo a punishment comparatively
more severe, in the permanent, increasing torment of a mental hell.”
Washington doubted it. “He wants feeling,” said he. “From some traits of
his character which have lately come to my knowledge, he seems to have
been so hackneyed in villainy, and so lost to all sense of honor and
shame, that, while his faculties will enable him to continue his sordid
pursuits there will be no time for remorse.” And in a letter to Governor
Reed, Washington writes, “Arnold’s conduct is so villainously
perfidious, that there are no terms that can describe the baseness of
his heart. That overruling Providence which has so often and so
remarkably interposed in our favor, never manifested itself more
conspicuously than in the timely discovery of his horrid intention to
surrender the post and garrison of West Point into the hands of the
enemy.... The confidence and folly which have marked the subsequent
conduct of this man, are of a piece with his villainy, and all three are
perfect in their kind.”
Mrs. Arnold, on arriving at her father’s house in Philadelphia, had
decided on a separation from her husband, to whom she could not endure
the thoughts of returning after his dishonor. This course, however, was
not allowed her. The executive council, wrongfully suspecting her of
having aided in the correspondence between her husband and André,
knowing its treasonable tendency, ordered her to leave the State within
fourteen days, and not to return during the continuance of the war. “We
tried every means,” writes one of her connections, “to prevail on the
council to permit her to stay among us, and not to compel her to go to
that infernal villain, her husband.[45] Mr. Shippen (her father) had
promised the council, and Mrs. Arnold had signed a writing to the same
purpose, engaging not to write to General Arnold any letters whatever,
and to receive no letters without showing them to the council, if she
was permitted to stay.” It was all in vain, and, strongly against her
will, she rejoined her husband in New York. His fear for her personal
safety from the fury of the people proved groundless. That scrupulous
respect for the female sex, so prevalent throughout the United States,
was her safeguard. While the whole country resounded with execrations of
her husband’s guilt; while his effigy was dragged through the streets of
town and village, burnt at the stake, or swung on the gibbet, she passed
on secure from injury or insult. The execrations of the populace were
silenced at her approach. Arriving at nightfall at a village where they
were preparing for one of these burnings in effigy, the pyre remained
unkindled, the people dispersed quietly to their homes, and the wife of
the traitor was suffered to sleep in peace.
She returned home but once, about five years after her exile, and was
treated with such coldness and neglect that she declared she never could
come again. In England her charms and virtues, it is said, procured her
sympathy and friendship, and helped to sustain the social position of
her husband, who, however, was “generally slighted, and sometimes
insulted.”[46] She died in London, in the winter of 1796. In recent
years it has been maintained that Mrs. Arnold was actually cognizant and
participant of her husband’s crime; but, after carefully examining all
the proofs adduced, we remain of opinion that she was innocent.
We have been induced to enter thus largely into the circumstances of
this story, from the undiminished interest taken in it by the readers of
American history. Indeed, a romance has been thrown around the memory of
the unfortunate André, which increases with the progress of years; while
the name of Arnold will stand sadly conspicuous to the end of time, as
the only American officer of note, throughout all the trials and
vicissitudes of the Revolution, who proved traitor to the glorious cause
of his country.
NOTE.
The following fragment of a letter from Arnold’s mother to him in
early life, was recently put into our hands. Well would it have been
for him had he adhered to its pious though humble counsels.
Norwich April 12, 1754.
“dear childe. I received yours of 1 instant and was glad to hear that
you was well: pray my dear let your first concern be to make your
pease with god as itt is of all conserns of y^e greatest importence.
Keep a stedy watch over your thoughts, words and actions. Be dutifull
to superiors, obliging to equalls and affibel to inferiors....”
from your affectionate
Hannah Arnold.
P. S. I have sent you fifty shillings youse itt prudently as you are
acountabell to God and your father. Your father and aunt joyns with me
in love and servis to Mr. Cogswell and ladey and yourself. Your sister
is from home.
To Mr.
benedict arnold
your father put at
twenty more canterbury
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XII.
Greene takes Command at West Point.—Insidious Attempts to shake
the Confidence of Washington in his Officers.—Plan to entrap
Arnold.—Character of Sergeant Champe.—Court of Inquiry into
the Conduct of Gates.—Greene appointed to the Southern
Department.—Washington’s Instructions to him.—Incursions from
Canada.—Mohawk Valley ravaged.—State of the Army.—Reforms
adopted. Enlistment for the War.—Half Pay.
As the enemy would now possess the means, through Arnold, of informing
themselves thoroughly about West Point, Washington hastened to have the
works completed and strongly garrisoned. Major-general Greene was
ordered to march with the Jersey, New York, New Hampshire, and Stark’s
brigades, and take temporary command (ultimately to be transferred to
General Heath), and the Pennsylvania troops, which had been thrown into
the fortress at the time of Arnold’s desertion, were relieved.
Washington himself took post with his main army, at Prakeness, near
Passaic Falls in New Jersey.
Insidious attempts had been made by anonymous papers, and other means,
as we have already hinted, to shake the confidence of the
commander-in-chief in his officers, and especially to implicate General
St. Clair in the late conspiracy. Washington was exceedingly disturbed
in mind for a time, and engaged Major Henry Lee, who was stationed with
his dragoons on the lines, to probe the matter through secret agents in
New York. The result proved the utter falsehood of these insinuations.
At the time of making this inquiry, a plan was formed at Washington’s
suggestion to get possession of the person of Arnold. The agent pitched
upon by Lee for the purpose, was the sergeant-major of cavalry in his
legion, John Champe by name, a young Virginian about twenty-four years
of age, whom he describes as being rather above the middle size—full of
bone and muscle; with a saturnine countenance, grave, thoughtful, and
taciturn, of tried loyalty and inflexible courage. By many promises and
much persuasion, Lee brought him to engage in the attempt. “I have
incited his thirst for fame,” writes he, “by impressing on his mind the
virtue and glory of the act.”
Champe was to make a pretended desertion to the enemy at New York. There
he was to enlist in a corps which Arnold was raising, insinuate himself
into some menial or military situation about his person, and watching
for a favorable moment, was, with the aid of a confederate from Newark,
to seize him in the night, gag him, and bring him across the Hudson into
Bergen woods, in the Jerseys.
Washington, in approving the plan, enjoined and stipulated that Arnold
should be brought to him alive. “No circumstance whatever,” said he,
“shall obtain my consent to his being put to death. The idea which would
accompany such an event, would be, that ruffians had been hired to
assassinate him. My aim is to make a public example of him, and this
should be strongly impressed upon those who are employed to bring him
off.”
The pretended desertion of the sergeant took place on the night of
October 20th, and was attended with difficulties. He had to evade
patrols of horse and foot, besides stationary guards and irregular
scouting parties. Major Lee could render him no assistance other than to
delay pursuit, should his departure be discovered. About eleven o’clock
the sergeant took his cloak, valise, and orderly book, drew his horse
from the picket, and mounting, set out on his hazardous course, while
the major retired to rest.
He had not been in bed half an hour, when Captain Carnes, officer of the
day, hurrying into his quarters, gave word that one of the patrols had
fallen in with a dragoon, who, on being challenged, put spurs to his
horse, and escaped. Lee pretended to be annoyed by the intrusion, and to
believe that the pretended dragoon was some countryman of the
neighborhood. The captain was piqued; made a muster of the dragoons, and
returned with word that the sergeant-major was missing, who had gone off
with horse, baggage, arms, and orderly book.
Lee was now compelled to order out a party in pursuit under Cornet
Middleton, but in so doing, he contrived so many delays, that, by the
time they were in the saddle, Champe had an hour’s start. His pursuers,
too, were obliged in the course of the night, to halt occasionally,
dismount and examine the road, to guide themselves by the horse’s
tracks. At daybreak they pressed forward more rapidly, and from the
summit of a hill descried Champe, not more than half a mile in front.
The sergeant at the same moment caught sight of his pursuers, and now
the chase became desperate. Champe had originally intended to make for
Paulus Hook, but changed his course, threw his pursuers at fault, and
succeeded in getting abreast of two British galleys at anchor near the
shore beyond Bergen. He had no time to lose. Cornet Middleton was but
two or three hundred yards behind him. Throwing himself off his horse,
and running through a marsh, he plunged into the river, and called to
the galleys for help. A boat was sent to his assistance, and he was
conveyed on board of one of the vessels.
For a time the whole plan promised to be successful. Champe enlisted in
Arnold’s corps; was employed about his person; and every arrangement was
made to surprise him at night in a garden in the rear of his quarters,
convey him to a boat, and ferry him across the Hudson. On the appointed
night, Lee, with three dragoons and three led horses, was in the woods
of Hoboken, on the Jersey shore, waiting to receive the captive. Hour
after hour passed away,—no boat approached,—day broke; and the major,
with his dragoons and his led horses, returned perplexed and
disappointed to the camp.
Washington was extremely chagrined at the issue of the undertaking,
fearing that the sergeant had been detected in the last scene of his
perilous and difficult enterprise. It subsequently proved, that on the
day preceding the night fixed on for the capture, Arnold had removed his
quarters to another part of the town, to superintend the embarkation of
troops, preparing (as was rumored) for an expedition to be directed by
himself, and that the American legion, consisting chiefly of American
deserters, had been transferred from their barracks to one of the
transports. Among the troops thus transferred was John Champe; nor was
he able for a long time to effect his escape, and resume his real
character of a loyal and patriotic soldier. He was rewarded when he did
so, by the munificence of the commander-in-chief and the admiration of
his old comrades in arms; having so nobly braved, in his country’s
cause, not merely danger, but a long course of obloquy.
We have here to note the altered fortunes of the once prosperous General
Gates. His late defeat at Camden had withered the laurels snatched at
Saratoga. As in the one instance he had received exaggerated praise, so
in the other, he suffered undue censure. The sudden annihilation of an
army from which so much had been expected, and the retreat of the
general before the field was absolutely lost, appeared to demand a
strict investigation. Congress therefore passed a resolution (October
5th), requiring Washington to order a court of inquiry into the conduct
of Gates as commander of the Southern army, and to appoint some other
officer to the command until the inquiry should be made. Washington at
once selected Greene for the important trust, the well-tried officer
whom he would originally have chosen, had his opinion been consulted,
when Congress so unadvisedly gave the command to Gates. In the present
instance his choice was in concurrence with the expressed wishes of the
delegates of the three Southern States, conveyed to him by one of their
number.
Washington’s letter of instructions to Greene (October 22d) showed the
implicit confidence he reposed in the abilities and integrity of that
excellent officer. “Uninformed as I am,” writes he, “of the enemy’s
force in that quarter, of our own, or of the resources which it will be
in our power to command, for carrying on the war, I can give you no
particular instructions, but must leave you to govern yourself entirely
according to your own prudence and judgment, and the circumstances in
which you find yourself. I am aware that the nature of the command will
offer you embarrassments of a singular and complicated nature, but I
rely upon your abilities and exertions for everything your means will
enable you to effect.”
With regard to the court of inquiry, it was to be conducted in the
quarter in which Gates had acted, where all the witnesses were, and
where alone the requisite information could be obtained. Baron Steuben,
who was to accompany Greene to the South, was to preside, and the
members of the court were to be such general and field officers of the
continental troops as were not present at the battle of Camden, or,
having been present, were not wanted as witnesses, or were persons to
whom General Gates had no objection. The affair was to be conducted with
the greatest impartiality, and with as much dispatch as circumstances
would permit.
Washington concludes his letter of instructions to Greene, with
expressions dictated by friendship as well as official duty. “You will
keep me constantly advised of the state of your affairs, and of every
material occurrence. My warmest wishes for your success, reputation,
health, and happiness accompany you.”
Ravaging incursions from Canada had harassed the northern parts of the
State of New York of late, and laid desolate some parts of the country
from which Washington had hoped to receive great supplies of flour for
the armies. Major Carleton, a nephew of Sir Guy, at the head of a motley
force, European, tory, and Indian, had captured Forts Anne and George.
Sir John Johnson also, with Joseph Brant, and a mongrel half-savage
crew, had laid waste the fertile region of the Mohawk River, and burned
the villages of Schoharie and Caughnawaga. The greatest alarm prevailed
throughout the neighboring country. Governor Clinton himself took the
field at the head of the militia, but before he arrived at the scene of
mischief, the marauders had been encountered and driven back by General
Van Rensselaer and the militia of those parts; not, however, until they
had nearly destroyed the settlements on the Mohawk. Washington now put
Brigadier-general James Clinton (the governor’s brother) in command of
the Northern department.
The state of the army was growing more and more a subject of solicitude
to the commander-in-chief. He felt weary of struggling on, with such
scanty means, and such vast responsibility. The campaign, which, at its
commencement, had seemed pregnant with favorable events, had proved
sterile and inactive, and was drawing to a close. The short terms for
which most of the troops were enlisted must soon expire, and then the
present army would be reduced to a mere shadow. The saddened state of
his mind may be judged from his letters. An ample one addressed to
General Sullivan, fully lays open his feelings and his difficulties. “I
had hoped,” writes he, “but hoped in vain, that a prospect was
displaying which would enable me to fix a period to my military
pursuits, and restore me to domestic life. The favorable disposition of
Spain; the promised succor from France; the combined force in the West
Indies; the declaration of Russia (acceded to by other governments of
Europe, and humiliating to the naval pride and power of Great Britain);
the superiority of France and Spain by sea in Europe; the Irish claims
and English disturbances, formed, in the aggregate, an opinion in my
breast, which is not very susceptible of peaceful dreams, that the hour
of deliverance was not far distant; since, however unwilling Great
Britain might be to yield the point, it would not be in her power to
continue the contest. But, alas! these prospects, flattering as they
were, have proved delusory, and I see nothing before us but accumulating
distress.
“We have been half of our time without provisions, and are likely to
continue so. We have no magazines, nor money to form them; and in a
little time we shall have no men, if we have no money to pay them. In a
word, the history of the war is a history of false hopes and temporary
devices, instead of system and economy. It is in vain however, to look
back, nor is it our business to do so. Our case is not desperate, if
virtue exists in the people, and there is wisdom among our rulers. But
to suppose that this great Revolution can be accomplished by a temporary
army, that this army will be subsisted by State supplies, and that
taxation alone is adequate to our wants, is in my opinion absurd, and as
unreasonable as to expect an inversion in the order of nature to
accommodate itself to our views. If it was necessary, it could be proved
to any person of a moderate understanding that an annual army, raised on
the spur of the occasion, besides being unqualified for the end
designed, is, in various ways which could be enumerated, ten times more
expensive than a permanent body of men under good organization and
military discipline, which never was nor ever will be the case with new
troops. A thousand arguments resulting from experience and the nature of
things, might also be adduced to prove that the army, if it is dependent
upon State supplies, must disband or starve, and that taxation alone,
especially at this late hour, cannot furnish the means to carry on the
war.”[47]
We will here add, that the repeated and elaborate reasonings of
Washington, backed by dear-bought experience, slowly brought Congress to
adopt a system suggested by him for the organization and support of the
army, according to which, troops were to be enlisted to serve throughout
the war, and all officers who continued in service until the return of
peace were to receive half pay during life.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XIII.
The Marquis Lafayette and his Light infantry.—Proposes a Brilliant
Stroke.—Preparations for an Attack on the British Posts on New York
Island.—Visit of the Marquis of Chastellux to the American
Camp.—Washington at Head-quarters.—Attack on the British Posts given
up.—Stark forages Westchester County.—Exploit of Tallmadge on Long
Island.
The Marquis Lafayette at this time commanded the advance guard of
Washington’s army, composed of six battalions of light infantry. They
were better clad than the other soldiery: in trim uniforms, leathern
helmets, with crests of horse-hair. The officers were armed with
spontoons, the non-commissioned officers with fusees; both with short
sabres which the marquis had brought from France, and presented to them.
He was proud of his troops, and had a young man’s ardor for active
service. The inactivity which had prevailed for some time past was
intolerable to him. To satisfy his impatient longings, Washington had
permitted him in the beginning of October to attempt a descent at night
on Staten Island, to surprise two Hessian encampments. It had fallen
through for want of boats, and other requisites, but he saw enough, he
said, to convince him that the Americans were altogether fitted for such
enterprises.[48]
The marquis saw with repining the campaign drawing to a close, and
nothing done that would rouse the people in America, and be spoken of at
the court of Versailles. He was urgent with Washington that the campaign
should be terminated by some brilliant stroke. “Any enterprise,” writes
he, “will please the people of this country, and show them that we do
not mean to remain idle when we have men; even a defeat, provided it
were not disastrous, would have its good effect.”
Complaints, he hinted, had been made in France of the prevailing
inactivity. “If anything could decide the ministry to yield us the
succor demanded,” writes he, “it would be our giving the nation a proof
that we are ready.”
The brilliant stroke, suggested with some detail by the marquis, was a
general attack upon Fort Washington, and the other posts at the north
end of the island of New York, and, under certain circumstances, which
he specified, _make a push for the city_.
Washington regarded the project of his young and ardent friend with a
more sober and cautious eye. “It is impossible, my dear marquis,”
replies he, “to desire more ardently than I do to terminate the campaign
by some happy stroke; but we must consult our means rather than our
wishes, and not endeavor to better our affairs by attempting things,
which for want of success may make them worse. We are to lament that
there has been a misapprehension of our circumstances in Europe; but to
endeavor to recover our reputation, we should take care that we do not
injure it more. Ever since it became evident that the allied arms could
not coöperate this campaign I have had an eye to the point you mention,
determined, if a favorable opening should offer, to embrace it: but, so
far as my information goes, the enterprise would not be warranted. It
would, in my opinion, be imprudent to throw an army of ten thousand men
upon an island, against nine thousand, exclusive of seamen and militia.
This, from the accounts we have, appears to be the enemy’s force. All we
can do at present, therefore, is to endeavor to gain a more certain
knowledge of their situation, and act accordingly.”
The British posts in question were accordingly reconnoitered from the
opposite banks of the Hudson, by Colonel Gouvion, an able French
engineer. Preparations were made to carry the scheme into effect, should
it be determined upon, in which case Lafayette was to lead the attack at
the head of his light troops, and be supported by Washington with his
main force; while a strong foraging party sent by General Heath from
West Point to White Plains in Westchester County, to draw the attention
of the enemy in that direction and mask the real design, was, on
preconcerted signals, to advance rapidly to King’s Bridge, and
coöperate.
Washington’s own officers were kept in ignorance of the ultimate object
of the preparatory movements. “Never,” writes his aide-de-camp, Colonel
Humphreys, “never was a plan better arranged, and never did
circumstances promise more sure or complete success. The British were
not only unalarmed, but our own troops were misguided in their
operations.” As the plan was not carried into effect, we have forborne
to give many of its details.
At this juncture, the Marquis de Chastellux arrived in camp. He was on a
tour of curiosity, while the French troops at Rhode Island were in
winter-quarters, and came on the invitation of his relative, the Marquis
Lafayette, who was to present him to Washington. In after years he
published an account of his tour, in which we have graphic sketches of
the camp and the commanders. He arrived with his aides-de-camp on the
afternoon of November 23d, and sought the head-quarters of the
commander-in-chief. They were in a large farm-house. There was a
spacious tent in the yard before it for the general, and several smaller
tents in an adjacent field for his guards. Baggage wagons were arranged
about for the transportation of the general’s effects, and a number of
grooms were attending to very fine horses belonging to general officers
and their aides-de-camp. Everything was in perfect order. As De
Chastellux rode up, he observed Lafayette in front of the house,
conversing with an officer, tall of stature, with a mild and noble
countenance. It was Washington. De Chastellux alighted and was presented
by Lafayette. His reception was frank and cordial. Washington conducted
him into the house. Dinner was over, but generals Knox, Wayne, and Howe,
and colonels Hamilton, Tilghman, and other officers, were still seated
round the board. Washington introduced De Chastellux to them, and
ordered a repast for the former and his aides-de-camp: all remained at
table, and a few glasses of claret and Madeira promoted sociability. The
marquis soon found himself at his ease with Washington. “The goodness
and benevolence which characterize him,” observes he, “are felt by all
around him; but the confidence he inspires is never familiar; it springs
from a profound esteem for his virtues, and a great opinion of his
talents.”
In the evening, after the guests had retired, Washington conducted the
marquis to a chamber prepared for him and his aides-de-camp, apologizing
with nobly frank and simple politeness, that his scanty quarters did not
afford more spacious accommodation.
The next morning, horses were led up after breakfast; they were to
review the troops and visit Lafayette’s encampment, seven miles distant.
The horses which De Chastellux and Washington rode, had been presented
to the latter by the State of Virginia. There were fine blood horses
also for the aides-de-camp. “Washington’s horses,” writes De Chastellux,
“are as good as they are beautiful, and all perfectly trained. He trains
them all himself. He is a very good and a very hardy cavalier, leaping
the highest barriers, and riding very fast, without rising in the
stirrups, bearing on the bridle, or suffering his horse to run as if
wild.”
In the camp of artillery where General Knox received them, the marquis
found everything in perfect order, and conducted in the European style.
Washington apologized for no salute being fired. Detachments were in
movement at a distance, in the plan of operations, and the booming of
guns might give an alarm, or be mistaken for signals.
Incessant and increasing rain obliged Washington to make but a short
visit to Lafayette’s camp, whence, putting spurs to his horse, he
conducted his French visitors back to head-quarters on as fast a gallop
as bad roads would permit.
There were twenty guests at table that day at head-quarters. The dinner
was in the English style, large dishes of butcher’s meat and poultry,
with different kinds of vegetables, followed by pies and puddings and a
desert of hickory nuts. Washington’s fondness for the latter was noticed
by the marquis, and indeed was often a subject of remark. He would sit
picking them by the hour after dinner, as he sipped his wine and
conversed.
One of the general’s aides-de-camp sat by him at the end of the table,
according to custom, to carve the dishes, and circulate the wine.
Healths were drunk and toasts were given; the latter were sometimes
given by the general through his aide-de-camp. The conversation was
tranquil and pleasant. Washington willingly entered into some details
about the principal operations of the war, “but always,” says the
marquis, “with a modesty and conciseness, which proved sufficiently that
it was out of pure complaisance that he consented to talk about
himself.”
Wayne was pronounced agreeable and animated in conversation, and
possessed of wit; but Knox, with his genial aspect and cordial manners,
seems to have won De Chastellux’s heart. “He is thirty-five years of
age,” writes he, “very stout but very active; a man of talent and
intelligence; amiable, gay, sincere, and loyal. It is impossible to know
him without esteeming him, and to see him without loving him.”
It was about half-past seven when the company rose from the table,
shortly after which those who were not of the household departed. There
was a light supper of three or four dishes, with fruit, and abundance of
hickory nuts: the cloth was soon removed; Bordeaux and Madeira wine were
placed upon the table, and conversation went on. Colonel Hamilton was
the aide-de-camp who officiated, and announced the toasts as they
occurred. “It is customary,” writes the marquis, “towards the end of the
supper to call upon each one for a _sentiment_, that is to say, the name
of some lady to whom he is attached by some sentiment either of love,
friendship, or simple preference.”
It is evident there was extra gayety at the table of the
commander-in-chief during this visit, in compliment to his French
guests; but we are told, that gay conversation often prevailed at the
dinners at head-quarters among the aides-de-camp and young officers, in
which Washington took little part, though a quiet smile would show that
he enjoyed it.
We have been tempted to quote freely the remarks of De Chastellux, as
they are those of a cultivated man of society, whose position and
experience made him a competent judge, and who had an opportunity of
observing Washington in a familiar point of view.
Speaking of his personal appearance, he writes: “His form is noble and
elevated, well-shaped and exactly proportioned; his physiognomy mild and
agreeable, but such, that one does not speak in particular of any one of
his traits; and that in quitting him there remains simply the
recollection of a fine countenance. His air is neither grave nor
familiar; one sees sometimes on his forehead the marks of thought, but
never of inquietude; while inspiring respect he inspires confidence, and
his smile is always that of benevolence.
“Above all it is interesting,” continues the marquis, “to see him in the
midst of the general officers of his army. General in a republic, he has
not the imposing state of a marshal of France who gives the _order_;
hero in a republic he excites a different sort of respect, which seems
to originate in this sole idea, that the welfare of each individual is
attached to his person.”
He sums up his character in these words: “Brave without temerity;
laborious without ambition; generous without prodigality; noble without
pride; virtuous without severity; he seems always to stop short of that
limit, where the virtues, assuming colors more vivid, but more
changeable and dubious, might be taken for defects.”
During the time of this visit of the marquis to head-quarters, news was
received of the unexpected and accidental appearance of several British
armed vessels in the Hudson; the effect was to disconcert the
complicated plan of a _coup de main_ upon the British posts, and
finally, to cause it to be abandoned.
Some parts of the scheme were attended with success. The veteran Stark,
with a detachment of twenty-five hundred men, made an extensive forage
in Westchester County, and Major Tallmadge with eighty men, chiefly
dismounted dragoons of Sheldon’s regiment, crossed in boats from the
Connecticut shore to Long Island, where the Sound was twenty miles wide;
traversed the island on the night of the 22d of November, surprised Fort
George at Coram, captured the garrison of fifty-two men, demolished the
fort, set fire to magazines of forage, and recrossed the Sound to
Fairfield, without the loss of a man: an achievement which drew forth a
high eulogium from Congress.
At the end of November the army went into winter-quarters; the
Pennsylvania line in the neighborhood of Morristown, the Jersey line
about Pompton, the New England troops at West Point, and the other posts
of the Highlands; and the New York line was stationed at Albany, to
guard against any invasion from Canada.
The French army remained stationed at Newport, excepting the Duke of
Lauzun’s legion, which was cantoned at Lebanon in Connecticut.
Washington’s head-quarters were established at New Windsor on the
Hudson.
We will now turn to the South to note the course of affairs in that
quarter during the last few months.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XIV.
Rigorous Measures of Cornwallis in South Carolina.—Ferguson sent to
Scour the Mountain Country between the Catawba and the
Yadkin.—Cornwallis in a Hornet’s Nest.—Movements of
Ferguson.—Mountain Men and Fierce Men from Kentucky.—Battle of
King’s Mountain.—Retrograde March of Cornwallis.
Cornwallis having, as he supposed, entirely crushed the “rebel cause” in
South Carolina, by the defeats of Gates and Sumter, remained for some
time at Camden, detained by the excessive heat of the weather and the
sickness of part of his troops, broken down by the hardships of
campaigning under a southern sun. He awaited also supplies and
reinforcements.
Immediately after the victory at Camden, he had ordered the friends to
royalty in North Carolina “to arm and intercept the beaten army of
General Gates,” promising that he would march directly to the borders of
that province in their support; he now detached Major Patrick Ferguson
to its western confines, to keep the war alive in that quarter. This
resolute partisan had with him his own corps of light infantry, and a
body of royalist militia of his own training. His whole force was
between eleven and twelve hundred men, noted for activity and alertness,
and unincumbered with baggage or artillery.
His orders were to skirr the mountain country between the Catawba and
the Yadkin, harass the whigs, inspirit the tories, and embody the
militia under the royal banner. This done, he was to repair to
Charlotte, the capital of Mecklenburg County, where he would find Lord
Cornwallis, who intended to make it his rendezvous. Should he, however,
in the course of his tour, be threatened by a superior force, he was
immediately to return to the main army. No great opposition, however,
was apprehended, the Americans being considered totally broken up and
dispirited.
During the suspense of his active operations in the field, Cornwallis
instituted rigorous measures against Americans who continued under arms,
or, by any other acts, manifested what he termed “a desperate
perseverance in opposing His Majesty’s Government.” Among these were
included many who had taken refuge in North Carolina. A commissioner was
appointed to take possession of their estates and property; of the
annual product of which a part was to be allowed for the support of
their families, the residue to be applied to the maintenance of the war.
Letters from several of the principal inhabitants of Charleston having
been found in the baggage of the captured American generals, the former
were accused of breaking their parole, and holding a treasonable
correspondence with the armed enemies of England; they were in
consequence confined on board of prison ships, and afterwards
transported to St. Augustine in Florida.
Among the prisoners taken in the late combats, many, it was discovered,
had British protections in their pockets; these were deemed arrant
runagates, amenable to the penalties of the proclamation issued by Sir
Henry Clinton on the 3d of June; they were therefore led forth from the
provost and hanged, almost without the form of an inquiry.
These measures certainly were not in keeping with the character for
moderation and benevolence usually given to Lord Cornwallis; but they
accorded with the rancorous spirit manifested toward each other both by
whigs and tories in Southern warfare. If they were intended by his
lordship as measures of policy, their effect was far different from what
he anticipated; opposition was exasperated into deadly hate, and a cry
of vengeance was raised throughout the land. Cornwallis decamped from
Camden, and set out for North Carolina. In the subjugation of that
province, he counted on the coöperation of the troops which Sir Henry
Clinton was to send to the lower part of Virginia, which, after reducing
the Virginians to obedience, were to join his lordship’s standard on the
confines of North Carolina.
Advancing into the latter province, Cornwallis took post at Charlotte,
where he had given rendezvous to Ferguson. Mecklenburg, of which this
was the capital, was, as the reader may recollect, the “heady,
high-minded” county where the first declaration of independence had been
made, and his lordship from uncomfortable experience soon pronounced
Charlotte “the Hornet’s Nest of North Carolina.”
The surrounding country was wild and rugged, covered with close and
thick woods, and crossed in every direction by narrow roads. All
attempts at foraging were worse than useless. The plantations were small
and afforded scanty supplies.
The inhabitants were stanch whigs, with the pugnacious spirit of the old
Covenanters. Instead of remaining at home and receiving the king’s money
in exchange for their produce, they turned out with their rifles,
stationed themselves in covert places, and fired upon the foraging
parties; convoys of provisions from Camden had to fight their way, and
expresses were shot down and their dispatches seized.
The capture of his expresses was a sore annoyance to Cornwallis,
depriving him of all intelligence concerning the movements of Colonel
Ferguson, whose arrival he was anxiously awaiting. The expedition of
that doughty partisan officer here calls for especial notice. He had
been chosen for this military tour as being calculated to gain friends
by his conciliating disposition and manners, and his address to the
people of the country was in that spirit: “We come not to make war upon
women and children, but to give them money and relieve their
distresses.” Ferguson, however, had a loyal hatred of whigs, and to his
standard flocked many rancorous tories, besides outlaws and desperadoes,
so that with all his conciliating intentions, his progress through the
country was attended by many exasperating excesses.
He was on his way to join Cornwallis when a chance for a signal exploit
presented itself. An American force under Colonel Elijah Clarke of
Georgia, was retreating to the mountain districts of North Carolina,
after an unsuccessful attack upon the British post at Augusta. Ferguson
resolved to cut off their retreat. Turning towards the mountains, he
made his way through a rugged wilderness and took post at Gilbert-town,
a small frontier village of log-houses. He was encouraged to this step,
say the British chroniclers, by the persuasion that there was no force
in that part of the country able to look him in the face. He had no idea
that the marauds of his followers had arrayed the very wilderness
against him. “All of a sudden,” say the chroniclers just cited, “a
numerous, fierce, and unexpected enemy sprung up in the depths of the
desert. The scattered inhabitants of the mountains assembled without
noise or warning, under the conduct of six or seven of their militia
colonels, to the number of six hundred strong, daring, well mounted, and
excellent horsemen.”[49]
These, in fact, were the people of the mountains which form the
frontiers of the Carolinas and Georgia, “mountain men,” as they were
commonly called, a hardy race, half huntsmen, half herdsmen, inhabiting
deep narrow valleys, and fertile slopes, adapted to grazing, watered by
the coldest of springs and brightest of streams, and embosomed in mighty
forest trees. Being subject to inroads and surprisals from the
Chickasaws, Cherokees, and Creeks, a tacit league existed among them for
mutual defense, and it only needed, as in the present instance, an alarm
to be circulated through their settlements by swift messengers, to bring
them at once to the point of danger. Beside these, there were other
elements of war suddenly gathering in Ferguson’s vicinity. A band of
what were termed “the wild and fierce” inhabitants of Kentucky, with men
from other settlements west of the Alleghanies, had crossed the
mountains, led by colonels Campbell and Boone, to pounce upon a quantity
of Indian goods at Augusta; but had pulled up on hearing of the repulse
of Clarke. The stout yeomen, also, of the district of Ninety Six, roused
by the marauds of Ferguson, had taken the field, under the conduct of
Colonel James Williams, of Granville County. Here, too, were hard riders
and sharp-shooters, from Holston River, Powel’s Valley, Botetourt,
Fincastle, and other parts of Virginia, commanded by colonels Campbell,
Cleveland, Shelby, and Sevier. Such were the different bodies of
mountaineers and backwoodsmen, suddenly drawing together from various
parts to the number of three thousand.
Threatened by a force so superior in numbers and fierce in hostility,
Ferguson issued an address to rouse the tories. “The Backwater men have
crossed the mountain,” said he, “McDowell, Hampton, Shelby, and
Cleveland are at their head. If you choose to be trodden upon forever
and ever by a set of mongrels, say so at once, and let women look out
for real men to protect them. If you desire to live and bear the name of
men, grasp your arms in a moment and run to camp.”
The taunting appeal produced but little effect. In this exigency,
Ferguson remembered the instructions of Cornwallis, that he should
rejoin him should he find himself threatened by a superior force;
breaking up his quarters, therefore, he pushed for the British army,
sending messengers ahead to apprise his lordship of his danger.
Unfortunately for him, his missives were intercepted.
Gilbert-town had not long been vacated by Ferguson and his troops, when
the motley host we have described thronged in. Some were on foot, but
the greater part on horseback. Some were in homespun garb; but the most
part in hunting-shirts, occasionally decorated with colored fringe and
tassels. Each man had his long rifle and hunting-knife, his wallet, or
knapsack and blanket, and either a buck’s tail or sprig of evergreen in
his hat. Here and there an officer appeared in the Continental uniform
of blue and buff, but most preferred the half-Indian hunting-dress.
There was neither tent nor tent equipage, neither baggage nor baggage
wagon to encumber the movements of that extemporaneous host. Prompt
warriors of the wilderness, with them it was “seize the weapon—spring
into the saddle—and away!” In going into action, it was their practice
to dismount, tie their horses to the branches of trees, or secure them
in some other way, so as to be at hand for use when the battle was over,
either to pursue a flying enemy, or make their own escape by dint of
hoof.
There was a clamor of tongues for a time at Gilbert-town; groups on
horseback and foot in every part, holding hasty council. Being told that
Ferguson had retreated by the Cherokee road toward North Carolina, about
nine hundred of the hardiest and best mounted set out in urgent pursuit;
leaving those who were on foot, or weakly mounted, to follow on as fast
as possible. Colonel William Campbell, of Virginia, having come from the
greatest distance, was allowed to have command of the whole party; but
there was not much order nor subordination. Each colonel led his own men
in his own way.
In the evening they arrived at the Cowpens, a grazing neighborhood. Here
two beeves were killed and given to be cut up, cooked and eaten as quick
as possible. Before those who were slow or negligent had half prepared
their repast, marching orders were given, and all were again in the
saddle. A rapid and irregular march was kept up all night in murky
darkness and through a heavy rain. About daybreak they crossed Broad
River, where an attack was apprehended. Not finding the enemy, they
halted, lit their fires, made their morning’s meal and took a brief
repose. By nine o’clock they were again on the march. The rainy night
had been succeeded by a bright October morning, and all were in high
spirits. Ferguson, they learnt, had taken the road toward King’s
Mountain, about twelve miles distant. When within three miles of it
their scouts brought in word that he had taken post on its summit. The
officers now held a short consultation on horseback, and then proceeded.
The position taken by Ferguson was a strong one. King’s Mountain rises
out of a broken country, and is detached, on the north, from inferior
heights by a deep valley, so as to resemble an insulated promontory
about half a mile in length, with sloping sides, excepting on the north.
The mountain was covered for the most part with lofty forest trees, free
from underwood, interspersed with boulders and masses of gray rock. The
forest was sufficiently open to give free passage to horsemen.
As the Americans drew nearer, they could occasionally, through openings
of the woodland, descry the glittering of arms along a level ridge,
forming the crest of King’s Mountain. This, Ferguson had made his
stronghold; boasting that “if all the rebels out of hell should attack
him, they would not drive him from it.”
Dismounting at a small stream which runs through a ravine, the Americans
picketed their horses or tied them to the branches of the trees, and
gave them in charge of a small guard. They then formed themselves into
three divisions of nearly equal size, and prepared to storm the heights
on three sides. Campbell, seconded by Shelby, was to lead the centre
division; Sevier with McDowell the right, and Cleveland and Williams the
left. The divisions were to scale the mountain as nearly as possible at
the same time. The fighting directions were in frontier style. When once
in action, every one must act for himself. The men were not to wait for
the word of command, but to take good aim and fire as fast as possible.
When they could no longer hold their ground, they were to get behind
trees, or retreat a little, and return to the fight, but never to go
quite off.
Campbell allowed time for the flanking divisions to move to the right
and left along the base of the mountain, and take their proper
distances; he then pushed up in front with the centre division, he and
Shelby, each at the head of his men. The first firing was about four
o’clock, when a picket was driven in by Cleveland and Williams on the
left, and pursued up the mountain. Campbell soon arrived within rifle
distance of the crest of the mountain, whence a sheeted fire of musketry
was opened upon him. He instantly deployed his men, posted them behind
trees, and returned the fire with deadly effect.
Ferguson, exasperated at being thus hunted into this mountain fastness,
had been chafing in his rocky lair and meditating a furious sally. He
now rushed out with his regulars, made an impetuous charge with the
bayonet, and dislodging his assailants from their coverts, began to
drive them down the mountain, they not having a bayonet among them. He
had not proceeded far, when a flanking fire was opened by one of the
other divisions; facing about and attacking this he was again
successful, when a third fire was opened from another quarter. Thus, as
fast as one division gave way before the bayonet, another came to its
relief; while those who had given way rallied and returned to the
charge. The nature of the fighting ground was more favorable to the
rifle than the bayonet, and this was a kind of warfare in which the
frontier men were at home. The elevated position of the enemy also was
in favor of the Americans, securing them from the danger of their own
cross-fire. Ferguson found that he was completely in the hunter’s toils,
beset on every side; but he stood bravely at bay, until the ground
around him was strewed with the killed and wounded, picked off by the
fatal rifle. His men were at length broken, and retreated in confusion
along the ridge. He galloped from place to place endeavoring to rally
them, when a rifle ball brought him to the ground, and his white horse
was seen careering down the mountain without a rider.
This closed the bloody fight; for Ferguson’s second in command, seeing
all further resistance hopeless, hoisted a white flag, beat a parley,
and sued for quarters. One hundred and fifty of the enemy had fallen,
and as many been wounded; while of the Americans, but twenty were
killed, though a considerable number were wounded. Among those slain was
Colonel James Williams, who had commanded the troops of Ninety Six, and
proved himself one of the most daring of the partisan leaders.
Eight hundred and ten men were taken prisoners, one hundred of whom were
regulars, the rest royalists. The rancor awakened by civil war was shown
in the treatment of some of the prisoners. A court-martial was held the
day after the battle, and a number of tory prisoners who had been bitter
in their hostility to the American cause, and flagitious in their
persecution of their countrymen, were hanged. This was to revenge the
death of American prisoners hanged at Camden and elsewhere.
The army of mountaineers and frontier men, thus fortuitously
congregated, did not attempt to follow up their signal blow. They had no
general scheme, no plan of campaign; it was the spontaneous rising of
the sons of the soil, to revenge it on its invaders, and, having
effected their purpose, they returned in triumph to their homes. They
were little aware of the importance of their achievement. The battle of
King’s Mountain, inconsiderable as it was in the numbers engaged, turned
the tide of Southern warfare. The destruction of Ferguson and his corps
gave a complete check to the expedition of Cornwallis. He began to fear
for the safety of South Carolina, liable to such sudden irruptions from
the mountains; lest, while he was facing to the north, these hordes of
stark-riding warriors might throw themselves behind him, and produce a
popular combustion in the province he had left. He resolved, therefore,
to return with all speed to that province and provide for its security.
On the 14th of October he commenced his retrograde and mortifying march,
conducting it in the night, and with such hurry and confusion, that
nearly twenty wagons, laden with baggage and supplies, were lost. As he
proceeded, the rainy season set in; the brooks and rivers became
swollen, and almost impassable; the roads deep and miry; provisions and
forage scanty; the troops generally sickly, having no tents. Lord
Cornwallis himself was seized with a bilious fever, which obliged him to
halt two days in the Catawba settlement, and afterwards to be conveyed
in a wagon, giving up the command to Lord Rawdon.
In the course of this desolate march, the British suffered as usual from
the vengeance of an outraged country, being fired upon from behind trees
and other coverts by the yeomanry; their sentries shot down at their
encampments; their foraging parties cut off. “The enemy,” writes Lord
Rawdon, “are mostly mounted militia, not to be overtaken by our
infantry, nor to be safely pursued in this strong country by our
cavalry.”
For two weeks were they toiling on this retrograde march through deep
roads, and a country cut up by water-courses, with the very elements
arrayed against them. At length, after fording the Catawba where it was
six hundred yards wide, and three and a half deep, and where a handful
of riflemen might have held them in check, the army arrived at
Winnsborough, in South Carolina. Hence, by order of Cornwallis, Lord
Rawdon wrote on the 24th of October to Brigadier-general Leslie, who was
at that time in the Chesapeake, with the force detached by Sir Henry
Clinton for a descent upon Virginia, suggesting the expediency of his
advancing to North Carolina, for the purpose of coöperation with
Cornwallis, who feared to proceed far from South Carolina, lest it
should be again in insurrection.
In the mean time his lordship took post at Winnsborough. It was a
central position, where he might cover the country from partisan
incursions, obtain forage and supplies, and await the coöperation of
General Leslie.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XV.
Marion.—His Character.—Bye Names.—Haunts.—Tarleton in quest of
Him.—Sumter on the West Side of the Santee.—His Affair with Tarleton
at Black Stock Hill.—Gates at Hillsborough.—His Domestic
Misfortunes.—Arrival of Greene.—His Considerate Conduct.—Gates
retires to his Estate.—Condition of the Army.—Stratagem of Colonel
Washington at Clermont.—Morgan detached to the District of Ninety
six.—Greene posts himself on the Pedee.
The victory at King’s Mountain had set the partisan spirit throughout
the country in a blaze. Francis Marion was soon in the field. He had
been made a brigadier-general by Governor Rutledge, but his brigade, as
it was called, was formed of neighbors and friends, and was continually
fluctuating in numbers. He was nearly fifty years of age, and small of
stature, but hardy, healthy, and vigorous. Brave but not braggart, never
avoiding danger, but never rashly seeking it. Taciturn and abstemious; a
strict disciplinarian; careful of the lives of his men, but little
mindful of his own life. Just in his dealings, free from everything
selfish or mercenary, and incapable of a meanness. He had his haunts and
strongholds in the morasses of the Pedee and Black Rivers. His men were
hardy and abstemious as himself; they ate their meat without salt, often
subsisted on potatoes, were scantily clad, and almost destitute of
blankets. Marion was full of stratagems and expedients. Sallying forth
from his morasses, he would overrun the lower districts, pass the
Santee, beat up the small posts in the vicinity of Charleston, cut up
the communication between that city and Camden; and having struck some
signal blow, so as to rouse the vengeance of the enemy, would retreat
again into his fenny fastnesses. Hence the British gave him the bye name
of the _Swamp Fox_, but those of his countrymen who knew his courage,
his loftiness of spirit and spotless integrity, considered him the
_Bayard of the South_.
Tarleton, who was on duty in that part of the country, undertook, as he
said, to draw the swamp fox from his cover. He accordingly marched
cautiously down the east bank of the Wateree with a body of dragoons and
infantry, in compact order. The fox, however, kept close; he saw that
the enemy was too strong for him. Tarleton now changed his plan. By day
he broke up his force into small detachments or patrols, giving them
orders to keep near enough to each other to render mutual support if
attacked, and to gather together at night.
The artifice had its effect. Marion sallied forth from his covert just
before daybreak to make an attack upon one of these detachments, when,
to his surprise, he found himself close upon the British camp.
Perceiving the snare that had been spread for him, he made a rapid
retreat. A close pursuit took place. For seven hours Marion was hunted
from one swamp and fastness to another; several stragglers of his band
were captured, and Tarleton was in strong hope of bringing him into
action, when an express came spurring from Cornwallis, calling for the
immediate services of himself and his dragoons in another quarter.
Sumter was again in the field! That indefatigable partisan having
recruited a strong party in the mountainous country, to which he
retreated after his defeat on the Wateree, had reappeared on the west
side of the Santee, repulsed a British party sent against him, killing
its leader; then, crossing Broad River, had effected a junction with
colonels Clark and Brannan, and now menaced the British posts in the
district of Ninety Six.
It was to disperse this head of partisan war that Tarleton was called
off from beleaguering Marion. Advancing with his accustomed celerity, he
thought to surprise Sumter on the Enoree River. A deserter apprised the
latter of his danger. He pushed across the river, but was hotly pursued,
and his rear-guard roughly handled. He now made for the Tyger River,
noted for turbulence and rapidity; once beyond this, he might disband
his followers in the woods. Tarleton, to prevent his passing it
unmolested, spurred forward in advance of his main body with one hundred
and seventy dragoons and eighty mounted men of the infantry. Before five
o’clock (November 20) his advance guard overtook and charged the rear of
the Americans, who retreated to the main body. Sumter finding it
impossible to cross Tyger River in safety, and being informed that the
enemy, thus pressing upon him, were without infantry or cannon, took
post on Black Stock Hill, with a rivulet and rail fence in front, the
Tyger River in the rear and on the right flank, and a large log barn on
the left. The barn was turned into a fortress, and a part of the force
stationed in it to fire through the apertures between the logs.
Tarleton halted on an opposite height to await the arrival of his
infantry, and part of his men dismounted to ease their horses. Sumter
seized this moment for an attack. He was driven back after some sharp
fighting. The enemy pursued, but were severely galled by the fire from
the log barn. Enraged at seeing his men shot down, Tarleton charged with
his cavalry, but found it impossible to dislodge the Americans from
their rustic fortress. At the approach of night he fell back to join his
infantry, leaving the ground strewed with his killed and wounded. The
latter were treated with great humanity by Sumter. The loss of the
Americans was only three killed and four wounded.
Sumter, who had received a severe wound in the breast, remained several
hours on the field of action; but, understanding the enemy would be
powerfully reinforced in the morning, he crossed the Tyger River in the
night. He was then placed on a litter between two horses, and thus
conducted across the country by a few faithful adherents. The rest of
his little army dispersed themselves through the woods. Tarleton,
finding his enemy had disappeared, claimed the credit of a victory; but
those who considered the affair rightly, declared that he had received a
severe check.
While the attention of the enemy was thus engaged by the enterprises of
Sumter and Marion and their swamp warriors, General Gates was gathering
together the scattered fragments of his army at Hillsborough. When all
were collected, his whole force, exclusive of militia, did not exceed
fourteen hundred men. It was, as he said, “rather a shadow than a
substance.” His troops, disheartened by defeat, were in a forlorn state,
without clothing, without pay, and sometimes without provisions.
Destitute of tents, they constructed hovels of fence-rails, poles,
brush-wood, and the stalks of Indian corn, the officers faring no better
than the men.
The vanity of Gates was completely cut down by his late reverses. He had
lost, too, the confidence of his officers, and was unable to maintain
discipline among his men; who, through their irregularities, became a
terror to the country people.
On the retreat of Cornwallis from Charlotte, Gates advanced to that
place to make it his winter-quarters. Huts were ordered to be built, and
a regular encampment was commenced. Smallwood, with a body of militia,
was stationed below on the Catawba to guard the road leading through
Camden: and further down was posted Brigadier-general Morgan, with a
corps of light troops.
To add to his depression of spirits, Gates received the melancholy
intelligence of the death of an only son, and, while he was yet writhing
under the blow, came official dispatches informing him of his being
superseded in command. A letter from Washington, we are told,
accompanied them, sympathizing with him in his domestic misfortunes,
adverting with peculiar delicacy to his reverses in battle, assuring him
of his undiminished confidence in his zeal and capacity, and his
readiness to give him the command of the left wing of his army as soon
as he could make it convenient to join him.
The effect of this letter was overpowering. Gates was found walking
about his room in the greatest agitation, pressing the letter to his
lips, breaking forth into ejaculations of gratitude and admiration, and
when he could find utterance to his thoughts, declared that its tender
sympathy and considerate delicacy had conveyed more consolation and
delight to his heart than he had believed it possible ever to have felt
again.[50]
General Greene arrived at Charlotte, on the 2d of December. On his way
from the North he had made arrangements for supplies from the different
States; and had left the Baron Steuben in Virginia to defend that State
and procure and send on reinforcements and stores for the southern army.
On the day following his arrival, Greene took formal command. The
delicacy with which he conducted himself towards his unfortunate
predecessor is said to have been “edifying to the army.” Consulting with
his officers as to the court of inquiry on the conduct of General Gates,
ordered by Congress, it was determined that there was not a sufficient
number of general officers in camp to sit upon it; that the state of
General Gates’ feelings, in consequence of the death of his son,
disqualified him from entering upon the task of his defense; and that it
would be indelicate in the extreme to press on with an investigation,
which his honor would not permit him to defer. Beside, added Greene, his
is a case of misfortune, and the most honorable course to be pursued,
both with regard to General Gates and the government, is to make such
representations as may obtain a revision of the order of Congress
directing an inquiry into his conduct. In this opinion all present
concurred.
Gates, in fact, when informed in the most delicate manner of the order
of Congress, was urgent that a court of inquiry should be immediately
convened; he acknowledged there was some important evidence that could
not at present be procured; but he relied on the honor and justice of
the court to make allowance for the deficiency. He was ultimately
brought to acquiesce in the decision of the council of war for the
postponement, but declared that he could not think of serving until the
matter should have been properly investigated. He determined to pass the
interim on his estate in Virginia. Greene, in a letter to Washington
(December 7th) writes: “General Gates sets out to-morrow for the
northward. Many officers think very favorably of his conduct, and that,
whenever an inquiry takes place, he will honorably acquit himself.”
The kind and considerate conduct of Greene on the present occasion,
completely subdued the heart of Gates. The coldness, if not ill-will,
with which he had hitherto regarded him, was at an end, and, in all his
subsequent correspondence with him, he addressed him in terms of
affection.
We take pleasure in noting the generous conduct of the General Assembly
of Virginia towards Gates. It was in session when he arrived at
Richmond. “Those fathers of the commonwealth,” writes Colonel H. Lee, in
his memoirs, “appointed a committee of their body to wait on the
vanquished general, and assure him of their high regard and esteem, that
their remembrance of his former glorious services was never to be
obliterated by any reverse of fortune; but, ever mindful of his great
merit, they would omit no opportunity of testifying to the world the
gratitude which Virginia, as a member of the American Union, owed to him
in his military character.”
Gates was sensibly affected and comforted by this kind reception, and
retired with a lightened heart to his farm in Berkeley County.
The whole force at Charlotte, when Greene took command, did not much
exceed twenty-three hundred men, and more than half of them were
militia. It had been broken in spirit by the recent defeat. The officers
had fallen into habits of negligence; the soldiers were loose and
disorderly, without tents and camp equipage; badly clothed and fed, and
prone to relieve their necessities by depredating upon the inhabitants.
Greene’s letters written at the time, abound with military aphorisms
suggested by the squalid scene around him. “There must be either pride
or principle,” said he, “to make a soldier. No man will think himself
bound to fight the battles of a State that leaves him perishing for want
of covering; nor can you inspire a soldier with the sentiment of pride,
while his situation renders him an object of pity, rather than of envy.
Good feeling is the first principle of good service. It is impossible to
preserve discipline where troops are in want of everything—to attempt
severity will only thin the ranks by a more hasty desertion.”
The state of the country in which he was to act was equally
discouraging. “It is so extensive,” said he, “and the powers of
government so weak, that everybody does as he pleases. The inhabitants
are much divided in their political sentiments, and the whigs and tories
pursue each other with little less than savage fury. The back country
people are bold and daring; but the people upon the sea-shore are
sickly, and but indifferent militia.”
“War here,” observes he in another letter, “is upon a very different
scale to what it is at the northward. It is a plain business there. The
geography of the country reduces its operations to two or three points.
But here it is everywhere; and the country is so full of deep rivers and
impassable creeks and swamps, that you are always liable to misfortunes
of a capital nature.
“The whigs and tories,” adds he, “are continually out in small parties,
and all the middle country is so disaffected, that you cannot lay in the
most trifling magazine, or send a wagon through the country with the
least article of stores without a guard.”
A recent exploit had given some animation to the troops.
Lieutenant-colonel Washington, detached with a troop of light horse to
check a foraging party of the enemy, scoured the country within thirteen
miles of Camden. Here he found a body of loyalist militia strongly
posted at Clermont, the seat of Colonel Rugeley, their tory commander.
They had ensconced themselves in a large barn, built of logs, and had
fortified it by a slight intrenchment and a line of abatis. To attack it
with cavalry was useless. Colonel Washington dismounted part of his
troops to appear like infantry; placed on two wagon-wheels the trunk of
a pine-tree, shaped and painted to look like a field-piece, brought it
to bear upon the enemy, and, displaying his cavalry, sent in a flag
summoning the garrison to surrender instantly, on pain of having their
log castle battered about their ears. The garrison, to the number of one
hundred and twelve men, with Colonel Rugeley at their head, gave
themselves up prisoners of war.[51] Cornwallis, mentioning the ludicrous
affair in a letter to Tarleton, adds sarcastically: “Rugeley will not be
made a brigadier.” The unlucky colonel never again appeared in arms.
The first care of General Greene was to reorganize his army. He went to
work quietly but resolutely: called no councils of war; communicated his
plans and intentions to few, and such only as were able and willing to
aid in executing them. “If I cannot inspire respect and confidence by an
independent conduct,” said he, “It will be impossible to instill
discipline and order among the troops.” His efforts were successful; The
army soon began to assume what he termed a military complexion.
He was equally studious to promote harmony among his officers, of whom a
number were young, gallant, and intelligent. It was his delight to have
them at his genial but simple table, where parade and restraint were
banished, and pleasant and instructive conversation was promoted; which,
next to reading, was his great enjoyment. The manly benignity of his
manners diffused itself round his board, and a common sentiment of
affection for their chief united the young men in a kind of brotherhood.
Finding the country round Charlotte exhausted by repeated foragings, he
separated the army into two divisions. One, about one thousand strong,
was commanded by Brigadier-general Morgan, of rifle renown, and was
composed of four hundred continental infantry, under Lieutenant-colonel
Howard of the Maryland line, two companies of Virginia militia under
Captains Tripplet and Tate, and one hundred dragoons, under
Lieutenant-colonel Washington. With these Morgan was detached towards
the district of Ninety Six, in South Carolina, with orders to take a
position near the confluence of the Pacolet and Broad Rivers, and
assemble the militia of the country. With the other division, Greene
made a march of toilful difficulty through a barren country, with wagons
and horses quite unfit for service, to Hicks’ Creek, in Chesterfield
district, on the east side of the Pedee River, opposite the Cheraw
Hills. There he posted himself, on the 26th, partly to discourage the
enemy from attempting to possess themselves of Cross Creek, which would
give them command of the greatest part of the provisions of the lower
country—partly to form a camp of repose; “and no army,” writes he, “ever
wanted one more, the troops having totally lost their discipline.”
“I will not pain your Excellency,” writes he to Washington, “with
further accounts of the wants and sufferings of this army; but I am not
without great apprehension of its entire dissolution, unless the
commissary’s and quartermaster’s departments can be rendered more
competent to the demands of the service. Nor are the clothing and
hospital departments upon a better footing. Not a shilling in the pay
chest, nor a prospect of any for months to come. This is really making
bricks without straw.”
Governor Rutledge also wrote to Washington from Greene’s camp, on the
28th of December, imploring aid for South Carolina. “Some of the stanch
inhabitants of Charleston,” writes he, “have been sent to St. Augustine,
and others are to follow. The enemy have hanged many people, who, from
fear, or the impracticability of removing, had received protections or
given paroles and from attachment to, had afterwards taken part with us.
They have burnt a great number of houses, and turned many women,
formerly of good fortune, with their children (whom their husbands or
parents, from an unwillingness to join the enemy, had left) almost naked
into the woods. Their cruelty and the distresses of the people are
indeed beyond description. I entreat your Excellency, therefore,
seriously to consider the unhappy state of South Carolina and Georgia;
and I rely on your humanity and your knowledge of their importance to
the Union, for such speedy and effectual support, as may compel the
enemy to evaluate every part of these countries.”[52]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XVI.
Hostile Embarkations to the South.—Arnold in Command.—Necessitous
State of the Country.—Washington urges a Foreign Loan.—Mission of
Colonel Laurens to France to seek Aid in Men and Money.—Grievances
of the Pennsylvania Line.—Mutiny.—Negotiations with the
Mutineers.—Articles of Accommodation.—Policy doubted by
Washington.—Rigorous Course adopted by him with other
Malcontents.—Successful.—Ratification of the Articles of
Confederation of the States.
The occurrences recorded in the last few chapters made Washington
apprehend a design on the part of the enemy to carry the stress of war
into the Southern States. Conscious that he was the man to whom all
looked in time of emergency, and who was, in a manner, responsible for
the general course of military affairs, he deeply felt the actual
impotency of his position.
In a letter to Franklin, who was minister-plenipotentiary at the court
of Versailles, he strongly expresses his chagrin. “Disappointed of the
second division of French troops, but more especially in the expected
naval superiority, which was the pivot upon which everything turned, we
have been compelled to spend an inactive campaign, after a flattering
prospect at the opening of it, and vigorous struggles to make it a
decisive one on our part. Latterly, we have been obliged to become
spectators of a succession of detachments from the army at New York in
aid of Lord Cornwallis, while our naval weakness, and the political
dissolution of a great part of our army, put it out of our power to
counteract them at the southward or to take advantage of them here.”
The last of these detachments to the South took place on the 20th of
December, but was not destined, as Washington had supposed, for
Carolina. Sir Henry Clinton had received information that the troops
already mentioned as being under General Leslie in the Chesapeake, had,
by orders from Cornwallis, sailed for Charleston, to reinforce his
lordship; and this detachment was to take their place in Virginia. It
was composed of British, German, and refugee troops, about seventeen
hundred strong, and was commanded by Benedict Arnold, now a
brigadier-general in His Majesty’s service. Sir Henry Clinton, who
distrusted the fidelity of the man he had corrupted, sent with him
colonels Dundas and Simcoe, experienced officers, by whose advice he was
to be guided in every important measure. He was to make an incursion
into Virginia, destroy the public magazines, assemble and arm the
loyalists, and hold himself ready to coöperate with Lord Cornwallis. He
embarked his troops in a fleet of small vessels, and departed on his
enterprise animated by the rancorous spirit of a renegade, and prepared,
as he vaunted, to give the Americans a blow “that would make the whole
continent shake.” We shall speak of his expedition hereafter.
As Washington beheld one hostile armament after another winging its way
to the South, and received applications from that quarter for
assistance, which he had not the means to furnish, it became painfully
apparent to him, that the efforts to carry on the war had exceeded the
natural capabilities of the country. Its widely diffused population and
the composition and temper of some of its people, rendered it difficult
to draw together its resources. Commerce was almost extinct; there was
not sufficient natural wealth on which to found a revenue; paper
currency had depreciated through want of funds for its redemption, until
it was nearly worthless. The mode of supplying the army by assessing a
proportion of the productions of the earth, had proved ineffectual,
oppressive, and productive of an alarming opposition. Domestic loans
yielded but trifling assistance. The patience of the army was nearly
exhausted; the people were dissatisfied with the mode of supporting the
war, and there was reason to apprehend, that, under the pressure of
impositions of a new and odious kind, they might imagine they had only
exchanged one kind of tyranny for another.
We give but a few of many considerations which Washington was
continually urging upon the attention of Congress in his full and
perspicuous manner; the end of which was to enforce his opinion that a
foreign loan was indispensably necessary to a continuance of the war.
His earnest counsels and entreaties were at length successful in
determining Congress to seek aid both in men and money from
abroad. Accordingly, on the 28th of December they commissioned
Lieutenant-colonel John Laurens, special minister at the court of
Versailles, to apply for such aid. The situation he had held, as
aide-de-camp to the commander-in-chief, had given him an
opportunity of observing the course of affairs, and acquainting
himself with the wants and resources of the country; and he was
instructed to confer with Washington, previous to his departure,
as to the objects of his mission. Not content with impressing him
verbally with his policy, Washington gave him a letter of
instructions for his government, and to be used as occasion might
require. In this he advised him to solicit a loan sufficiently
large to be a foundation for substantial arrangements of finance,
to revive public credit, and give vigor to future operations; next
to a loan of money, a naval force was to be desired, sufficient to
maintain a constant superiority on the American coast; also
additional succor in troops. In a word, a means of coöperation by
sea and land, with purse and sword, competent by a decided effort
to attain, once for all, the great objects of the alliance, the
liberty and independence of the United States.
He was to show, at the same time, the ample means possessed by the
nation to repay the loan, from its comparative freedom from debt, and
its vast and valuable tracts of unsettled lands, the variety and
fertility of its climates and soils, and its advantages of every kind
for a lucrative commerce, and rapid increase of population and
prosperity.
Scarce had Colonel Laurens been appointed to this mission, when a
painful occurrence proved the urgent necessity of the required aid.
In the arrangement for winter-quarters, the Pennsylvania line,
consisting of six regiments, was hutted near Morristown. These troops
had experienced the hardships and privations common to the whole army.
General Wayne, who commanded them, had a soldier’s sympathy in the
sufferings of his men, and speaks of them in feeling language: “Poorly
clothed, badly fed, and worse paid,” writes he, “some of them not having
received a paper dollar for near twelve months; exposed to winter’s
piercing cold, to drifting snows and chilling blasts, with no protection
but old worn-out coats, tattered linen overalls, and but one blanket
between three men. In this situation the enemy begin to work upon their
passions, and have found means to circulate some proclamations among
them.... The officers in general, as well as myself, find it necessary
to stand for hours every day exposed to wind and weather among the poor
naked fellows, while they are working at their huts and redoubts, often
assisting with our own hands, in order to produce a conviction to their
minds that we share, and more than share, every vicissitude in common
with them: sometimes asking to participate their bread and water. The
good effect of this conduct is very conspicuous, and prevents their
murmuring in public; but the delicate mind and eye of humanity are hurt,
very much hurt, at their visible distress and private complainings.”
How strongly are here depicted the trials to which the soldiers of the
Revolution were continually subjected. But the Pennsylvania line had an
additional grievance peculiar to themselves. Many of them had enlisted
to serve “for three years, or during war,” that is to say, for less than
three years should the war cease in less time. When, however, having
served for three years, they sought their discharge, the officers, loth
to lose such experienced soldiers, interpreted the terms of enlistment
to mean three years, or to the end of the war, should it continue for a
longer time.
This chicanery naturally produced great exasperation. It was heightened
by the conduct of a deputation from Pennsylvania, which, while it left
veteran troops unpaid, distributed gold by handfuls among raw six-month
levies, whose time was expiring, as bounties on their reënlisting for
the war.
The first day of the New Year arrived. The men were excited by an extra
allowance of ardent spirits. In the evening, at a preconcerted signal, a
great part of the Pennsylvania line, non-commissioned officers included,
turned out under arms, declaring their intention to march to
Philadelphia, and demand redress from Congress. Wayne endeavored to
pacify them; they were no longer to be pacified by words. He cocked his
pistol; in an instant their bayonets were at his breast. “We love, we
respect you,” cried they, “but you are a dead man if you fire. Do not
mistake us; we are not going to the enemy; were they now to come out,
you would see us fight under your orders with as much resolution and
alacrity as ever.”[53]
Their threat was not an idle one. In an attempt to suppress the mutiny
there was a bloody affray, in which numbers were wounded on both sides,
among whom were several officers. One captain was killed.
Three regiments which had taken no part in the mutiny were paraded under
their officers. The mutineers compelled them to join their ranks. Their
number being increased to about thirteen hundred, they seized upon six
field-pieces, and set out in the night for Philadelphia under command of
their sergeants.
Fearing the enemy might take advantage of this outbreak, Wayne detached
a Jersey brigade to Chatham, and ordered the militia to be called out
there. Alarm fires were kindled upon the hills; alarm guns boomed from
post to post; the country was soon on the alert.
Wayne was not “Mad Anthony” on the present occasion. All his measures
were taken with judgment and forecast. He sent provisions after the
mutineers, lest they should supply their wants from the country people
by force. Two officers of rank spurred to Philadelphia, to apprise
Congress of the approach of the insurgents, and put it upon its guard.
Wayne sent a dispatch with news of the outbreak to Washington; he then
mounted his horse, and accompanied by Colonels Butler and Stewart, two
officers popular with the troops, set off after the mutineers, either to
bring them to a halt, or to keep with them, and seek every occasion to
exert a favorable influence over them.
Washington received Wayne’s letter at his head-quarters at New Windsor
on the 3d of January. His first impulse was to set out at once for the
insurgent camp. Second thoughts showed the impolicy of such a move.
Before he could overtake the mutineers, they would either have returned
to their duty, or their affair would be in the hands of Congress. How
far, too, could his own troops be left with safety, distressed as they
were for clothing and provisions? Beside, the navigation of the Hudson
was still open; should any disaffection appear in the neighboring
garrison of West Point the British might send up an expedition from New
York to take advantage of it. Under these circumstances, he determined
to continue at New Windsor.
He wrote to Wayne, however, approving of his intention to keep with the
troops, and improve every favorable interval of passion. His letter
breathes that paternal spirit with which he watched over the army; and
that admirable moderation mingled with discipline with which he managed
and moulded their wayward moods. “Opposition,” said he, “as it did not
succeed in the first instance, cannot be effectual while the men remain
together, but will keep alive resentment, and may tempt them to turn
about and go in a body to the enemy; who, by their emissaries, will use
every argument and means in their power to persuade them that it is
their only asylum; which if they find their passage stopped at the
Delaware, and hear that the Jersey militia are collecting in their rear,
they may think but too probable. I would, therefore, recommend it to you
to cross the Delaware with them, draw from them what they conceive to be
their principal grievances, and promise faithfully to represent to
Congress and to the State the substance of them, and endeavor to obtain
a redress. If they could be stopped at Bristol or Germantown, the
better. I look upon it, that if you can bring them to a negotiation,
matters may be afterwards accommodated; but that an attempt to reduce
them by force will either drive them to the enemy, or dissipate them in
such a manner that they will never be recovered.”
How clearly one reads in this letter that temperate and magnanimous
spirit which moved over the troubled waters of the Revolution, allayed
the fury of the storms, and controlled everything into place.
Having visited the Highland posts of the Hudson, and satisfied himself
of the fidelity of the garrisons, Washington ordered a detachment of
eleven hundred men to be ready to march at a moment’s warning. General
Knox, also, was dispatched by him to the Eastern States, to represent to
their governments the alarming crisis produced by a long neglect of the
subsistence of the army and to urge them to send on immediately money,
clothing, and other supplies for their respective lines.
In the mean time, as Washington had apprehended, Sir Henry Clinton
received intelligence at New York of the mutiny, and hastened to profit
by it. Emissaries were dispatched to the camp of the mutineers holding
out offers of pardon, protection, and ample pay, if they would return to
their allegiance to the crown. On the 4th of January, although the rain
poured in torrents, troops and cannon were hurried on board of vessels
of every description, and transported to Staten Island, Sir Henry
accompanying them. There they were to be held in readiness, either to
land at Amboy in the Jerseys, should the revolters be drawn in that
direction, or to make a dash at West Point, should the departure of
Washington leave that post assailable.
General Wayne and his companions, colonels Butler and Stewart, had
overtaken the insurgent troops on the 3d of January, at Middlebrook.
They were proceeding in military form, under the control of a
self-constituted board of sergeants whose orders were implicitly obeyed.
A sergeant-major, who had formerly deserted from the British army, had
the general command.
Conferences were held by Wayne with sergeants delegated from each
regiment. They appeared to be satisfied with the mode and promises of
redress held out to them: but the main body of the mutineers persisted
in revolt, and proceeded on the next day to Princeton. Wayne hoped they
might continue further on, and would gladly have seen them across the
Delaware, beyond the influence of the enemy; but their leaders clung to
Princeton, lest in further movements they might not be able to keep
their followers together. Their proceedings continued to be orderly;
military forms were still observed; they obeyed their leaders, behaved
well to the people of the country, and committed no excesses.
General Wayne and colonels Butler and Stewart remained with them in an
equivocal position, popular, but without authority, and almost in
durance. The insurgents professed themselves still ready to march under
them against the enemy, but would permit none other of their former
officers to come among them. The Marquis de Lafayette, General St.
Clair, and Colonel Laurens, the newly-appointed minister to France,
arrived at the camp and were admitted; but afterwards were ordered away
at a short notice.
The news of the revolt caused great consternation in Philadelphia. A
committee of Congress set off to meet the insurgents, accompanied by
Reed, the president of Pennsylvania, and one or two other officers, and
escorted by a city troop of horse. The committee halted at Trenton,
whence President Reed wrote to Wayne requesting a personal interview at
four o’clock in the afternoon, at four miles’ distance from Princeton.
Wayne was moreover told to inform the troops, that he (Reed) would be
there to receive any propositions from them, and redress any injuries
they might have sustained; but that after the indignities they had
offered to the marquis and General St. Clair, he could not venture to
put himself in their power.
Wayne, knowing that the letter was intended for his troops more than for
himself, read it publicly on the parade. It had a good effect upon the
sergeants and many of the men. The idea that the president of their
State should have to leave the seat of government and stoop to treat
with them, touched their sectional pride and their home feelings. They
gathered round the horseman who had brought the letter, and inquired
anxiously whether President Reed was unkindly disposed towards them;
intimating privately their dislike to the business in which they were
engaged.
Still, it was not thought prudent for President Reed to trust himself
within their camp. Wayne promised to meet him on the following day
(7th), though it seemed uncertain whether he was master of himself, or
whether he was not a kind of prisoner. Tidings had just been received of
the movements of Sir Henry Clinton, and of tempting overtures he
intended to make, and it was feared the men might listen to them. Three
of the light horse were sent in the direction of Amboy to keep a
look-out for any landing of the enemy.
At this critical juncture, two of Sir Henry’s emissaries arrived in the
camp, and delivered to the leaders of the malcontents, a paper
containing his seductive proposals and promises. The mutineers, though
openly arrayed in arms against their government, spurned at the idea of
turning “Arnolds,” as they termed it. The emissaries were seized and
conducted to General Wayne, who placed them in confinement, promising
that they should be liberated, should the pending negotiation fail.
This incident had a great effect in inspiring hope of the ultimate
loyalty of the troops; and the favorable representations of the temper
of the men, made by General Wayne in a personal interview, determined
President Reed to venture among them. The consequences of their
desertion to the enemy were too alarming to be risked. “I have but one
life to lose,” said he, “and my country has the first claim to it.”[54]
As he approached Princeton with his suite, he found guards regularly
posted, who turned out and saluted him in military style. The whole line
was drawn out under arms near the college, and the artillery on the
point of firing a salute. He prevented it, lest it should alarm the
country. It was a hard task for him to ride along the line as if
reviewing troops regularly organized; but the crisis required some
sacrifice of the kind. The sergeants were all in the places of their
respective officers, and saluted the president as he passed; never were
mutineers more orderly and decorous.
The propositions now offered to the troops were: To discharge all those
who had enlisted indefinitely for three years or during the war; the
fact to be inquired into by three commissioners appointed by the
executive—where the original enlistment could not be produced in
evidence, the oath of the soldier to suffice.
To give immediate certificates for the deficit in their pay caused by
the depreciation of the currency, and the arrearages to be settled as
soon as circumstances would permit.
To furnish them immediately with certain specified articles of clothing
which were most wanted.
These propositions proving satisfactory, the troops set out for Trenton,
where the negotiation was concluded.
Most of the artillerists and many of the infantry obtained their
discharges; some on their oaths, others on account of the vague terms
under which they had been enlisted; forty days furlough was given to the
rest, and thus, for a time, the whole insurgent force was dissolved.
The two spies who had tampered with the fidelity of the troops, were
tried by a court-martial, found guilty, and hanged at the cross-roads
near Trenton. A reward of fifty guineas each, was offered to two
sergeants who had arrested and delivered them up. They declined
accepting it, saying they had merely acted by order of the board of
sergeants. The hundred guineas were then offered to the board. Their
reply is worthy of record. “It was not,” said they, “for the sake or
through any expectation of reward, but for the love of our country, that
we sent the spies immediately to General Wayne; we therefore do not
consider ourselves entitled to any other reward but the love of our
country, and do jointly agree to accept of no other.”
The accommodation entered into with the mutineers of the Pennsylvania
line appeared to Washington of doubtful policy, and likely to have a
pernicious effect on the whole army. His apprehensions were soon
justified by events. On the night of the 20th of January, a part of the
Jersey troops, stationed at Pompton, rose in arms claiming the same
terms just yielded to the Pennsylvanians. For a time, it was feared the
revolt would spread throughout the line.
Sir Henry Clinton was again on the alert. Troops were sent to Staten
Island to be ready to cross into the Jerseys, and an emissary was
dispatched to tempt the mutineers with seductive offers.
In this instance, Washington adopted a more rigorous course than in the
other. The present insurgents were not so formidable in point of numbers
as the Pennsylvanians; the greater part of them, also, were foreigners,
for whom he felt less sympathy than for native troops. He was convinced,
too, of the fidelity of the troops under his immediate command, who were
from the Eastern States. A detachment from the Massachusetts line was
sent under Major-general Howe, who was instructed to compel the
mutineers to unconditional submission; to grant them no terms while in
arms, or in a state of resistance; and on their surrender, instantly to
execute a few of the most active and incendiary leaders. “You will also
try,” added he, “to avail yourself of the services of the militia,
representing to them how dangerous to civil liberty, is the precedent of
armed soldiers dictating to their country.”
His orders were punctually obeyed, and were crowned with complete
success. Howe had the good fortune, after a tedious night march, to
surprise the mutineers napping in their huts just at daybreak. Five
minutes only were allowed them to parade without their arms and give up
the ringleaders. This was instantly complied with, and two of them were
executed on the spot. Thus the mutiny was quelled, the officers resumed
their command, and all things were restored to order.[55]
Thus terminated an insurrection, which, for a time, had spread alarm
among the friends of American liberty, and excited the highest hopes of
its foes. The circumstances connected with it had ultimately a
beneficial effect in strengthening the confidence of those friends, by
proving that, however the Americans might quarrel with their own
government, nothing could again rally them under the royal standard.
A great cause of satisfaction to Washington was the ratification of the
articles of confederation between the States, which took place not long
after this agitating juncture. A set of articles had been submitted to
Congress by Dr. Franklin, as far back as 1775. A form had been prepared
and digested by a committee in 1776, and agreed upon, with some
modifications, in 1777, but had ever since remained in abeyance, in
consequence of objections made by individual States. The confederation
was now complete, and Washington, in a letter to the President of
Congress, congratulated him and the body over which he presided, on an
event long wished for, and which he hoped would have the happiest
effects upon the politics of this country, and be of essential service
to our cause in Europe.
It was, after all, an instrument far less efficacious than its advocates
had anticipated; but it served an important purpose in binding the
States together as a nation, and keeping them from falling asunder into
individual powers, after the pressure of external danger should cease to
operate.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XVII.
Expedition of Arnold into Virginia.—Buccaneering Ravages.—Checked
by Steuben.—Arnold at Portsmouth.—Congress resolves to form
Heads of Departments.—Hamilton suggested by Sullivan for
Department of Finance.—High Opinion of him expressed by
Washington.—Misunderstanding between Hamilton and the
Commander-in-chief.
The armament with which Arnold boasted he was “to shake the continent,”
met with that boisterous weather which often rages along our coast in
the winter. His ships were tempest-tost and scattered, and half of his
cavalry horses and several of his guns had to be thrown overboard. It
was the close of the year when he anchored in the Chesapeake.
Virginia, at the time, was almost in a defenseless state. Baron Steuben,
who had the general command there, had recently detached such of his
regular troops as were clothed and equipped, to the South, to reinforce
General Greene. The remainder, five or six hundred in number, deficient
in clothing, blankets, and tents, were scarcely fit to take the field,
and the volunteers and militia lately encamped before Portsmouth, had
been disbanded. Governor Jefferson, on hearing of the arrival of the
fleet, called out the militia from the neighboring counties; but few
could be collected on the spur of the moment, for the whole country was
terror-stricken and in confusion. Having land and sea forces at his
command, Arnold opened the new year with a buccaneering ravage.
Ascending James River with some small vessels which he had captured, he
landed on the fourth of January with nine hundred men at Westover, about
twenty-five miles below Richmond, and pushed for the latter place, at
that time little more than a village, though the metropolis of Virginia.
Halting for the night within twelve miles of it, he advanced on the
following day with as much militia parade as possible, so as to strike
terror into a military patrol, which fled back to Richmond, reporting
that a British force, fifteen hundred strong, was at hand.
It was Arnold’s hope to capture the governor; but the latter, after
providing for the security of as much as possible of the public stores,
had left Richmond the evening before on horseback to join his family at
Tuckahoe, whence, on the following day, he conveyed them to a place of
safety. Governor Jefferson got back by noon to Manchester, on the
opposite side of James River, in time to see Arnold’s marauders march
into the town. Many of the inhabitants had fled to the country; some
stood terrified spectators on the hills; not more than two hundred men
were in arms for the defense of the place; these, after firing a few
volleys, retreated to Richmond and Shockoe Hills, whence they were
driven by the cavalry, and Arnold had possession of the capital. He sent
some of the citizens to the governor, offering to spare the town,
provided his ships might come up James River to be laden with tobacco
from the warehouses. His offer was indignantly rejected, whereupon fire
was set to the public edifices, stores, and workshops; private houses
were pillaged, and a great quantity of tobacco consumed.
While this was going on, Colonel Simcoe had been detached to Westham,
six miles up the river, where he destroyed a cannon foundry and sacked a
public magazine; broke off the trunnions of the cannon, and threw into
the river the powder which he could not carry away, and, after effecting
a complete devastation, rejoined Arnold at Richmond, which during the
ensuing night resounded with the drunken orgies of the soldiery.
Having completed his ravage at Richmond, Arnold reëmbarked at Westover
and fell slowly down the river, landing occasionally to burn, plunder,
and destroy; pursued by Steuben with a few continental troops and all
the militia that he could muster. General Nelson, also, with similar
levies opposed him. Lower down the river some skirmishing took place, a
few of Arnold’s troops were killed and a number wounded, but he made his
way to Portsmouth, opposite Norfolk, where he took post on the 20th of
January, and proceeded to fortify.
Steuben would have attempted to drive him from this position, but his
means were totally inadequate. Collecting from various parts of the
country all the force that could be mustered, he so disposed it at
different points as to hem the traitor in, prevent his making further
incursions, and drive him back to his intrenchments should he attempt
any.
Governor Jefferson returned to Richmond after the enemy had left it, and
wrote thence to the commander-in-chief an account of this ravaging
incursion of “the parricide Arnold.” It was mortifying to Washington to
see so inconsiderable a party committing such extensive depredations
with impunity, but it was his opinion that their principal object was to
make a diversion in favor of Cornwallis; and as the evils to be
apprehended from Arnold’s predatory incursions were not to be compared
with the injury to the common cause and the danger to Virginia in
particular, which would result from the conquest of the States to the
southward, he adjured Jefferson not to permit attention to immediate
safety so to engross his thoughts as to divert him from measures for
reinforcing the southern army.
About this time an important resolution was adopted in Congress.
Washington had repeatedly, in his communications to that body,
attributed much of the distresses and disasters of the war to the
congressional mode of conducting business through committees and
“boards” thus causing irregularity and delay, preventing secrecy and
augmenting expense. He was greatly rejoiced, therefore, when Congress
decided to appoint heads of departments; secretaries of foreign affairs,
of war and of marine, and a superintendent of finance. “I am happy,
thrice happy, on private as well as public account,” writes he, “to find
that these are in train. For it will ease my shoulders of an immense
burthen, which the deranged and perplexed situation of our affairs, and
the distresses of every department of the army, had placed upon them.”
General Sullivan, to whom this was written, and who was in Congress, was
a warm friend of Washington’s aide-de-camp, Colonel Hamilton, and he
sounded the commander-in-chief as to the qualifications of the colonel
to take charge of the department of finance. “I am unable to answer,”
replied Washington, “because I never entered upon a discussion with him,
but this I can venture to advance, from a thorough knowledge of him,
that there are few men to be found of his age, who have more general
knowledge than he possesses; and none whose soul is more firmly engaged
in the cause, or who exceeds him in probity and sterling virtue.”
This was a warm eulogium for one of Washington’s circumspect character,
but it was sincere. Hamilton had been four years in his military family,
and always treated by him with marked attention and regard. Indeed, it
had surprised many to see so young a man admitted like a veteran into
his counsels. It was but a few days after Washington had penned the
eulogium just quoted, when a scene took place between him and the man he
had praised so liberally, that caused him deep chagrin. We give it as
related by Hamilton himself, in a letter to General Schuyler, one of
whose daughters he had recently married.
“An unexpected change has taken place in my situation,” writes Hamilton
(February 18) “I am no longer a member of the general’s family. This
information will surprise you, and the manner of the change will
surprise you more. Two days ago the general and I passed each other on
the stairs: he told me he wanted to speak to me. I answered that I would
wait on him immediately. I went below and delivered Mr. Tilghman a
letter to be sent to the commissary, containing an order of a pressing
and interesting nature.
“Returning to the general, I was stopped on the way by the Marquis de
Lafayette, and we conversed together about a minute on a matter of
business. He can testify how impatient I was to get back, and that I
left him in a manner which, but for our intimacy, would have been more
than abrupt. Instead of finding the general, as is usual, in his room, I
met him at the head of the stairs, where, accosting me in an angry tone,
‘Colonel Hamilton (said he), you have kept me waiting at the head of the
stairs these ten minutes;—I must tell you, sir, you treat me with
disrespect.’ I replied, without petulancy, but with decision, ‘I am not
conscious of it, sir; but since you have thought it necessary to tell me
so, we part.’ ‘Very well, sir (said he), if it be your choice,’ or
something to this effect, and we separated. I sincerely believe my
absence, which gave so much umbrage, did not last two minutes.
“In less than an hour after, Tilghman came to me in the general’s name,
assuring me of his great confidence in my abilities, integrity,
usefulness, etc., and of his desire, in a candid conversation, to heal a
difference which could not have happened but in a moment of passion. I
requested Mr. Tilghman to tell him,—1st. That I had taken my resolution
in a manner not to be revoked. 2d. That as a conversation could serve no
other purpose than to produce explanations, mutually disagreeable,
though I certainly would not refuse an interview, if he desired it, yet
I would be happy, if he would permit me to decline it. 3d. That though
determined to leave the family, the same principles which had kept me so
long in it, would continue to direct my conduct towards him when out of
it. 4th. That, however, I did not wish to distress him, or the public
business, by quitting him before he could derive other assistance by the
return of some of the gentlemen who were absent. 5th. And that, in the
mean time, it depended on him to let our behavior to each other be the
same as if nothing had happened. He consented to decline the
conversation, and thanked me for my offer of continuing my aid in the
manner I had mentioned.
“I have given you so particular a detail of our difference, from the
desire I have to justify myself in your opinion. Perhaps you may think I
was precipitate in rejecting the overture made by the general to an
accommodation. I assume you, my dear sir, it was not the effect of
resentment; it was the deliberate result of maxims I had long formed for
the government of my own conduct.”
In considering this occurrence, as stated by Hamilton himself, we think
he was in the wrong. His hurrying past the general on the stairs without
pausing, although the latter expressed a wish to speak with him; his
giving no reason for his haste, which, however “pressing” the letter he
had to deliver, he could have spared at least a moment to do; his
tarrying below to talk with the Marquis de Lafayette, the general all
this time remaining at the head of the stairs, had certainly an air of
great disrespect, and we do not wonder that the commander-in-chief was
deeply offended at being so treated by his youthful aide-de-camp. His
expression of displeasure was measured and dignified, however irritated
he may have been, and such an explanation, at least, was due to him, as
Hamilton subsequently rendered to General Schuyler, through a desire to
justify himself in that gentleman’s opinion. The reply of Hamilton, on
the contrary, savored very much of petulance, however devoid he may have
considered it of that quality, and his avowed determination “to part,”
simply because taxed by the general with want of respect, was singularly
curt and abrupt.
Washington’s subsequent overture, intended to soothe the wounded
sensitiveness of Hamilton and soften the recent rebuke, by assurances of
unaltered confidence and esteem, strikes us as in the highest degree
noble and gracious, and furnishes another instance of that magnanimity
which governed his whole conduct. We trust that General Schuyler, in
reply to Hamilton’s appeal, intimated that he had indeed been
precipitate in rejecting such an overture.
The following passage in Hamilton’s letter to Schuyler, gives the real
key to his conduct on this occasion.
“I always disliked the office of an aide-de-camp, as having in it a kind
of personal dependence. I refused to serve in this capacity with two
major-generals, at an early period of the war. Infected, however, with
the enthusiasm of the times, an idea of the general’s character overcame
my scruples, and induced me to accept his invitation to enter into his
family.... It has been often with great difficulty that I have prevailed
on myself not to renounce it; but while, from motives of public utility,
I was doing violence to my feelings, I was always determined, if there
should ever happen a breach between us, never to consent to an
accommodation. I was persuaded that when once that nice barrier which
marked the boundaries of what we owed to each other should be thrown
down, it might be propped again, but could never be restored.”
Hamilton, in fact, had long been ambitious of an independent position,
and of some opportunity, as he said, “to raise his character above
mediocrity.” When an expedition by Lafayette against Staten Island had
been meditated in the autumn of 1780, he had applied to the
commander-in-chief, through the marquis, for the command of a battalion,
which was without a field officer. Washington had declined on the ground
that giving him a whole battalion might be a subject of dissatisfaction,
and that, should any accident happen to him in the actual state of
affairs at head-quarters, the commander-in-chief would be embarrassed
for want of his assistance.
He had next been desirous of the post of adjutant-general, which Colonel
Alexander Scammel was about to resign, and was recommended for that
office by Lafayette and Greene, but, before their recommendations
reached Washington, he had already sent in to Congress the name of
Brigadier-general Hand, who received the nomination.
These disappointments may have rendered Hamilton doubtful of his being
properly appreciated by the commander-in-chief; impaired his devotion to
him, and determined him, as he says, “if there should ever happen a
breach between them, never to consent to an accommodation.” It almost
looks as if, in his high-strung and sensitive mood, he had been on the
watch for an offense, and had grasped at the shadow of one.
Some short time after the rupture had taken place, Washington received a
letter from Lafayette, then absent in Virginia, in which the marquis
observes “Considering the footing I am upon with your Excellency, it
would, perhaps, appear strange to you, that I never mentioned a
circumstance which lately happened in your family. I was the first who
knew of it, and from that moment exerted every means in my power to
prevent a separation, which I knew was not agreeable to your Excellency.
To this measure I was prompted by affection to you; but I thought it was
improper to mention anything about it, until you were pleased to impart
it to me.”
The following was Washington’s reply: “The event, which you seem to
speak of with regret, my friendship for you would most assuredly have
induced me to impart to you the moment it happened, had it not been for
the request of Hamilton, who desired that no mention should be made of
it. Why this injunction on me, while he was communicating it himself, is
a little extraordinary. But I complied, and religiously fulfilled it.”
We are happy to add, that though a temporary coolness took place between
the commander-in-chief and his late favorite aide-de-camp, it was but
temporary. The friendship between these illustrious men was destined to
survive the Revolution, and to signalize itself through many eventful
years, and stands recorded in the correspondence of Washington almost at
the last moment of his life.[56]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XVIII.
Cornwallis prepares to invade North Carolina.—Tarleton sent against
Morgan.—Battle at Cowpens.— Morgan pushes for the Catawba with
Spoils and Prisoners.—Cornwallis endeavors to intercept him.—The
Rising of the River.—Cornwallis at Ramsour’s Mills.
The stress of war, as Washington apprehended, was at present shifted to
the South. In a former chapter, we left General Greene, in the latter
part of December, posted with one division of his army on the east side
of the Pedee River in North Carolina, having detached General Morgan
with the other division, one thousand strong, to take post near the
confluence of the Pacolet and Broad rivers in South Carolina.
Cornwallis lay encamped about seventy miles to the southwest of Greene,
at Winnsborough in Fairfield district. General Leslie had recently
arrived at Charleston from Virginia, and was advancing to reinforce him
with fifteen hundred men. This would give Cornwallis such a superiority
of force, that he prepared for a second invasion of North Carolina. His
plan was to leave Lord Rawdon at the central post of Camden with a
considerable body of troops to keep all quiet, while his lordship, by
rapid marches, would throw himself between Greene and Virginia, cut him
off from all reinforcements in that quarter, and oblige him either to
make battle with his present force, or retreat precipitately from North
Carolina, which would be disgraceful.[57] In either case Cornwallis
counted on a general rising of the royalists; a reëstablishment of regal
government in the Carolinas, and the clearing away of all impediments to
further triumphs in Virginia and Maryland.
By recent information, he learnt that Morgan had passed both the Catawba
and Broad rivers, and was about seventy miles to the northwest of him,
on his way to the district of Ninety six. As he might prove extremely
formidable if left in his rear, Tarleton was sent in quest of him, with
about three hundred and fifty of his famous cavalry, a corps of legion
and light infantry, and a number of the royal artillery with two
field-pieces; about eleven hundred choice troops in all. His
instructions were to pass Broad River for the protection of Ninety six,
and either to strike at Morgan and push him to the utmost; or to drive
him out of the country, so as to prevent his giving any trouble on that
side.
Cornwallis moved with his main force on the 12th of December, in a
northwest direction between the Broad River and the Catawba, leading
toward the back country. This was for the purpose of crossing the great
rivers at their fords near their sources; for they are fed by
innumerable petty streams which drain the mountains and are apt, in the
winter time, when storms of rain prevail, to swell and become impassable
below their forks. He took this route also, to cut off Morgan’s retreat,
or prevent his junction with Greene, should Tarleton’s expedition fail
of its object. General Leslie, whose arrival was daily expected, was to
move up along the eastern side of the Wateree and Catawba, keeping
parallel with his lordship and joining him above. Everything on the part
of Cornwallis was well planned, and seemed to promise him a successful
campaign.
Tarleton, after several days’ hard marching, came upon the traces of
Morgan, who was posted on the north bank of the Pacolet, to guard the
passes of that river. He sent word to Cornwallis of his intention to
force a passage across the river, and compel Morgan either to fight or
retreat, and suggested that his lordship should proceed up the eastern
bank of Broad River, so as to be at hand to coöperate. His lordship, in
consequence, took up a position at Turkey Creek, on Broad River.
Morgan had been recruited by North Carolina and Georgia militia, so that
his force was nearly equal in number to that of Tarleton, but in point
of cavalry and discipline, vastly inferior. Cornwallis, too, was on his
left, and might get in his rear; checking his impulse, therefore, to
dispute the passage of the Pacolet, he crossed that stream and retreated
towards the upper fords of Broad River.
Tarleton reached the Pacolet on the evening of the 15th, but halted on
observing some troops on the opposite bank. It was merely a party of
observation which Morgan had left there, but he supposed that officer to
be there in full force. After some maneuvering to deceive his adversary
he crossed the river before daylight at Easterwood shoals. There was no
opposition. Still he proceeded warily, until he learnt that Morgan,
instead of being in his neighborhood, was in full march toward Broad
River. Tarleton now pressed on in pursuit. At ten o’clock at night he
reached an encampment which Morgan had abandoned a few hours previously,
apparently in great haste, for the camp fires were still smoking, and
provisions had been left behind half cooked. Eager to come upon his
enemy while in the confusion of a hurried flight, Tarleton allowed his
exhausted troops but a brief repose, and, leaving his baggage under a
guard, resumed his dogged march about two o’clock in the night; tramping
forward through swamps and rugged broken grounds, round the western side
of Thickety Mountain. A little before daylight of the 17th, he captured
two videttes, from whom he learnt, to his surprise, that Morgan, instead
of a headlong retreat, had taken a night’s repose, and was actually
preparing to give him battle.
Morgan, in fact, had been urged by his officers to retreat across Broad
River, which was near by, and make for the mountainous country; but,
closely pressed as he was, he feared to be overtaken while fording the
river, and while his troops were fatigued, and in confusion; besides,
being now nearly equal in number to the enemy, military pride would not
suffer him to avoid a combat.
The place where he came to halt, was known in the early grants by the
name of Hannah’s Cowpens, being part of a grazing establishment of a man
named Hannah. It was in an open wood, favorable to the action of
cavalry. There were two eminences of unequal height, and separated from
each other by an interval about eighty yards wide. To the first
eminence, which was the highest, there was an easy ascent of about three
hundred yards. On these heights Morgan had posted himself. His flanks
were unprotected, and the Broad River, running parallel on his rear,
about six miles distant, and winding round on the left, would cut off
retreat, should the day prove unfortunate.
The ground, in the opinion of tacticians, was not well chosen; Morgan, a
veteran bush-fighter, vindicated it in after times in his own
characteristic way. “Had I crossed the river, one half of the militia
would have abandoned me. Had a swamp been in view, they would have made
for it. As to covering my wings, I knew the foe I had to deal with, and
that there would be nothing but downright fighting. As to a retreat, I
wished to cut off all hope of one. Should Tarleton surround me with his
cavalry, it would keep my troops from breaking away, and make them
depend upon their bayonets. When men are forced to fight, they will sell
their lives dearly.”
In arranging his troops for action, he drew out his infantry in two
lines. The first was composed of the North and South Carolina militia,
under Colonel Pickens, having an advanced corps of North Carolina and
Georgia volunteer riflemen. This line, on which he had the least
dependence, was charged to wait until the enemy were within dead shot;
then to take good aim, fire two volleys and fall back.
The second line, drawn up a moderate distance in the rear of the first,
and near the brow of the main eminence, was composed of Colonel Howard’s
light infantry and the Virginia riflemen; all Continental troops. They
were informed of the orders which had been given to the first line, lest
they should mistake their falling back for a retreat. Colonel Howard had
the command of this line, on which the greatest reliance was placed.
About a hundred and fifty yards in the rear of the second line, and on
the slope of the lesser eminence, was Colonel Washington’s troop of
cavalry, about eighty strong; with about fifty mounted Carolinian
volunteers, under Major McCall, armed with sabres and pistols.
British writers of the day gave Morgan credit for uncommon ability and
judgment in the disposition of his force; placing the militia, in whom
he had no great confidence, in full view on the edge of the wood, and
keeping his best troops out of sight, but drawn up in excellent order
and prepared for all events.[58]
It was about eight o’clock in the morning (January 17th), when Tarleton
came up. The position of the Americans seemed to him to give great
advantage to his cavalry, and he made hasty preparation for immediate
attack, anticipating an easy victory. Part of his infantry he formed
into a line, with dragoons on each flank. The rest of the infantry and
cavalry were to be a reserve, and to wait for orders.
There was a physical difference in the condition of the adverse troops.
The British were haggard from want of sleep and a rough night-tramp; the
Americans, on the contrary, were fresh from a night’s rest, invigorated
by a morning’s meal, and deliberately drawn up. Tarleton took no notice
of these circumstances, or disregarded them. Impetuous at all times, and
now confident of victory, he did not even wait until the reserve could
be placed, but led on his first line, which rushed shouting to the
attack. The North Carolina and Georgia riflemen in the advance,
delivered their fire with effect, and fell back to the flanks of
Pickens’s militia. These, as they had been instructed, waited until the
enemy were within fifty yards, and then made a destructive volley, but
soon gave way before the push of the bayonet. The British infantry
pushed up to the second line, while forty of their cavalry attacked it
on the right, seeking to turn its flank. Colonel Howard made a brave
stand, and for some time there was a bloody conflict; seeing himself,
however, in danger of being outflanked, he endeavored to change his
front to the right. His orders were misunderstood, and his troops were
falling into confusion, when Morgan rode up and ordered them to retreat
over the hill, where Colonel Washington’s cavalry were hurried forward
for their protection.
The British, seeing the troops retiring over the hill, rushed forward
irregularly in pursuit of what they deemed a routed foe. To their
astonishment, they were met by Colonel Washington’s dragoons, who
spurred on them impetuously, while Howard’s infantry, facing about, gave
them an effective volley of musketry, and then charged with the bayonet.
The enemy now fell into complete confusion. Some few artillerymen
attempted to defend their guns, but were cut down or taken prisoners,
and the cannon and colors captured. A panic seized upon the British
troops, aided no doubt by fatigue and exhaustion. A general flight took
place. Tarleton endeavored to bring his legion cavalry into action to
retrieve the day. They had stood aloof as a reserve, and now, infected
by the panic, turned their backs upon their commander, and galloped off
through the woods, riding over the flying infantry.
Fourteen of his officers, however, and forty of his dragoons, remained
true to him; with these he attempted to withstand the attack of
Washington’s cavalry, and a fierce mêlée took place; but on the approach
of Howard’s infantry Tarleton gave up all for lost, and spurred off with
his few but faithful adherents, trusting to the speed of their horses
for safety. They made for Hamilton’s Ford on Broad River, thence to seek
the army under Cornwallis.
The loss of the British in this action was ten officers and above one
hundred men killed, two hundred wounded, and between five and six
hundred rank and file made prisoners; while the Americans had but twelve
men killed and sixty wounded. The disparity of loss shows how complete
had been the confusion and defeat of the enemy. “During the whole period
of the war,” says one of their own writers, “no other action reflected
so much dishonor on the British arms.”[59]
The spoils taken by Morgan, according to his own account, were two
field-pieces, two standards, eight hundred muskets, one travelling
forge, thirty-five wagons, seventy negroes, upwards of one hundred
dragoon-horses, and all the music. The enemy, however, had destroyed
most of their baggage, which was immense.
Morgan did not linger on the field of battle. Leaving Colonel Pickens
with a body of militia under the protection of a flag, to bury the dead
and provide for the wounded of both armies, he set out the same day
about noon, with his prisoners and spoils. Lord Cornwallis, with his
main force, was at Turkey Creek, only twenty-five miles distant, and
must soon hear of the late battle. His object was to get to the Catawba
before he could be intercepted by his lordship, who lay nearer than he
did to the fords of that river. Before nightfall he crossed Broad River
at the Cherokee Ford, and halted for a few hours on its northern bank.
Before daylight of the 18th he was again on the march. Colonel
Washington, who had been in pursuit of the enemy, rejoined him in the
course of the day, as also did Colonel Pickens, who had left such of the
wounded as could not be moved, under the protection of the flag of
truce.
Still fearing that he might be intercepted before he could reach the
Catawba, he put his prisoners in charge of Colonel Washington and the
cavalry, with orders to move higher up into the country and cross the
main Catawba at the Island Ford; while he himself pushed forward for
that river by the direct route; thus to distract the attention of the
enemy should they be in pursuit, and to secure his prisoners from being
recaptured.
Cornwallis, on the eventful day of the 17th, was at his camp on Turkey
Creek, confidently waiting for tidings from Tarleton of a new triumph,
when, towards evening, some of his routed dragoons came straggling into
camp, haggard and forlorn, to tell the tale of his defeat. It was a
thunderstroke. Tarleton defeated! and by the rude soldier he had been so
sure of entrapping! It seemed incredible. It was confirmed, however, the
next morning, by the arrival of Tarleton himself, discomfited and
crest-fallen. In his account of the recent battle, he represented the
force under Morgan to be two thousand. This exaggerated estimate,
together with the idea that the militia would now be out in great force,
rendered his lordship cautious. Supposing that Morgan, elated by his
victory, would linger near the scene of his triumph, or advance toward
Ninety Six, Cornwallis remained a day or two at Turkey Creek to collect
the scattered remains of Tarleton’s forces, and wait the arrival of
General Leslie, whose march had been much retarded by the waters, but
who “was at last out of the swamps.”
On the 19th, having been rejoined by Leslie, his lordship moved towards
King’s Creek, and thence in the direction of King’s Mountain, until
informed of Morgan’s retreat toward the Catawba. Cornwallis now altered
his course in that direction, and, trusting that Morgan, encumbered, as
he supposed him to be, by prisoners and spoils, might be overtaken
before he could cross that river, detached a part of his force, without
baggage, in pursuit of him, while he followed on with the remainder.
Nothing, say the British chroniclers, could exceed the exertions of the
detachment; but Morgan succeeded in reaching the Catawba and crossing it
in the evening, just two hours before those in pursuit of him arrived on
its banks. A heavy rain came on and fell all night, and by daybreak the
river was so swollen as to be impassable.[60]
This sudden swelling of the river was considered by the Americans as
something providential. It continued for several days, and gave Morgan
time to send off his prisoners who had crossed several miles above, and
to call out the militia of Mecklenburg and Rowan counties to guard the
fords of the river.[61]
Lord Cornwallis had moved slowly with his main body. He was encumbered
by an immense train of baggage; the roads were through deep red clay,
and the country was cut up by streams and morasses. It was not until the
25th, that he assembled his whole force at Ramsour’s Mills, on the
Little Catawba, as the south fork of that river is called, and learnt
that Morgan had crossed the main stream. Now he felt the loss he had
sustained, in the late defeat of Tarleton, of a great part of his light
troops, which are the life and spirit of an army, and especially
efficient in a thinly-peopled country of swamps, and streams, and
forests, like that he was entangled in.
In this crippled condition, he determined to relieve his army of
everything that could impede rapid movement in his future operations.
Two days, therefore, were spent by him at Ramsour’s Mills, in destroying
all such baggage and stores as could possibly be spared. He began with
his own. His officers followed his example. Superfluities of all kinds
were sacrificed without flinching. Casks of wine and spirituous liquors
were staved: quantities even of provisions were sacrificed. No wagons
were spared but those laden with hospital stores, salt and ammunition,
and four empty ones, for the sick and wounded. The alacrity with which
these sacrifices of comforts, conveniences, and even necessaries, were
made, was honorable to both officers and men.[62]
The whole expedient was subsequently sneered at by Sir Henry Clinton, as
being “something too like a Tartar move;” but his lordship was preparing
for a trial of speed, where it was important to carry as light weight as
possible.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XIX.
Greene joins Morgan on the Catawba.—Adopts the Fabian Policy.—Movement
of Cornwallis to cross the Catawba.—Affair at McGowan’s
Ford.—Militia surprised by Tarleton at Tarrant’s Tavern.—Cornwallis
checked by the Rising of the Yadkin.—Contest of Skill and Speed of
the Two Armies in a March to the Banks of the Dan.
General Greene was gladdened by a letter from Morgan, written shortly
after his defeat of Tarleton, and transmitted the news to Washington
with his own generous comments. “The victory was complete,” writes he,
“and the action glorious. The brilliancy and success with which it was
fought, does the highest honor to the American arms, and adds splendor
to the character of the general and his officers. I must beg leave to
recommend them to your Excellency’s notice, and doubt not but from your
representation, Congress will receive pleasure from testifying their
approbation of their conduct.”
Another letter from Morgan, written on the 25th, spoke of the approach
of Cornwallis and his forces. “My numbers,” writes he, “are at this time
too weak to fight them. I intend to move towards Salisbury, to get near
the main army. I think it would be advisable to join our forces, and
fight them before they join Phillips, which they certainly will do if
they are not stopped.”
Greene had recently received intelligence of the landing of troops at
Wilmington, from a British squadron, supposed to be a force under
Arnold, destined to push up Cape Fear River, and coöperate with
Cornwallis; he had to prepare, therefore, not only to succor Morgan, but
to prevent this coöperation. He accordingly detached General Stevens
with his Virginia militia (whose term of service was nearly expired) to
take charge of Morgan’s prisoners, and conduct them to Charlottesville
in Virginia. At the same time he wrote to the governors of North
Carolina and Virginia, for all the aid they could furnish; to Steuben,
to hasten forward his recruits, and to Shelby, Campbell, and others, to
take arms once more, and rival their achievements at King’s Mountain.
This done, he left General Huger in command of the division on the
Pedee, with orders to hasten on by forced marches to Salisbury, to join
the other division: in the mean time he set off on horseback for
Morgan’s camp, attended merely by a guide, an aide-de-camp, and a
sergeant’s guard of dragoons. His object was to aid Morgan in assembling
militia and checking the enemy until the junction of his forces could be
effected. It was a hard ride of upwards of a hundred miles through a
rough country. On the last day of January he reached Morgan’s camp at
Sherrard’s Ford on the east side of the Catawba. The British army lay on
the opposite side of the river, but a few miles distant from it, and
appeared to be making preparations to force a passage across, as it was
subsiding, and would soon be fordable. Greene supposed Cornwallis had in
view a junction with Arnold at Cape Fear; he wrote, therefore, to
General Huger to hurry on, so that with their united forces they could
give his lordship a defeat before he could effect the junction. “_I am
not without hopes_,” writes he, “_of ruining Lord Cornwallis if he
persists in his mad scheme of pushing through the country_; and it is my
earnest desire to form a junction as early for this purpose as possible.
Desire Colonel Lee to force a march to join us. _Here is a fine field,
and great glory ahead._”
More correct information relieved him from the apprehension of a
coöperation of Arnold and Cornwallis. The British troops which landed at
Wilmington, were merely a small detachment sent from Charleston to
establish a military depot for the use of Cornwallis in his Southern
campaign. They had taken possession of Wilmington without opposition.
Greene now changed his plans. He was aware of the ill-provided state of
the British army, from the voluntary destruction of their wagons, tents,
and baggage. Indeed, when he first heard of this measure, on his
arriving at Sherrard’s Ford, he had exclaimed, “Then Cornwallis is
ours.” His plan now was to tempt the enemy continually with the prospect
of a battle, but continually to elude one; to harass them by a long
pursuit, draw them higher into the country, and gain time for the
division advancing under Huger to join him. It was the Fabian policy
that he had learnt under Washington, of whom he prided himself on being
a disciple.
As the subsiding of the Catawba would enable Cornwallis to cross, Greene
ordered Morgan to move off silently with his division, on the evening of
the 31st, and to press his march all night, so as to gain a good start
in advance, while he (Greene) would remain to bring on the militia, who
were employed to check the enemy. These militia, assembled from the
neighboring counties, did not exceed five hundred. Two hundred of them
were distributed at different fords; the remaining three hundred,
forming a corps of mounted riflemen under General Davidson, were to
watch the movements of the enemy, and attack him wherever he should make
his main attempt to cross. When the enemy should have actually crossed,
the different bodies of militia were to make the best of their way to a
rendezvous, sixteen miles distant, on the road to Salisbury, where
Greene would be waiting to receive them, and conduct their further
movements.
While these dispositions were being made by the American commander,
Cornwallis was preparing to cross the river. The night of the 31st was
chosen for the attempt. To divert the attention of the Americans, he
detached Colonels Webster and Tarleton with a part of the army to a
public ford called Beattie’s Ford, where he supposed Davidson to be
stationed. There they were to open a cannonade, and make a feint of
forcing a passage. The main attempt, however, was to be made six miles
lower down, at McGowan’s, a private and unfrequented ford, where little,
if any, opposition was anticipated.
Cornwallis set out for that ford, with the main body of his army, at one
o’clock in the morning. The night was dark and rainy. He had to make his
way through a wood and swamp where there was no road. His artillery
stuck fast. The line passed on without them. It was near daybreak by the
time the head of the column reached the ford. To their surprise, they
beheld numerous camp fires on the opposite bank. Word was hastily
carried to Cornwallis that the ford was guarded. It was so indeed:
Davidson was there with his riflemen.
His lordship would have waited for his artillery, but the rain was still
falling, and might render the river unfordable. At that place the
Catawba was nearly five hundred yards wide, about three feet deep, very
rapid, and full of large stones. The troops entered the river in
platoons, to support each other against the current, and were ordered
not to fire until they should gain the opposite bank. Colonel Hall, of
the light infantry of the guards, led the way; the grenadiers followed.
The noise of the water and the darkness covered their movements until
they were nearly half-way across, when they were descried by an American
sentinel. He challenged them three times, and receiving no answer,
fired. Terrified by the report, the man who was guiding the British
turned and fled. Colonel Hall, thus abandoned, led the way directly
across the river; whereas the true ford inclined diagonally further
down. Hall had to pass through deeper water, but he reached a part of
the bank where it was unguarded. The American pickets, too, which had
turned out at the alarm given by the sentinel, had to deliver a distant
and slanting fire. Still it had its effect. Three of the British were
killed, and thirty-six wounded. Colonel Hall pushed on gallantly, but
was shot down as he ascended the bank. The horse on which Cornwallis
rode was wounded, but the brave animal carried his lordship to the
shore, where he sank under him. The steed of Brigadier-general O’Hara
rolled over with him into the water, and General Leslie’s horse was
borne away by the tumultuous current and with difficulty recovered.
General Davidson hastened with his men towards the place where the
British were landing. The latter formed as soon as they found themselves
on firm ground, charged Davidson’s men before he had time to get them in
order, killed and wounded about forty, and put the rest to flight.
General Davidson was the last to leave the ground, and was killed just
as he was mounting his horse. When the enemy had effected the passage,
Tarleton was detached with his cavalry in pursuit of the militia, most
of whom dispersed to their homes. Eager to avenge his late disgrace, he
scoured the country, and made for Tarrant’s tavern, about ten miles
distant, where about a hundred of them had assembled from different
fords, on their way to the rendezvous, and were refreshing themselves.
As Tarleton came clattering upon them with his legion, they ran to their
horses, delivered a hasty fire, which emptied some of his saddles, and
then made for the woods; a few of the worst mounted were overtaken and
slain. Tarleton, in his account of his campaigns, made the number nearly
fifty; but the report of a British officer, who rode over the ground
shortly afterwards, reduced it to ten. The truth probably lay between.
The survivors were dispersed beyond rallying. Tarleton, satisfied with
his achievement, rejoined the main body. Had he scoured the country a
few miles further, General Greene and his suite might have fallen into
his hands.
The general, informed that the enemy had crossed the Catawba at
daybreak, awaited anxiously at the rendezvous the arrival of the
militia. It was not until after midnight that he heard of their utter
dispersion, and of the death of Davidson. Apprehending the rapid advance
of Cornwallis, he hastened to rejoin Morgan, who with his division was
pushing forward for the Yadkin, first sending orders to General Huger to
conduct the other division by the most direct route to Guilford
Court-house, where the forces were to be united. Greene spurred forward
through heavy rain and deep miry roads. It was a dreary ride and a
lonely one, for he had detached his aides-de-camp in different
directions, to collect the scattered militia. At mid-day he alighted,
weary and travel-stained, at the inn at Salisbury, where the army
physician who had charge of the sick and wounded prisoners received him
at the door, and inquired after his well-being. “Fatigued, hungry,
alone, and penniless,” was Greene’s heavy-hearted reply. The landlady,
Mrs. Elizabeth Steele, overheard his desponding words. While he was
seated at table, she entered the room, closed the door, and drawing from
under her apron two bags of money, which she had carefully hoarded in
those precarious times, “Take these,” said the noble hearted woman; “you
will want them, and I can do without them.” This is one of the
numberless instances of the devoted patriotism of our women during the
Revolution. Their patriotism was apt to be purer and more disinterested
than that of the men.
Cornwallis did not advance so rapidly as had been apprehended. After
crossing the Catawba, he had to wait for his wagons and artillery, which
had remained on the other side in the woods; so that by nightfall of the
1st of February he was not more than five miles on the road to
Salisbury. Eager to come up with the Americans, he mounted some of the
infantry upon the baggage horses, joined them to the cavalry, and sent
the whole forward under General O’Hara. They arrived on the banks of the
Yadkin at night, between the 2d and 3d of February, just in time to
capture a few wagons lingering in the rear of the American army, which
had passed. The riflemen who guarded them retreated after a short
skirmish There were no boats with which to cross; the Americans had
secured them on the other side. The rain which had fallen throughout the
day had overflooded the ford by which the American cavalry had passed.
The pursuers were again brought to a stand. After some doubt and delay,
Cornwalllis took his course up the south side of the Yadkin, and crossed
by what is still called the Shallow Ford, while Greene continued on
unmolested to Guilford Court-house, where he was joined by General Huger
and his division on the 9th.
Cornwallis was now encamped about twenty-five miles above them, at the
old Moravian town of Salem. Greene summoned a council of war (almost the
only time he was known to do so), and submitted the question whether or
not to offer battle. There was a unanimous vote in the negative. A
fourth part of the force was on the sick list, from nakedness and
exposure. The official returns gave but two thousand and thirty-six,
rank and file, fit for duty. Of these upwards of six hundred were
militia.
Cornwallis had from twenty-five hundred to three thousand men, including
three hundred cavalry, all thoroughly disciplined and well equipped. It
was determined to continue the retreat.
The great object of Greene now was to get across the river Dan and throw
himself into Virginia. With the reinforcements and assistance he might
there expect to find, he hoped to effect the salvation of the South, and
prevent the dismemberment of the Union. The object of Cornwallis was to
get between him and Virginia, force him to a combat before he could
receive those reinforcements, or enclose him in between the great rivers
on the west, the sea on the east, and the two divisions of the British
army under himself and Lord Rawdon on the north and south. His lordship
had been informed that the lower part of the Dan, at present, could only
be crossed in boats, and that the country could not afford a sufficient
number for the passage of Greene’s army; he trusted, therefore, to cut
him off from the upper part of the river, where alone it was fordable.
Greene, however, had provided against such a contingency. Boats had been
secured at various places by his agents, and could be collected at a few
hours’ notice at the lower ferries. Instead, therefore, of striving with
his lordship for the upper fords, Greene shaped his course for Boyd’s
and Irwin’s fords, just above the confluence of the Dan and Staunton
rivers which forms the Roanoke, and about seventy miles from Guilford
Court-house. This would give him twenty-five miles advantage of Lord
Cornwallis at the outset. General Kosciuszko was sent with a party in
advance to collect the boats and throw up breastworks at the ferries.
In ordering his march, General Greene took the lead with the main body,
the baggage, and stores. General Morgan would have had the command of
the rear-guard, composed of seven hundred of the most alert and active
troops, cavalry and light infantry; but, being disabled by a violent
attack of ague and rheumatism, it was given to Colonel Otho H. Williams
(formerly adjutant-general), who had with him Colonels Howard,
Washington, and Lee.
This corps, detached some distance in the rear, did infinite service.
Being lightly equipped, it could maneuver in front of the British line
of march, break down bridges, sweep off provisions, and impede its
progress in a variety of ways, while the main body moved forward
unmolested. It was now that Cornwallis most felt the severity of the
blow he had received at the battle of the Cowpens in the loss of his
light troops, having so few to cope with the élite corps under Williams.
Great abilities were shown by the commanders on either side in this
momentous trial of activity and skill. It was a long and severe march
for both armies, through a wild and rough country, thinly peopled, cut
up by streams, partly covered by forests, along deep and frozen roads,
under drenching rains, without tents at night, and with scanty supplies
of provisions. The British suffered the least, for they were well
equipped and comfortably clad; whereas the poor Americans were badly off
for clothing, and many of them without shoes. The patriot armies of the
Revolution, however, were accustomed in their winter marches to leave
evidences of their hardships in bloody footprints.
We forbear to enter into the details of this masterly retreat, the many
stratagems and maneuvers of the covering party to delay and hoodwink the
enemy. Tarleton himself bears witness in his narrative, that every
measure of the Americans was judiciously designed and vigorously
executed. So much had Cornwallis been misinformed at the outset as to
the means below of passing the river, and so difficult was, it from want
of light troops, to gain information while on the march, that he pushed
on in the firm conviction that he was driving the American army into a
trap and would give it a signal blow before it could cross the Dan.
In the mean time, Greene, with the main body, reached the banks of the
river, and succeeded in crossing over with ease in the course of a
single day at Boyd’s and Irwin’s ferries, sending back word to Williams,
who with his covering party was far in the rear. That intelligent
officer encamped, as usual, in the evening, at a wary distance in front
of the enemy, but stole a march upon them after dark, leaving his camp
fires burning. He pushed on all night, arrived at the ferry in the
morning of the 15th, having marched forty miles within the last four and
twenty hours; and made such dispatch in crossing, that his last troops
had landed on the Virginia shore by the time the astonished enemy
arrived on the opposite bank. Nothing, according to their own avowal,
could surpass the grief and vexation of the British at discovering, on
their arrival at Boyd’s Ferry, “that all their toils and exertions had
been vain, and that all their hopes were frustrated.”[63]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XX.
Cornwallis takes post at Hillsborough.—His Proclamation.—Greene
recrosses the Dan.—Country scoured by Lee and Pickens.—Affair with
Colonel Pyle.—Maneuvers of Cornwallis to bring Greene to
Action.—Battle of Guilford court-house.—Greene retreats to
Troublesome Creek.—Cornwallis marches toward Cape Fear.—Greene
pursues him.—Is brought to a stand at Deep River.—Determines to Face
About and carry the War into South Carolina.—Cornwallis marches for
Virginia.
For a day the two armies lay panting within sight of each other on the
opposite banks of the river, which had put an end to the race. In a
letter to Thomas Jefferson, dated the day of the crossing, Greene
writes: “On the Dan River, almost fatigued to death, having had a
retreat to conduct of upwards of two hundred miles, maneuvering
constantly in the face of the enemy to give time for the militia to turn
out and get off our stores.” And to Washington he writes (Feb. 15),
“Lord Cornwallis has been at our heels from day to day ever since we
left Guilford, and our movements from thence to this place have been of
the most critical kind, having a river in our front and the enemy in our
rear. The miserable condition of the troops for clothing has rendered
the march the most painful imaginable, many hundred of the soldiers
tracking the ground with their bloody feet. Your feelings for the
sufferings of the soldier, had you been with us, would have been
severely tried.” He concludes by an honorable testimonial in their
favor: “Our army are in good spirits, notwithstanding their sufferings
and excessive fatigue.”
On the 16th, the river began to subside: the enemy might soon be able to
cross. Greene prepared for a further retreat by sending forward his
baggage on the road to Halifax, and securing the passage of the
Staunton. At Halifax he was resolved to make a stand, rather than suffer
the enemy to take possession of it without a struggle. Its situation on
the Roanoke would make it a strong position for their army, supported by
a fleet, and would favor their designs both on Virginia and the
Carolinas. With a view to its defense, intrenchments had already been
thrown up, under the direction of Kosciuszko.
Lord Cornwallis, however, did not deem it prudent, under present
circumstances, to venture into Virginia, where Greene would be sure of
powerful reinforcements. North Carolina was in a state of the utmost
disorder and confusion; he thought it better to remain in it for a time,
and profit by having compelled Greene to abandon it. After giving his
troops a day’s repose, therefore, he put them once more in motion on the
18th, along the road by which he had pursued Greene. The latter, who was
incessantly on the alert, was informed of this retrograde move, by a
preconcerted signal; the waving of a white handkerchief, under covert of
the opposite bank, by a female patriot.
This changed the game. Lee, with his legion, strengthened by two veteran
Maryland companies, and Pickens, with a corps of South Carolina militia,
all light troops, were transported across the Dan in the boats, with
orders to gain the front of Cornwallis, hover as near as safety would
permit, cut off his intercourse with the disaffected parts of the
country, and check the rising of the royalists. “If we can but delay him
for a day or two,” said Greene, “he must be ruined.” Greene, in the
meanwhile, remained with his main force on the northern bank of the Dan,
waiting to ascertain his lordship’s real designs, and ready to cross at
a moment’s warning.
The movements of Cornwallis, for a day or two, were of a dubious nature,
designed to perplex his opponents; on the 20th, however, he took post at
Hillsborough. Here he erected the royal standard, and issued a
proclamation, stating that, whereas it had pleased Divine Providence to
prosper the operations of His Majesty’s arms in driving the rebel army
out of the province, he invited all his loyal subjects to hasten to this
standard with their arms and ten days’ provisions, to assist in
suppressing the remains of rebellion, and reëstablishing good order and
constitutional government.
By another instrument, all who could raise independent companies were
called upon to give in their names at head-quarters, and a bounty in
money and lands was promised to those who should enlist under them. The
companies thus raised were to be formed into regiments.
These sounding appeals produced but little effect on the people of the
surrounding districts. Many hundreds, says Tarleton, rode into the camp
to talk over the proclamation, inquire the news of the day, and take a
view of the king’s troops. The generality seemed desirous of peace, but
averse from any exertion to procure it. They acknowledged that the
Continentals had been chased out of the province, but apprehended they
would soon return. “Some of the most zealous,” adds he, “promised to
raise companies, and even regiments; but their followers and dependents
were slow to enlist.” Tarleton himself was forthwith detached with the
cavalry and a small body of infantry, to a region of country lying
between the Haw and Deep rivers, to bring on a considerable number of
loyalists who were said to be assembling there.
Rumor, in the mean time, had magnified the effect of his lordship’s
proclamations. Word was brought to Greene, that the tories were flocking
from all quarters to the royal standard. Seven companies, it was said,
had been raised in a single day. At this time the reinforcements to the
American camp had been little more than six hundred Virginia militia,
under General Stevens. Greene saw that at this rate, if Cornwallis were
allowed to remain undisturbed, he would soon have complete command of
North Carolina; he boldly determined, therefore, to recross the Dan at
all hazards with the scanty force at his command, and give his lordship
check. In this spirit he broke up his camp and crossed the river on the
23d.
In the mean time, Lee and Pickens, who were scouting the country about
Hillsborough, received information of Tarleton’s recruiting expedition
to the region between the Haw and deep Rivers. There was no foe they
were more eager to cope with; and they resolved to give him a surprise.
Having forded the Haw one day about noon, they learnt from a countryman
that Tarleton was encamped about three miles off, that his horses were
unsaddled, and that everything indicated confident security. They now
pushed on under covert of the woods, prepared to give the bold partisan
a blow after his own fashion. Before they reached the place Tarleton had
marched on; they captured two of his staff, however, who had remained
behind, settling with the people of a farm-house for supplies furnished
to the detachment.
Being informed that Tarleton was to halt for the night at the distance
of six miles, they still trusted to surprise him. On the way, however,
they had an encounter with a body of three or four hundred mounted
royalists, armed with rifles, and commanded by a Colonel Pyle, marching
in quest of Tarleton. As Lee with his cavalry was in advance, he was
mistaken for Tarleton, and hailed with loyal acclamations. He favored
the mistake, and was taking measures to capture the royalists, when some
of them, seeing the infantry under Pickens, discovered their error and
fired upon the rear-guard. The cavalry instantly charged upon them;
ninety were cut down and slain, and a great number wounded: among the
latter was Colonel Pyle himself, who took refuge among thickets on the
borders of a piece of water which still bears his name. The Americans
alleged in excuse for the slaughter, that it was provoked by their being
attacked; and that the sabre was used, as a continued firing might alarm
Tarleton’s camp. We do not wonder, however, that British writers
pronounced it a massacre; though it was but following the example set by
Tarleton himself, in this ruthless campaign.
After all, Lee and Pickens missed the object of their enterprise. The
approach of night and the fatigue of their troops, made them defer their
attack upon Tarleton until morning. In the mean time, the latter had
received an express from Cornwallis, informing him that Greene had
passed the Dan, and ordering him to return to Hillsborough as soon as
possible. He hastened to obey. Lee with his legion was in the saddle
before daybreak; but Tarleton’s troops were already on the march. “The
legion,” writes Lee, “accustomed to night expeditions, had been in the
habit of using pine-torch for flambeau. Supplied with this, though the
morning was dark, the enemy’s trail was distinctly discovered, whenever
a divergency took place in his route.”
Before sunrise, however, Tarleton had forded the Haw, and “Light Horse
Harry” gave over the pursuit, consoling himself that though he had not
effected the chief object of his enterprise, a secondary one was
completely executed, which would repress the tory spirit just beginning
to burst forth. “Fortune,” writes he in his magniloquent way, “Fortune,
which sways so imperiously the affairs of war, demonstrated throughout
the operation its supreme control.[64] Nothing was omitted on the part
of the Americans, to give to the expedition the desired termination; but
the very bright prospects which for a time presented themselves, were
suddenly overcast;—the capricious goddess gave us Pyle and saved
Tarleton.”
The reappearance of Greene and his army in North Carolina, heralded by
the scourings of Lee and Pickens, disconcerted the schemes of Lord
Cornwallis. The recruiting service was interrupted. Many royalists who
were on the way to his camp returned home. Forage and provisions became
scarce in the neighborhood. He found himself, he said, “amongst timid
friends and adjoining to inveterate rebels.” On the 26th, therefore, he
abandoned Hillsborough, threw himself across the Haw, and encamped near
Alamance Creek, one of its principal tributaries, in a country favorable
to supplies and with a tory population. His position was commanding, at
the point of concurrence of roads from Salisbury, Guilford, High
Rockford, Cross Creek, and Hillsborough. It covered also the
communication with Wilmington, where a depot of military stores, so
important to his hard destitute army, had recently been established.
Greene, with his main army, took post about fifteen miles above him, on
the heights between Troublesome Creek and Reedy Fork, one of the
tributaries of the Haw. His plan was to cut the enemy off from the upper
counties, to harass him by skirmishes, but to avoid a general battle;
thus gaining time for the arrival of reinforcements daily expected. He
rarely lay more than two days in a place, and kept his light troops
under Pickens and Williams between him and the enemy; hovering about the
latter; intercepting his intelligence; attacking his foraging parties,
and striking at his flanks whenever exposed. Sharp skirmishes occurred
between them and Tarleton’s cavalry with various success. The country
being much of a wilderness, obliged both parties to be on the alert; but
the Americans, accustomed to bush-fighting, were not easily surprised.
On the 6th of March, Cornwallis, learning that the light troops under
Williams were very carelessly posted, put his army suddenly in motion,
and crossed the Alamance in a thick fog; with the design to beat up
their quarters, drive them in upon the main army, and bring Greene to
action should he come to their assistance. His movement was discovered
by the American patrols, and the alarm given. Williams hastily called in
his detachments, and retreated with his light troops across Reedy Fork,
while Lee with his legion maneuvered in front of the enemy. A stand was
made by the Americans at Wetzell’s Mill, but they were obliged to retire
with the loss of fifty killed and wounded. Cornwallis did not pursue;
evening was approaching, and he had failed in his main object; that of
bringing Greene to action. The latter, fixed in his resolve of avoiding
a conflict, had retreated across the Haw, in order to keep up his
communication with the roads by which he expected his supplies and
reinforcements. The militia of the country, who occasionally flocked to
his camp, were chiefly volunteers, who fell off after every skirmish,
“going home,” as he said, “to tell the news.” “At this time,” said he on
the 10th, “I have not above eight or nine hundred of them in the field;
yet there have been upwards of five thousand in motion in the course of
four weeks. A force fluctuating in this manner can promise but slender
hopes of success against an enemy in high discipline, and made
formidable by the superiority of their numbers. Hitherto, I have been
obliged to effect that by finesse which I dare not attempt by
force.”[65]
Greene had scarcely written this letter when the long expected
reinforcements arrived, having been hurried on by forced marches. They
consisted of a brigade of Virginia militia, under General Lawson, two
brigades of North Carolina militia under generals Butler and Eaton, and
four hundred regulars enlisted for eighteen months. His whole effective
force, according to official returns, amounted to four thousand two
hundred and forty-three foot, and one hundred and sixty-one cavalry. Of
his infantry, not quite two thousand were regulars, and of these,
three-fourths were new levies. His force nearly doubled in number that
of Cornwallis, which did not exceed two thousand four hundred men; but
many of Greene’s troops were raw and inexperienced, and had never been
in battle; those of the enemy were veterans schooled in warfare, and, as
it were, welded together by campaigning in a foreign land, where their
main safety consisted in standing by each other.
Greene knew the inferiority of his troops in this respect; his
reinforcements, too, fell far short of what he had been led to expect,
yet he determined to accept the battle which had so long been offered.
The corps of light troops, under Williams, which had rendered such
efficient service, was now incorporated with the main body, and all
detachments were ordered to assemble at Guilford, within eight miles of
the enemy, where he encamped on the 14th, sending his wagons and heavy
baggage to the Iron Works at Troublesome Creek, ten miles in his rear.
Cornwallis, from the difficulty of getting correct information, and from
Greene’s frequent change of position, had an exaggerated idea of the
American force, rating it as high as eight thousand men: still he
trusted in his well-seasoned veterans, and determined to attack Greene
in his encampment, now that he seemed disposed for a general action. To
provide against the possibility of a retreat, he sent his carriages and
baggage to Bell’s Mills, on Deep River, and set out at daybreak on the
15th, for Guilford.
Within four miles of that place, near the New Garden meeting-house,
Tarleton with the advanced guard of cavalry, infantry, and yagers, came
upon the American advanced guard, composed of Lee’s partisan legion, and
some mountaineers and Virginia militia. Tarleton and Lee were well
matched in military prowess, and the skirmish between them was severe.
Lee’s horses, being from Virginia and Pennsylvania, were superior in
weight and strength to those of his opponent, which had been chiefly
taken from plantations in South Carolina. The latter were borne down by
a charge in close column; several of their riders were dismounted, and
killed or taken prisoners. Tarleton, seeing that his weakly mounted men
fought to a disadvantage, sounded a retreat; Lee endeavored to cut him
off: a general conflict of the vanguards, horse and foot, ensued, when
the appearance of the main body of the enemy obliged Lee, in his turn,
to retire with precipitation.
During this time, Greene was preparing for action on a woody eminence, a
little more than a mile south of Guilford Court-House. The neighboring
country was covered with forest, excepting some cultivated fields about
the court-house, and along the Salisbury road, which passed through the
centre of the place, from south to north.
Greene had drawn out his troops in three lines. The first, composed of
North Carolina militia, volunteers and riflemen, under generals Butler
and Eaton, was posted behind a fence, with an open field in front, and
woods on the flanks and in the rear. About three hundred yards behind
this, was the second line, composed of Virginia militia, under generals
Stevens and Lawson, drawn up across the road, and covered by a wood. The
third line, about four hundred yards in the rear of the second, was
composed of Continental troops or regulars; those of Virginia under
General Huger on the right, those of Maryland under Colonel Williams on
the left. Colonel Washington with a body of dragoons, Kirkwood’s
Delaware infantry, and a battalion of Virginia militia, covered the
right flank; Lee’s legion, with the Virginia riflemen under Colonel
Campbell, covered the left. Two six-pounders were in the road, in
advance of the first line; two field-pieces with the rear line near the
court-house, where General Greene took his station.
About noon the head of the British army was descried advancing
spiritedly from the south along the Salisbury road, and defiling into
the fields. A cannonade was opened from the two six-pounders, in front
of the first American line. It was answered by the British artillery.
Neither produced much effect. The enemy now advanced coolly and steadily
in three columns; the Hessians and Highlanders under General Leslie, on
the right, the Royal Artillery and Guards in the centre, and Webster’s
brigade on the left. The North Carolinians, who formed the first line,
waited until the enemy were within one hundred and fifty yards, when,
agitated by their martial array and undaunted movement, they began to
fall into confusion; some fired off their pieces without taking aim;
others threw them down, and took to flight. A volley from the foe, a
shout, and a charge of the bayonet, completed their discomfiture. Some
fled to the woods, others fell back upon the Virginians, who formed the
second line. General Stevens, who commanded the latter, ordered his men
to open and let the fugitives pass, pretending that they had orders to
retire. He had taken care, however, to post forty riflemen in the rear
of his own line, with orders to fire upon any one who should leave his
post. Under his spirited command and example, the Virginians kept their
ground and fought bravely.
The action became much broken up and diversified by the extent of the
ground. The thickness of the woods impeded the movements of the cavalry.
The reserves on both sides were called up. The British bayonet again
succeeded; the second line gave way, and General Stevens, who had kept
the field for some time, after being wounded in the thigh by a musket
ball, ordered a retreat.
The enemy pressed with increasing ardor against the third line, composed
of Continental troops, and supported by Colonel Washington’s dragoons
and Kirkwood’s Delawares. Greene counted on these to retrieve the day.
They were regulars; they were fresh, and in perfect order. He rode along
the line, calling on them to stand firm, and give the enemy a warm
reception.
The first Maryland regiment which was on the right wing, was attacked by
Colonel Webster, with the British left. It stood the shock bravely, and
being seconded by some Virginia troops, and Kirkwood’s Delawares, drove
Webster across a ravine. The second Maryland regiment was not so
successful. Impetuously attacked by Colonel Stewart, with a battalion of
the Guards, and a company of grenadiers, it faltered, gave way, and
fled, abandoning two field-pieces, which were seized by the enemy.
Stewart was pursuing, when the first regiment, which had driven Webster
across the ravine, came to the rescue with fixed bayonets, while Colonel
Washington spurred up with his cavalry. The fight now was fierce and
bloody. Stewart was slain; the two field-pieces were retaken, and the
enemy in their turn gave way and were pursued with slaughter; a
destructive fire of grape-shot from the enemy’s artillery checked the
pursuit. Two regiments approached on the right and left; Webster
recrossed the ravine and fell upon Kirkwood’s Delawares. There was
intrepid fighting in different parts of the field; but Greene saw that
the day was lost; there was no retrieving the effect produced by the
first flight of the North Carolinians. Unwilling to risk the utter
destruction of his army, he directed a retreat, which was made in good
order, but they had to leave their artillery on the field, most of the
horses having been killed. About three miles from the field of action he
made a halt to collect stragglers, and then continued on to the place of
rendezvous at Speedwell’s Iron Works on Troublesome Creek.
The British were too much cut up and fatigued to follow up their
victory. Two regiments with Tarleton’s cavalry attempted a pursuit, but
were called back. Efforts were made to collect the wounded of both
armies, but they were dispersed over so wide a space, among woods and
thickets, that night closed before the task was accomplished. It was a
dismal night even to the victors; a night of unusual darkness, with
torrents of rain. The army was destitute of tents there were not
sufficient houses in the vicinity to receive the wounded; provisions
were scanty; many had tasted very little food for the last two days;
comforts were out of the question. Nearly fifty of the wounded sank
under their aggravated miseries, and expired before morning. The cries
of the disabled and dying, who remained on the field of battle, during
the night, exceeded all description. Such a complicated scene of horror
and distress, adds the British writer, whose words we quote, it is
hoped, for the sake of humanity rarely occurs, even in military
life.[66]
The loss of the Americans in this hard-fought affair, was never fully
ascertained. Their official returns, made immediately after the action,
give little more than four hundred killed and wounded, and between eight
and nine hundred missing; but Lord Cornwallis states in his dispatches,
that between two and three hundred of the Americans were found dead on
the field of battle.
The loss sustained by his lordship, even if numerically less, was far
more fatal; for, in the circumstances in which he was placed, it was not
to be supplied, and it completely maimed him. Of his small army,
ninety-three had fallen, four hundred and thirteen were wounded, and
twenty-six missing. Among the killed and wounded were several officers
of note. Thus, one fourth of his army was either killed or disabled; his
troops were exhausted by fatigue and hunger; his camp was encumbered by
the wounded. His victory, in fact, was almost as ruinous as a defeat.
Greene lay for two days within ten miles of him, near the Iron Works on
Troublesome Creek, gathering up his scattered troops. He had imbibed the
spirit of Washington, and remained undismayed by hardships or reverses.
Writing to the latter, he says: “Lord Cornwallis will not give up this
country, without being soundly beaten. I wish our force was more
competent to the business. But I am in hopes, by little and little, to
reduce him in time. His troops are good, well found, and fight with
great obstinacy.
“Virginia,” adds he, “has given me every support I could wish or expect,
since Lord Cornwallis has been in North Carolina; and nothing has
contributed more to this, than the prejudice of the people in favor of
your Excellency, which has extended to me from the friendship you have
been pleased to honor me with.”[67]
And again: “The service here is extremely severe, and the officers and
soldiers bear it with a degree of patience that does them the highest
honor. I have never taken off my clothes since I left the Pedee. I was
taken with a fainting last night, owing, I suppose, to excessive fatigue
and constant watching. I am better to-day, but far from well.—I have
little prospect of acquiring much reputation while I labor under so many
disadvantages. I hope my friends will make full allowances; and as for
vulgar opinion, I regard it not.”
In Washington he had a friend whose approbation was dearer to him than
the applause of thousands, and who knew how to appreciate him. To
Greene’s account of the battle he sent a cheering reply. “Although the
honors of the field do not fall to your lot, I am convinced you deserve
them. The chances of war are various, and the best concerted measures
and most flattering prospects, may and often do deceive us, especially
while we are in the power of the militia. The motives which induced you
to risk an action with Lord Cornwallis are supported upon the best
military principle, and the consequence, if you can prevent the
dissipation of your troops, will no doubt be fortunate.”
The consequence, it will be found, was such as Washington, with his
usual sagacity, predicted. Cornwallis, so far from being able to advance
in the career of victory, could not even hold the ground he had so
bravely won, but was obliged to retreat from the scene of triumph, to
some secure position where he might obtain supplies for his famished
army.
Leaving, therefore, about seventy of his officers and men, who were too
severely wounded to bear travelling, together with a number of wounded
Americans, in the New Garden Meeting-house, and the adjacent buildings,
under the protection of a flag of truce, and placing the rest of his
wounded in wagons or on horseback, he set out, on the third day after
the action, by easy marches for Cross Creek, otherwise called the Haw,
an eastern branch of Cape Fear River, where was a settlement of Scottish
Highlanders, stout adherents, as he was led to believe, to the royal
cause. Here he expected to be plentifully supplied with provisions, and
to have his sick and wounded well taken care of. Hence, too, he could
open a communication by Cape Fear River, with Wilmington, and obtain
from the depot recently established there, such supplies as the country
about Cross Creek did not afford.
On the day on which he began his march, he issued a proclamation,
setting forth his victory, calling upon all loyal subjects to join his
standard, and holding out the usual promises and threats to such as
should obey or should continue in rebellion.
No sooner did Greene learn that Cornwallis was retreating, than he set
out to follow him, determined to bring him again to action; and
presenting the singular spectacle of the vanquished pursuing the victor.
His troops, however, suffered greatly in this pursuit, from wintry
weather, deep, wet, clayey roads, and scarcity of provisions; the
country through which they marched being completely exhausted; but they
harassed the enemy’s rear-guard with frequent skirmishes.
On the 28th, Greene arrived at Ramsey’s Mills, on Deep River, hard on
the traces of Cornwallis, who had left the place a few hours previously,
with such precipitation, that several of his wounded, who had died while
on the march, were left behind unburied. Several fresh quarters of beef
had likewise been forgotten, and were seized upon with eagerness by the
hungry soldiery. Such had been the urgency of the pursuit this day, that
many of the American troops sank upon the road, exhausted with fatigue.
At Deep River, Greene was brought to a stand. Cornwallis had broken down
the bridge by which he had crossed; and further pursuit for the present
was impossible. The constancy of the militia now gave way. They had been
continually on the march, with little to eat, less to drink, and obliged
to sleep in the woods in the midst of smoke. Every step had led them
from their homes and increased their privations. They were now in want
of everything, for the retreating enemy left a famished country behind
him. The term for which most of them had enlisted was expired, and they
now demanded their discharge. The demand was just and reasonable, and,
after striving in vain to shake their determination, Greene felt
compelled to comply with it. His force thus reduced, it would be
impossible to pursue the enemy further. The halt he was obliged to make
to collect provisions and rebuild the bridge, would give them such a
start as to leave no hope of overtaking them should they continue their
retreat; nor could he fight them upon equal terms should they make a
stand. The regular troops would be late in the field, if raised at all:
Virginia, from the unequal operation of the law for drafting, was not
likely to furnish many soldiers: Maryland, as late as the 13th instant,
had not got a man; neither was there the least prospect of raising a man
in North Carolina. In this situation, remote from reinforcements,
inferior to the enemy in numbers, and without hope of support, what was
to be done? “If the enemy falls down toward Wilmington,” said he, “they
will be in a position where it would be impossible for us to injure them
if we had a force.”[68] Suddenly he determined to change his course, and
carry the war into South Carolina. This would oblige the enemy either to
follow him, and thus abandon North Carolina; or to sacrifice all his
posts in the upper part of North Carolina and Georgia. To Washington, to
whom he considered himself accountable for all his policy, and from
whose counsel he derived confidence and strength, he writes on the
present occasion. “All things considered, I think the movement is
warranted by the soundest reasons, both political and military. The
maneuver will be critical and dangerous, and the troops exposed to every
hardship. But as I share it with them, I may hope they will bear up
under it with that magnanimity which has always supported them, and for
which they deserve everything of their country.”—“I shall take every
measure,” adds he, “to avoid a misfortune. But necessity obliges me to
commit myself to chance, and, I trust, my friends will do justice to my
reputation, if any accident attends me.”
In this brave spirit he apprised Sumter, Pickens, and Marion, by letter,
of his intentions, and called upon them to be ready to coöperate with
all the militia they could collect; promising to send forward cavalry
and small detachments of light infantry, to aid them in capturing
outposts before the army should arrive.
To Lafayette he writes at the same time. “I expect by this movement to
draw Cornwallis out of this State, _and prevent him from forming a
junction with Arnold_. If you follow to support me, it is not impossible
that we may give him a drubbing, especially if General Wayne comes up
with the Pennsylvanians.”
In pursuance of his plan, Greene, on the 30th of March, discharged all
his militia with many thanks for the courage and fortitude with which
they had followed him through so many scenes of peril and hardship; and
joyously did the poor fellows set out for their homes. Then, after
giving his “little, distressed, though successful army,” a short taste
of the repose they needed, and having collected a few days’ provision,
he set forward on the 5th of April toward Camden, where Lord Rawdon had
his head-quarters.
Cornwallis, in the mean time, was grievously disappointed in the hopes
he had formed of obtaining ample provisions and forage at Cross Creek,
and strong reinforcements from the royalists in that neighborhood.
Neither could he open a communication by Cape Fear River, for the
conveyance of his troops to Wilmington. The distance by water was
upwards of a hundred miles, the breadth of the river seldom above one
hundred yards, the banks high, and the inhabitants on each side
generally hostile. He was compelled, therefore, to continue his retreat
by land, quite to Wilmington, where he arrived on the 7th of April, and
his troops, weary, sick, and wounded, rested for the present from the
“unceasing toils and unspeakable hardships, which they had undergone
during the past three months.”[69]
It was his lordship’s intention, as soon as he should have equipped his
own corps and received a part of the expected reinforcements from
Ireland, to return to the upper country, in hopes of giving protection
to the royal interests in South Carolina, and of preserving the health
of his troops until he should concert new measures with Sir Henry
Clinton.[70] His plans were all disconcerted, however, by intelligence
of Greene’s rapid march toward Camden. Never, we are told, was his
lordship more affected than by this news. “My situation here is very
distressing,” writes he. “Greene took the advantage of my being obliged
to come to this place, and has marched to South Carolina. My expresses
to Lord Rawdon on my leaving Cross Creek, warning him of the possibility
of such a movement, have all failed; mountaineers and militia have
poured into the back part of that province, and I much fear that Lord
Rawdon’s posts will be so distant from each other, and his troops so
scattered, as to put him into the greatest danger of being beaten in
detail, and that the worst of consequences may happen to most of the
troops out of Charleston.”[71]
It was too late for his lordship to render any aid by a direct move
towards Camden. Before he could arrive there, Greene would have made an
attack; if successful, his lordship’s army might be hemmed in among the
great rivers, in an exhausted country, revolutionary in its spirit,
where Greene might cut off their subsistence, and render their arms
useless.
All thoughts of offensive operations against North Carolina were at an
end. Sickness, desertion, and the loss sustained at Guilford
court-house, had reduced his little army to fourteen hundred and
thirty-five men.
In this sad predicament, after remaining several days in a painful state
of irresolution, he determined to take advantage of Greene’s having left
the back part of Virginia open, to march directly into that province,
and attempt a junction with the force acting there under General
Phillips.
By this move, he might draw Greene back to the northward, and by the
reduction of Virginia, he might promote the subjugation of the South.
The move, however, he felt to be perilous. His troops were worn down by
upwards of eight hundred miles of marching and counter-marching, through
an inhospitable and impracticable country; they had now three hundred
more before them, under still worse circumstances than those in which
they first set out; for so destitute were they, notwithstanding the
supplies received at Wilmington, that his lordship, sadly humorous,
declared “his cavalry wanted everything, and his infantry, everything
but shoes.”[72]
There was no time for hesitation or delay. Greene might return and
render the junction with Phillips impracticable: having sent an express
to the latter, therefore, informing him of his coming, and appointing a
meeting at Petersburg, his lordship set off on the 25th of April, on his
fated march into Virginia.
We must now step back in dates to bring up events in the more northern
parts of the Union.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXI.
Arnold at Portsmouth in Virginia.—Expedition sent against
him.—Instructions to Lafayette.—Washington at Newport.—Consultations
with De Rochambeau.—Sailing of the French Fleet.—Pursued by the
English.—Expedition of Lafayette to Virginia.—Engagement between the
English and French Fleets.—Failure of the Expedition against
Arnold.—Letter of Washington to Colonel Laurens.—Measures to
reinforce Greene.—General Phillips in Command at Portsmouth.—Marauds
the Country.—Checked by Lafayette.—Mount Vernon menaced.—Death of
Phillips.
In a former chapter we left Benedict Arnold fortifying himself at
Portsmouth, after his ravaging incursion. At the solicitation of
Governor Jefferson, backed by Congress, the Chevalier de la Luzerne had
requested the French commander at the eastward to send a ship of the
line and some frigates to Chesapeake Bay to oppose the traitor.
Fortunately, at this juncture a severe snow-storm (Jan. 22d) scattered
Arbuthnot’s blockading squadron, wrecking one ship of the line and
dismasting others, and enabled the French fleet at Newport to look
abroad; and Rochambeau wrote to Washington that the Chevalier
Destouches, who commanded the fleet, proposed to send three or four
ships to the Chesapeake.
Washington feared the position of Arnold, and his well-known address,
might enable him to withstand a mere attack by sea; anxious to insure
his capture, he advised that Destouches should send his whole fleet; and
that De Rochambeau should embark about a thousand men on board of it,
with artillery and apparatus for a siege; engaging, on his own part, to
send off immediately a detachment of twelve hundred men to coöperate.
“The destruction of the corps under the command of Arnold,” writes he,
“is of such immense importance to the welfare of the Southern States,
that I have resolved to attempt it with the detachment I now send in
conjunction with the militia, even if it should not be convenient for
your Excellency to detach a part of your force; provided M. Destouches
is able to protect our operations by such a disposition of his fleet as
will give us the command of the bay, and prevent succors from being sent
from New York.”
Before the receipt of this letter, the French commanders, acting on
their first impulse, had, about the 9th of February, detached M. de
Tilly, with a sixty-gun ship and two frigates, to make a dash into the
Chesapeake. Washington was apprised of their sailing just as he was
preparing to send off the twelve hundred men spoken of in his letter to
De Rochambeau. He gave the command of this detachment to Lafayette,
instructing him to act in conjunction with the militia and the ships
sent by Destouches, against the enemy’s corps actually in Virginia. As
the case was urgent, he was to suffer no delay, when on the march, for
want either of provisions, forage, or wagons, but where ordinary means
did not suffice, he was to resort to military impress. “You are to do no
act whatever with Arnold,” said the letter of instruction, “that
directly or by implication may screen him from the punishment due to his
treason and desertion, which, if he should fall into your hands, you
will execute in the most summary manner.”
Washington wrote at the same time to the Baron Steuben, informing him of
the arrangements, and requesting him to be on the alert. “If the fleet
should have arrived before this gets to hand,” said he, “secrecy will be
out of the question; if not, you will conceal your expectations, and
only seem to be preparing for defense. Arnold, on the appearance of the
fleet, may endeavor to retreat through North Carolina. If you take any
measure to obviate this, the precaution will be advisable. Should you be
able to capture this detachment with its chief, it will be an event as
pleasing as it will be useful.”
Lafayette set out on his march on the 22d of February, and Washington
was indulging the hope that, scanty as was the naval force sent to the
Chesapeake, the combined enterprise might be successful, when on the
27th, he received a letter from the Count de Rochambeau announcing its
failure. De Tilly had made his dash into Chesapeake Bay, but Arnold had
been apprised by the British Admiral Arbuthnot of his approach, and had
drawn his ships high up Elizabeth River. The water was too shallow for
the largest French ships to get within four leagues of him. One of De
Tilly’s frigates ran aground, and was got off with difficulty, and that
commander, seeing that Arnold was out of his reach, and fearing to be
himself blockaded should he linger, put to sea and returned to Newport;
having captured during his cruise a British frigate of forty-four guns,
and two privateers with their prizes.
The French commanders now determined to follow the plan suggested by
Washington, and operate in the Chesapeake with their whole fleet and a
detachment of land troops, being, as they said, disposed to risk
everything to hinder Arnold from establishing himself at Portsmouth.
Washington set out for Newport to concert operations with the French
commanders. Before his departure, he wrote to Lafayette, on the 1st of
March, giving him intelligence of these intentions, and desiring him to
transmit it to the Baron Steuben. “I have received a letter,” adds he,
“from General Greene, by which it appears that Cornwallis, with
twenty-five hundred men, was penetrating the country with very great
rapidity, and Greene with a much inferior force retiring before him,
having determined to pass the Roanoke.” This intelligence and an
apprehension that Arnold may make his escape before the fleet can arrive
in the bay, induces me to give you greater latitude than you had in your
original instructions. You are at liberty to concert a plan with the
French general and naval commander for a descent into North Carolina, to
cut off the detachment of the enemy which had ascended Cape Fear River,
intercept, if possible, Cornwallis, and relieve General Greene and the
Southern States. This, however, ought to be a secondary object,
attempted in case of Arnold’s retreat to New York; or in case his
reduction should be attended with too much delay. There should be strong
reasons to induce a change of our first plan against Arnold if he is
still in Virginia.
Washington arrived at Newport on the 6th of March, and found the French
fleet ready for sea, the troops, eleven hundred strong, commanded by
General the Baron de Viomenil, being already embarked.
Washington went immediately on board of the admiral’s ship, where he had
an interview with the Count de Rochambeau, and arranged the plan of the
campaign. Returning on shore he was received by the inhabitants with
enthusiastic demonstrations of affection; and was gratified to perceive
the harmony and good-will between them and the French army and fleet.
Much of this he attributed to the wisdom of the commanders, and the
discipline of the troops, but more to magnanimity on the one part, and
gratitude on the other; and he hailed it as a happy presage of lasting
friendship between the two nations.
On the 8th of March, at ten o’clock at night, he writes to Lafayette: “I
have the pleasure to inform you that the whole fleet went out with a
fair wind this evening about sunset. We have not heard of any move of
the British in Gardiner’s Bay. Should we luckily meet with no
interruption from them, and Arnold should continue in Virginia, until
the arrival of M. Destouches, I flatter myself you will meet with that
success which I most ardently wish, not only on the public, but your own
account.”
The British fleet made sail in pursuit, on the morning of the 10th; as
the French had so much the start, it was hoped they would reach
Chesapeake Bay before them. Washington felt the present to be a most
important moment. “The success of the expedition now in agitation,” said
he, “seems to depend upon a naval superiority, and the force of the two
fleets is so equal, that we must rather hope for, than entertain an
assurance of victory. The attempt, however, made by our allies to
dislodge the enemy, in Virginia, is a bold one, and should it fail, will
nevertheless entitle them to the thanks of the public.”
On returning to his head-quarters at New Windsor, Washington on the 20th
of March found letters from General Greene, informing him that he had
saved all his baggage, artillery, and stores, notwithstanding the hot
pursuit of the enemy, and was now in his turn following them, but that
he was greatly in need of reinforcements.
“My regard for the public good, and my inclination to promote your
success,” writes Washington in reply, “will prompt me to give every
assistance, and to make every diversion in your favor. But what can I do
if I am not furnished with the means? From what I saw and learned while
at the eastward, I am convinced the levies will be late in the field,
and I fear far short of the requisition. I most anxiously wait the event
of the present operation in Virginia. If attended with success, it may
have the happiest influence on our Southern affairs, by leaving the
forces of Virginia free to act. For while there is an enemy in the heart
of a country, you can expect neither men nor supplies from it, in that
full and regular manner in which they ought to be given.”
In the mean time Lafayette with his detachment was pressing forward by
forced marches for Virginia. Arriving at the Head of Elk on the 3d of
March, he halted until he should receive tidings respecting the French
fleet. A letter from the Baron Steuben spoke of the preparations he was
making, and the facility of taking the fortifications at Portsmouth,
“sword in hand.” The youthful marquis was not so sanguine as the veteran
baron. “Arnold,” said he, “has had so much time to prepare, and plays so
deep a game; nature has made the position so respectable, and some of
the troops under his orders have been in so many actions, that I do not
flatter myself to succeed so easily.” On the 7th he received
Washington’s letter of the 1st, apprising him of the approaching
departure of the whole fleet with land forces. Lafayette now conducted
his troops by water to Annapolis, and concluding, from the time the
ships were to sail, and the winds which had since prevailed, the French
fleet must be already in the Chesapeake, he crossed the bay in an open
boat to Virginia, and pushed on to confer with the American and French
commanders, get a convoy for his troops, and concert matters for a
vigorous coöperation. Arriving at York on the 14th, he found the Baron
Steuben in the bustle of military preparations, and confident of having
five thousand militia ready to coöperate. These, with Lafayette’s
detachment, would be sufficient for the attack by land: nothing was
wanting but a coöperation by sea; and the French fleet had not yet
appeared, though double the time necessary for the voyage had elapsed.
The marquis repaired to General Muhlenburg’s camp near Suffolk, and
reconnoitered with him the enemy’s works at Portsmouth; this brought on
a trifling skirmish, but everything appeared satisfactory; everything
promised complete success.
On the 20th, word was brought that a fleet had come to anchor within the
capes. It was supposed of course to be the French, and now the capture
of the traitor was certain. He himself, from certain signs appeared to
be in great confusion: none of his ships ventured down the bay. An
officer of the French navy bore down to visit the fleet, but returned
with the astounding intelligence that it was British!
Admiral Arbuthnot had in fact overtaken Destouches on the 16th of March,
off the capes of Virginia. Their forces were nearly equal; eight ships
of the line, and four frigates on each side, the French having more men,
the English more guns. An engagement took place which lasted about an
hour. The British van at first took the brunt of the action, and was
severely handled; the centre came up to its relief. The French line was
broken and gave way, but rallied, and formed again at some distance. The
crippled state of some of his ships prevented the British admiral from
bringing on a second encounter; nor did the French seek one, but shaped
their course the next day back to Newport. Both sides claimed a victory.
The British certainly effected the main objects they had in view; the
French were cut off from the Chesapeake; the combined enterprise against
Portsmouth was disconcerted, and Arnold was saved. Great must have been
the apprehensions of the traitor, while that enterprise threatened to
entrap him. He knew the peculiar peril impending over him; it had been
announced in the sturdy reply of an American prisoner, to his inquiry
what his countrymen would do to him if he were captured. “They would cut
off the leg wounded in the service of your country and bury it with the
honors of war; the rest of you they would hang!”
The feelings of Washington, on hearing of the result of the enterprise,
may be judged from the following passage of a letter to Colonel John
Laurens, then minister at Paris. “The failure of this expedition, which
was most flattering in the commencement, is much to be regretted;
because a successful blow in that quarter would, in all probability,
have given a decisive turn to our affairs in all the Southern States;
because it has been attended with considerable expense on our part, and
much inconvenience to the State of Virginia, by the assembling of our
militia, because the world is disappointed at not seeing Arnold in
gibbets; and above all, because we stood in need of something to keep us
afloat till the result of your mission is known; for be assured, my dear
Laurens, day does not follow night more certainly, than it brings with
it some additional proof of the impracticability of carrying on the war,
without the aids you were directed to solicit. As an honest and candid
man, as a man whose all depends on the final and happy termination of
the present contest, I assert this, while I give it decisively as my
opinion, that, without a foreign loan, our present force, which is but
the remnant of an army, cannot be kept together this campaign, much less
will it be increased, and in readiness for another.... If France delays
a timely and powerful aid in the critical posture of our affairs, it
will avail us nothing should she attempt it hereafter. We are at this
hour suspended in the balance; not from choice, but from hard and
absolute necessity; and you may rely on it as a fact, that we cannot
transport the provisions from the States in which they are assessed, to
the army, because we cannot pay the teamsters, who will no longer work
for certificates.... In a word, we are at the end of our tether, and now
or never our deliverance must come.... How easy would it be to retort
the enemy’s own game upon them; if it could be made to comport with the
general plan of the war to keep a superior fleet always in these seas,
and France would put us in condition to be active, by advancing us
money. The ruin of the enemy’s schemes would then be certain; the bold
game they are now playing would be the means of effecting it; for they
would be reduced to the necessity of concentrating their force at
capital points; thereby giving up all the advantages they have gained in
the Southern States, or be vulnerable everywhere.”
Washington’s anxiety was now awakened for the safety of General Greene.
Two thousand troops had sailed from New York under General Phillips,
probably to join with the force under Arnold, and proceed to reinforce
Cornwallis. Should they form a junction, Greene would be unable to
withstand them. With these considerations Washington wrote to Lafayette,
urging him, since he was already three hundred miles, which was half the
distance, on the way, to push on with all possible speed to join the
Southern army, sending expresses ahead to inform Greene of his approach.
The letter found Lafayette on the 8th of April, at the Head of Elk,
preparing to march back with his troops to the banks of the Hudson. On
his return through Virginia, he had gone out of his way, and travelled
all night for the purpose of seeing Washington’s mother at
Fredericksburg, and paying a visit to Mount Vernon. He now stood ready
to obey Washington’s orders, and march to reinforce General Greene; but
his troops, who were chiefly from the Eastern States, murmured at the
prospect of a campaign in a southern climate, and desertions began to
occur. Upon this he announced in general orders, that he was about to
enter on an enterprise of great difficulty and danger, in which he
trusted his soldiers would not abandon him. Any, however, who were
unwilling, should receive permits to return home.
As he had anticipated, their pride was roused by this appeal. All
engaged to continue forward. So great was the fear of appearing a
laggard, or a craven, that a sergeant, too lame to march, hired a place
in a cart to keep up with the army. In the zeal of the moment, Lafayette
borrowed money on his own credit from the Baltimore merchants, to
purchase summer clothing for his troops, in which he was aided, too, by
the ladies of the city, with whom he was deservedly popular.
The detachment from New York, under General Phillips, arrived at
Portsmouth on the 26th of March. That officer immediately took command,
greatly to the satisfaction of the British officers, who had been acting
under Arnold. The force now collected there amounted to three thousand
five hundred men. The garrison of New York had been greatly weakened in
furnishing this detachment, but Cornwallis had urged the policy of
transferring the seat of war to Virginia, even at the expense of
abandoning New York; declaring that until that State was subdued, the
British hold upon the Carolinas must be difficult, if not precarious.
The disparity in force was now so great, that the Baron Steuben had to
withdraw his troops, and remove the military stores into the interior.
Many of the militia, too, their term of three months being expired,
stacked their arms and set off for their homes, and most of the residue
had to be discharged.
General Phillips had hitherto remained quiet in Portsmouth, completing
the fortifications, but evidently making preparations for an expedition.
On the 16th of April, he left one thousand men in garrison, and,
embarking the rest in small vessels of light draught, proceeded up James
River, destroying armed vessels, public magazines, and a ship-yard
belonging to the State.
Landing at City Point, he advanced against Petersburg, a place of
deposit of military stores and tobacco. He was met about a mile below
the town by about one thousand militia, under General Muhlenburg, who,
after disputing the ground inch by inch for nearly two hours, with
considerable loss on both sides, retreated across the Appomattox,
breaking down the bridge behind them.
Phillips entered the town, set fire to the tobacco warehouses, and
destroyed all the vessels lying in the river. Repairing and crossing the
bridge over the Appomattox, he proceeded to Chesterfield Court-house,
where he destroyed barracks and public stores; while Arnold, with a
detachment, laid waste the magazines of tobacco in the direction of
Warwick. A fire was opened by the latter from a few field-pieces on the
river bank, upon a squadron of small armed vessels, which had been
intended to coöperate with the French fleet against Portsmouth. The
crews scuttled or set fire to them, and escaped to the north side of the
river.
This destructive course was pursued until they arrived at Manchester, a
small place opposite Richmond, where the tobacco warehouses were
immediately in a blaze. Richmond was a leading object of this desolating
enterprise, for there a great part of the military stores of the State
had been collected. Fortunately, Lafayette, with his detachment of two
thousand men, had arrived there by forced marches, the evening before,
and being joined by about two thousand militia and sixty dragoons (the
latter principally young Virginians of family), had posted himself
strongly on the high banks on the north side of the river.
There being no bridge across the river at that time, General Phillips
did not think it prudent to attempt a passage in face of such a force so
posted, but was extremely irritated at being thus foiled by the celerity
of his youthful opponent, who now assumed the chief command of the
American forces in Virginia.
Returning down the south bank of the river, to the place where his
vessels awaited him, General Phillips reëmbarked on the 2d of May, and
dropped slowly down the river below the confluence of the Chickahominy.
He was followed cautiously, and his movements watched by Lafayette, who
posted himself behind the last-named river.
Dispatches from Cornwallis now informed Phillips that his lordship was
advancing with all speed from the South to effect a junction with him.
The general immediately made a rapid move to regain possession of
Petersburg, where the junction was to take place. Lafayette attempted by
forced marches to get there before him, but was too late. Falling back,
therefore, he recrossed James River and stationed himself some miles
below Richmond, to be at hand for the protection of the public stores
collected there.
During this main expedition of Phillips, some of his smaller vessels had
carried on the plan of plunder and devastation in other of the rivers
emptying into the Chesapeake Bay; setting fire to the houses where they
met with resistance. One had ascended the Potomac and menaced Mount
Vernon. Lund Washington, who had charge of the estate, met the flag
which the enemy sent on shore, and saved the property from ravage, by
furnishing the vessel with provisions. Lafayette, who heard of the
circumstance, and was sensitive for the honor of Washington, immediately
wrote to him on the subject. “This conduct of the person who represents
you on your estate,” writes he, “must certainly produce a bad effect,
and contrast with the courageous replies of some of your neighbors,
whose houses in consequence have been burnt. You will do what you think
proper, my dear general, but friendship makes it my duty to give you
confidentially the facts.”
Washington, however, had previously received a letter from Lund himself,
stating all the circumstances of the case, and had immediately written
him a reply. He had no doubt that Lund had acted from his best judgment,
and with a view to preserve the property and buildings from impending
danger, but he was stung to the quick by the idea that his agent should
go on board of the enemy’s vessel, carry them refreshments, and “commune
with a parcel of plundering scoundrels,” as he termed them. “It would
have been a less painful circumstance to me to have heard,” writes he,
“that in consequence of your non-compliance with their request, they had
burnt my house and laid my plantation in ruins. You ought to have
considered yourself as my representative, and should have reflected on
the bad example of communicating with the enemy and making a voluntary
offer of refreshments to them, with a view to prevent a conflagration.”
In concluding his letter, he expresses his opinion that it was the
intention of the enemy to prosecute the plundering plan they had begun;
and that it would end in the destruction of his property, but adds, that
he is “prepared for the event.” He advises his agent to deposit the
valuable and least bulky articles in a place of safety. “Such and so
many things as are necessary for common and present use must be
retained, and must run their chance through the fiery trial of this
summer.”
Such were the steadfast purposes of Washington’s mind when war was
brought home to his door, and threatening his earthly paradise of Mount
Vernon.
In the mean time the desolating career of General Phillips was brought
to a close. He had been ill for some days previous to his arrival at
Petersburg, and by the time he reached there, was no longer capable of
giving orders. He died four days afterwards, honored and deeply
regretted by his brothers in arms, as a meritorious and well-tried
soldier. What made his death to be more sensibly felt by them at this
moment, was, that it put the traitor, Arnold, once more in the general
command.
He held it, however, but for a short time, as Lord Cornwallis arrived at
Petersburg on the 20th of May, after nearly a month’s weary marching
from Wilmington. His lordship, on taking command, found his force
augmented by a considerable detachment of Royal Artillery, two
battalions of light infantry, the 76th and 80th British regiments, a
Hessian regiment, Lieutenant-colonel Simcoe’s corps of Queen’s rangers,
cavalry and infantry, one hundred yagers, Arnold’s legion of royalists,
and the garrison of Portsmouth. He was cheered also by intelligence that
Lord Rawdon had obtained an advantage over General Greene before Camden,
and that three British regiments had sailed from Cork for Charleston.
His mind, we are told, was now set at ease with regard to Southern
affairs; his spirits, so long jaded by his harassing tramps about the
Carolinas, were again lifted up by his augmented strength, and Tarleton
assures us, that his lordship indulged in “brilliant hopes of a glorious
campaign in those parts of America where he commanded.”[73] How far
these hopes were realized, we shall show in a future page.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXII.
Inefficient State of the Army.—Maraud of Delancey.—Death of Colonel
Greene.—Arrival of the Count de Barras.—French Naval Force
expected.—Interview of Washington and De Rochambeau at
Weathersfield.—Plan of Combined Operations.—Financial Arrangement of
Robert Morris.—Scheme to attack the Works on New York Island and
capture Delancey’s Corps.—Encampments of American and French Armies
in Westchester County.—Reconnoitering Expeditions.
While affairs were approaching a crisis in Virginia, troubles were
threatening from the North. There were rumors of invasion from Canada;
of war councils and leagues among the savage tribes; of a revival of the
territorial feuds between New York and Vermont. Such, however, was the
deplorable inefficiency of the military system, that though, according
to the resolves of Congress, there were to have been thirty-seven
thousand men under arms at the beginning of the year, Washington’s whole
force on the Hudson in the month of May did not amount to seven thousand
men, of whom little more than four thousand were effective.
He still had his head-quarters at New Windsor, just above the Highlands,
and within a few miles of West Point. Here he received intelligence that
the enemy were in force on the opposite side of the Hudson, marauding
the country on the north side of Croton River, and he ordered a hasty
advance of Connecticut troops in that direction.
The Croton River flows from east to west across Westchester County, and
formed, as it were, the barrier of the American lines. The advanced
posts of Washington’s army guarded it, and by its aid, protected the
upper country from the incursions of those foraging parties and
marauders which had desolated the neutral ground below it. The
incursions most to be guarded against were those of Colonel Delancey’s
loyalists, a horde of tories and refugees which had their stronghold in
Morrisania, and were the terror of the neighboring country. There was a
petty war continually going on between them and the American outposts,
often of a ruthless kind. Delancey’s horse and Delancey’s rangers
scoured the country and swept off forage and cattle from its fertile
valleys for the British army at New York. Hence they were sometimes
stigmatized by the opprobrious appellation of Cow Boys.
The object of their present incursion was to surprise an outpost of the
American army stationed near a fordable part of the Croton River not far
from Pine’s Bridge. The post was commanded by Colonel Christopher
Greene, of Rhode Island, the same who had successfully defended Fort
Mercer on the Delaware, when assailed by Count Donop. He was a valuable
officer, highly prized by Washington. The enterprise against his post
was something like that against the post of Young’s House; both had been
checks to the foragers of this harassed region.
Colonel Delancey, who led this foray, was successor to the unfortunate
André as adjutant-general of the British army. He conducted it secretly,
and in the night, at the head of a hundred horse and two hundred foot.
The Croton was forded at daybreak, just as the night-guard had been
withdrawn, and the farm-houses were surprised and assailed in which the
Americans were quartered. That occupied by Colonel Greene and a brother
officer, Major Flagg, was first surrounded. The major started from his
bed, and discharged his pistols from a window, but was shot through the
head, and afterwards dispatched by cuts and thrusts of the sabre.
The door of Greene’s room was burst open. He defended himself vigorously
and effectively with his sword, for he had great strength, but he was
overpowered by numbers, cut down, and barbarously mangled. A massacre
was going on in other quarters. Besides these two officers, there were
between thirty and forty killed and wounded, and several made prisoners.
It is said that Colonel Delancey was not present at the carnage, but
remained on the south side of the Croton to secure the retreat of his
party. It may be so; but the present exploit was in the spirit of others
by which he had contributed to harry this beautiful region, and made it
a “bloody ground.” No foes so ruthless had the American patriots to
encounter as their own tory countrymen in arms.
Before the troops ordered out by Washington arrived at the post, the
marauders had made a precipitate retreat. They had attempted to carry
off Greene a prisoner, but he died within three quarters of a mile of
the house. His captors, as they passed by the farm-houses, told the
inhabitants that, should there be any inquiry after the colonel, they
had left him dead at the edge of the woods.[74]
Greene was but forty-four years of age at the time of his death, and was
a model of manly strength and comeliness. A true soldier of the
Revolution, he had served at Lexington and Bunker’s Hill; followed
Arnold through the Kennebec wilderness to Quebec; fought under the walls
of that city; distinguished himself by his defense of Fort Mercer on the
Delaware, and by his kind treatment of his vanquished and wounded
antagonist, Colonel Donop. How different the treatment experienced by
him at the hands of his tory countrymen!
The commander-in-chief, we are told, heard with anguish and indignation
the tragical fate of this his faithful friend and soldier. On the
subsequent day, the corpse of Colonel Greene was brought to
head-quarters, and his funeral solemnized with military honors and
universal grief.[75]?]
At this juncture, Washington’s attention was called in another
direction. A frigate had arrived at Boston, bringing the Count de
Barras, to take command of the French naval force. He was a veteran
about sixty years of age, and had commanded D’Estaing’s vanguard, when
he forced the entrance of Newport harbor. The count brought the cheering
intelligence, that an armament of twenty ships of the line, with land
forces, was to sail, or had sailed, from France, under the Count de
Grasse for the West Indies, and that twelve of these ships were to
relieve the squadron at Newport, and might be expected on the coast of
the United States in July or August.
The Count de Rochambeau, having received dispatches from the court of
France, now requested an interview with Washington. The latter appointed
Weathersfield in Connecticut for the purpose; and met the count there on
the 22d of May, hoping to settle a definitive plan of the campaign. Both
as yet were ignorant of the arrival of Cornwallis in Virginia. The
policy of a joint expedition to relieve the Carolinas was discussed. As
the French ships in Newport were still blockaded by a superior force,
such an expedition would have to be made by land. A march to the
Southern States was long and harassing, and always attended with a great
waste of life. Such would certainly be the case at present, when it
would have to be made in the heat of summer. The difficulties and
expenses of land transportation, also, presented a formidable objection.
On the other hand, an effective blow might be struck at New York, the
garrison having been reduced one half by detachments to the South. That
important post and its dependencies might be wrested from the enemy, or,
if not, they might be obliged to recall a part of their force from the
South for their own defense.
It was determined, therefore, that the French troops should march from
Newport as soon as possible, and form a junction with the American army
on the Hudson, and that both should move down to the vicinity of New
York to make a combined attack, in which the Count de Grasse should be
invited to coöperate with his fleet and a body of land troops.
A vessel was dispatched by De Rochambeau, to inform the Count de Grasse
of this arrangement; and letters were addressed by Washington to the
executive authorities of New Jersey and the New England States, urging
them to fill up their battalions and furnish their quotas of provisions.
Notwithstanding all his exertions, however, when he mustered his forces
at Peekskill, he was mortified to find not more than five thousand
effective men. Notwithstanding, too, all the resolutions passed in the
legislatures of the various States for supplying the army, it would, at
this critical moment, have been destitute of provisions, especially
bread, had it not been for the zeal, talents, and activity of Mr. Robert
Morris, now a delegate to Congress from the State of Pennsylvania, and
recently appointed Superintendent of Finance. This patriotic and
energetic man, when public means failed, pledged his own credit in
transporting military stores and feeding the army. Throughout the
Revolution, Washington was continually baffled in the hopes caused by
the resolutions of legislative bodies, too often as little alimentary as
the east wind.
The Count de Rochambeau and the Duke de Lauzun being arrived with their
troops in Connecticut, on their way to join the American army,
Washington prepared for spirited operations; quickened by the
intelligence that a part of the garrison of New York had been detached
to forage the Jerseys. Two objects were contemplated by him: one, the
surprisal of the British works at the north end of New York Island; the
other, the capture or destruction of Delancey’s corps of refugees in
Morrisania. The attack upon the posts was to be conducted by General
Lincoln, with a detachment from the main army, which he was to bring
down by water—that on Delancey’s corps by the Duke de Lauzun with his
legion, aided by Sheldon’s dragoons, and a body of Connecticut troops.
Both operations were to be carried into effect on the 3d of July. The
duke was to march down from Ridgebury in Connecticut, for the purpose.
Everything was to be conducted with secrecy and by the way of surprisal.
Should anything occur to prevent Lincoln from attempting the works on
New York Island, he was to land his men above Spyt den Duivel Creek,
march to the high grounds in front of King’s Bridge, lie concealed there
until the duke’s attack on Delancey’s corps should be announced by
firing or other means; then to dispose of his force in such manner as to
make the enemy think it larger than it really was; thereby deterring
troops from coming over the bridge to turn Lauzun’s right, while he
prevented the escape over the bridge of Delancey’s refugees when routed
from Morrisania.
Washington, at the same time, wrote a confidential letter to Governor
Clinton, informing him of designs upon the enemy’s posts. “Should we be
happy enough to succeed,” writes he, “and be able to hold our conquest,
the advantages will be greater than can well be imagined. But I cannot
flatter myself that the enemy will permit the latter, unless I am
suddenly and considerably reinforced. I shall march down the remainder
of this army, and I have hopes that the French force will be near at
hand at the time. But I shall, notwithstanding, direct the alarm guns
and beacons to be fired in case of success; and I have to request, that
your Excellency will, upon such signals, communicate the meaning of them
to the militia, and put yourself at the head of them, and march with the
utmost expedition to King’s Bridge, bringing with you three or four
days’ provision at least.”
It was a service which would have been exactly to the humor of George
Clinton.
In pursuance of the plan, Lincoln left the camp near Peekskill on the
1st, with eight hundred men, and artillery, and proceeded to Teller’s
Point, where they were embarked in boats with muffled oars, and rowed
silently at night down the Tappan Sea, that region of mystery and secret
enterprise. At daylight they kept concealed under the land. The Duke de
Lauzun was supposed, at the same time, to be on the way from
Connecticut. Washington, at three o’clock on the morning of the 2d, left
his tents standing at Peekskill, and commenced his march with his main
force, without baggage; making a brief halt at Croton Bridge, about nine
miles from Peekskill, another at the Sleepy Hollow Church, near
Tarrytown, where he halted until dusk, and completed the rest of his
march in the night, to Valentine’s Hill, four miles above King’s Bridge,
where he arrived about sunrise. There he posted himself to cover the
detached troops, and improve any advantages that might be gained by
them.
Lincoln, on the morning of the 2d, had left his flotilla concealed under
the eastern shore, and crossed to Fort Lee to reconnoiter Fort
Washington from the cliffs on the opposite side of the Hudson. To his
surprise and chagrin, he discovered a British force encamped on the
north end of New York Island, and a ship-of-war anchored in the river.
In fact, the troops which had been detached into the Jerseys, had
returned, and the enemy were on the alert; the surprisal of the forts,
therefore, was out of the question.
Lincoln’s thoughts now were to aid the Duke de Lauzun’s part of the
scheme, as he had been instructed. Before daylight of the 3d, he landed
his troops above Spytden Duivel Creek, and took possession of the high
ground on the north of Harlem River, where Fort Independence once stood.
Here he was discovered by a foraging party of the enemy, fifteen hundred
strong, who had sallied out at daybreak to scour the country. An
irregular skirmish ensued. The firing was heard by the Duke de Lauzun,
who was just arrived with his troops at East Chester, fatigued by a long
and forced march in sultry weather. Finding the country alarmed, and all
hope of surprising Delancey’s corps at an end, he hastened to the
support of Lincoln. Washington also advanced with his troops from
Valentine’s Hill. The British, perceiving their danger, retreated to
their boats on the east side of Harlem River, and crossed over to New
York Island. A trifling loss in killed and wounded had been sustained on
each side, and Lincoln had made a few prisoners.
Being disappointed in both objects, Washington did not care to fatigue
his troops any more, but suffered them to remain on their arms, and
spent a good part of the day reconnoitering the enemy’s works. In the
afternoon he retired to Valentine’s Hill, and the next day marched to
Dobbs Ferry, where he was joined by the Count de Rochambeau on the 6th
of July. The two armies now encamped; the American in two lines, resting
on the Hudson at Dobbs Ferry, where it was covered by batteries, and
extending eastward toward the Neperan or Sawmill River; the French in a
single line on the hills further east, reaching to the Bronx River. The
beautiful valley of the Neperan intervened between the encampments. It
was a lovely country for a summer encampment—breezy hills commanding
wide prospects, umbrageous valleys watered by bright pastoral streams,
the Bronx, the Spraine, and the Neperan, and abounding with
never-failing springs. The French encampment made a gallant display
along the Greenburgh hills. Some of the officers, young men of rank, to
whom this was all a service of romance, took a pride in decorating their
tents, and forming little gardens in their vicinity. “We have a charming
position among rocks and under magnificent tulip-trees;” writes one of
them, the Count Dumas. General Washington was an object of their
enthusiasm. He visited the tents they had so gayly embellished; for,
with all his gravity, he was fond of the company of young men. They were
apprised of his coming, and set out on their camp-tables plans of the
battle of Trenton, of West Point, and other scenes connected with the
war. The greatest harmony prevailed between the armies. The two
commanders had their respective head-quarters in farm-houses, and
occasionally, on festive occasions, long tables were spread in the
adjacent barns, which were converted into banqueting halls. The young
French officers gained the good graces of the country belles, though
little acquainted with their language. Their encampment was particularly
gay, and it was the boast of an old lady of the neighborhood many years
after the war, that she had danced at head-quarters when a girl with the
celebrated Marshal Berthier, at that time one of the aides-de-camp of
the Count de Rochambeau.[76]
The two armies thus encamped for three or four weeks. In the mean time
letters urged Washington’s presence in Virginia. Richard Henry Lee
advised that he should come with two or three thousand good troops, and
be clothed with dictatorial powers. “There is nothing, I think, more
certain,” writes Lee, “than that your personal call would bring into
immediate exertion the force and the resources of this State and the
neighboring ones, which, directed as they would be, will effectually
disappoint and baffle the deep-laid schemes of the enemy.”
“I am fully persuaded, and upon good military principles,” writes
Washington in reply, “that the measures I have adopted will give more
effectual and speedy relief to the State of Virginia, than my marching
thither, with dictatorial powers, at the head of every man I could draw
from hence without leaving the important posts on the North River quite
defenseless, and these States open to devastation and ruin. My present
plan of operation, which I have been preparing with all the zeal and
activity in my power, will, I am morally certain with proper support,
produce one of two things, either the fall of New York, or a withdrawal
of the troops from Virginia, excepting a garrison at Portsmouth, at
which place I have no doubt of the enemy’s intention of establishing a
permanent post.”
Within two or three days after this letter was written, Washington
crossed the river at Dobbs Ferry, accompanied by the Count de
Rochambeau, General de Beville, and General Duportail, to reconnoiter
the British posts on the north end of New York Island. They were
escorted by one hundred and fifty of the New Jersey troops, and spent
the day on the Jersey heights ascertaining the exact position of the
enemy on the opposite shore. Their next movement was to reconnoiter the
enemy’s posts at King’s Bridge and on the east side of New York Island,
and to cut off, if possible, such of Delancey’s corps as should be found
without the British lines. Five thousand troops, French and American,
led by the Count de Chastellux and General Lincoln, were to protect this
reconnoissance, and menace the enemy’s posts. Everything was prepared in
secrecy. On the 21st of July, at eight o’clock in the evening, the
troops began their march in separate columns; part down the Hudson River
road; part down the Sawmill River valley: part by the East Chester road.
Scammel’s light infantry advanced through the fields to waylay the
roads, stop all communication, and prevent intelligence getting to the
enemy. Sheldon’s cavalry, with the Connecticut troops, were to scour
Throg’s Neck. Sheldon’s infantry and Lauzun’s lancers were to do the
same with the refugee region of Morrisania.
The whole detachment arrived at King’s Bridge about daylight, and formed
on the height back of Fort Independence. The enemy’s forts on New York
Island did not appear to have the least intelligence of what was going
on, nor to be aware that hostile troops were upon the heights opposite
until the latter displayed themselves in full array, their arms flashing
in the morning sunshine, and their banners, American and French,
unfolded to the breeze.
While the enemy was thus held in check, Washington and De Rochambeau,
accompanied by engineers and by their staffs, set out under the escort
of a troop of dragoons to reconnoiter the enemy’s position and works
from every point of view. It was a wide reconnoissance, extending across
the country outside of the British lines from the Hudson to the Sound.
The whole was done slowly and scientifically, exact notes and diagrams
being made of everything that might be of importance in future
operations. As the “cortege” moved slowly along, or paused to make
observation, it was cannonaded from the distant works, or from the armed
vessels stationed on the neighboring waters, but without injuring it or
quickening its movements.
According to De Rochambeau’s account, the two reconnoitering generals
were at one time in an awkward and hazardous predicament. They had
passed, he said, to an island separated by an arm of the sea from the
enemy’s post on Long Island, and the engineers were employed in making
scientific observations, regardless of the firing of small vessels
stationed in the Sound. During this time, the two generals, exhausted by
fatigue and summer heat, slept under shelter of a hedge. De Rochambeau
was the first to awake, and was startled at observing the state of the
tide, which, during their slumber, had been rapidly rising. Awakening
Washington and calling his attention to it, they hastened to the
causeway by which they had crossed from the mainland. It was covered
with water. Two small boats were brought, in which they embarked with
the saddles and bridles of their horses. Two American dragoons then
returned in the boats to the shore of the Island, where the horses
remained under care of their comrades. Two of the horses, which were
good swimmers, were held by the bridle and guided across; the rest were
driven into the water by the smack of the whip, and followed their
leaders; the boats then brought over the rest of the party. De
Rochambeau admired this maneuver as a specimen of American tactics in
the management of wild horses; but he thought it lucky that the enemy
knew nothing of their embarrassment, which lasted nearly an hour,
otherwise they might literally have been caught napping.
While the enemy’s works had been thoroughly reconnoitered, light troops
and lancers had performed their duty in scouring the neighborhood. The
refugee posts which had desolated the country were broken up. Most of
the refugees, Washington says, had fled and hid themselves in secret
places; some got over by stealth to the adjacent islands, and to the
enemy’s shipping, and a few were caught. Having effected the purposes of
their expedition, the two generals set off with their troops, on the
23d, for their encampment, where they arrived about midnight.
The immediate effect of this threatening movement of Washington, appears
in a letter of Sir Henry Clinton to Cornwallis, dated July 26th,
requesting him to order three regiments to New York from Carolina. “I
shall probably want them as well as the troops you may be able to spare
me from the Chesapeake for such offensive or defensive operations as may
offer in this quarter.”[77]
And Washington writes to Lafayette a few days subsequently: “I think we
have already effected one part of the plan of the campaign settled at
Weathersfield, that is, giving a substantial relief to the Southern
States, by obliging the enemy to recall a considerable part of their
force from thence. Our views must now be turned towards endeavoring to
expel them totally from those States, if we find ourselves incompetent
to the siege of New York.”
We will now give the reader a view of affairs in Virginia, and show how
they were ultimately affected by these military maneuvers and
demonstrations in the neighborhood of King’s Bridge.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXIII.
Movements and Counter-movements of Cornwallis and Lafayette in
Virginia.—Tarleton and his Troopers scour the Country.—A Dash at the
State Legislature.—Attempt to Surprise the Governor at
Monticello.—Retreat of Jefferson to Carter’s Mountain.—Steuben
outwitted by Simcoe.—Lafayette joined by Wayne and Steuben.—Acts on
the Aggressive.—Desperate Melée of Macpherson and Simcoe.—Cornwallis
pursued to Jamestown Island.—Mad Anthony in a Morass.—His Impetuous
Valor.—Alertness of Lafayette.—Washington’s Opinion of the Virginia
Campaign.
The first object of Lord Cornwallis on the junction of his forces at
Petersburg in May, was to strike a blow at Lafayette. The marquis was
encamped on the north side of James River, between Wilton and Richmond,
with about one thousand regulars, two thousand militia, and fifty
dragoons. He was waiting for reinforcements of militia, and for the
arrival of General Wayne, with the Pennsylvania line. The latter had
been ordered to the South by Washington, nearly three months previously,
but unavoidably delayed. Joined by these, Lafayette would venture to
receive a blow, “that being beaten, he might at least be beaten with
decency, and Cornwallis pay something for his victory.”[78]
His lordship hoped to draw him into an action before thus reinforced,
and with that view, marched, on the 24th of May, from Petersburg to
James River, which he crossed at Westover, about thirty miles below
Richmond. Here he was joined on the 26th by a reinforcement just arrived
from New York, part of which he sent under General Leslie to strengthen
the garrison at Portsmouth. He was relieved also from military
companionship with the infamous Arnold, who obtained leave of absence to
return to New York, where business of importance was said to demand his
attention. While he was in command of the British army in Virginia,
Lafayette had refused to hold any correspondence, or reciprocate any of
the civilities of war with him; for which he was highly applauded by
Washington.
Being now strongly reinforced, Cornwallis moved to dislodge Lafayette
from Richmond. The latter, conscious of the inferiority of his forces,
decamped as soon as he heard his lordship had crossed James River. “I am
resolved,” said he, “on a war of skirmishes, without engaging too far,
and above all, to be on my guard against that numerous and excellent
cavalry, which the militia dread, as if they were so many savage
beasts.” He now directed his march toward the upper country, inclining
to the north, to favor a junction with Wayne. Cornwallis followed him as
far as the upper part of Hanover County, destroying public stores
wherever found. He appears to have undervalued Lafayette, on account of
his youth. “The boy cannot escape me,” said he, in a letter which was
intercepted. The youth of the marquis, however, aided the celerity of
his movements; and now that he had the responsibility of an independent
command, he restrained his youthful fire, and love of enterprise.
Independence had rendered him cautious. “I am afraid of myself,” said
he, “as much as of the enemy.”[79]
Cornwallis soon found it impossible either to overtake Lafayette, or
prevent his junction with Wayne; he turned his attention, therefore, to
other objects.
Greene, in his passage through Virginia, had urged the importance of
removing horses out of the way of the enemy; his caution had been
neglected; the consequences were now felt. The great number of fine
horses in the stables of Virginia gentlemen, who are noted for their
love of the noble animal, had enabled Cornwallis to mount many of his
troops in first-rate style. These he employed in scouring the country,
and destroying public stores. Tarleton and his legion, it is said, were
mounted on race-horses. “Under this cloud of light troops,” said
Lafayette, “it is difficult to counteract any rapid movements they may
choose to take!”
The State legislature had been removed for safety to Charlottesville,
where it was assembled for the purpose of levying taxes, and drafting
militia. Tarleton, with one hundred and eighty cavalry and seventy
mounted infantry, was ordered by Cornwallis to make a dash there, break
up the legislature, and carry off members. On his way thither, on the
4th of June, he captured and destroyed a convoy of arms and clothing
destined for Greene’s army in North Carolina. At another place he
surprised several persons of note at the house of a Dr. Walker, but
lingered so long breakfasting, that a person mounted on a fleet horse
had time to reach Charlottesville before him, and spread the alarm.
Tarleton crossed the Rivanna, which washes the hill on which
Charlottesville is situated; dispersed a small force collected on the
bank, and galloped into the town thinking to capture the whole assembly.
Seven alone fell into his hands; the rest had made their escape. No
better success attended a party of horse under Captain McLeod, detached
to surprise the Governor (Thomas Jefferson), at his residence in
Monticello, about three miles from Charlottesville, where several
members of the legislature were his guests. The dragoons were espied
winding up the mountain; the guests dispersed; the family was hurried
off to the residence of Colonel Carter, six miles distant, while the
governor himself made a rapid retreat on horseback to Carter’s Mountain.
Having set fire to all the public stores at Charlottesville, Tarleton
pushed for the point of Fork at the confluence of the Rivanna and
Fluvanna; to aid if necessary, a detachment of yagers, infantry, and
hussars, sent under Colonel Simcoe to destroy a great quantity of
military stores collected at that post. The Baron Steuben, who was
stationed there with five hundred Virginia regulars and a few militia,
and had heard of the march of Tarleton, had succeeded in transporting
the greater part of the stores, as well as his troops, across the river,
and as the water was deep and the boats were all on his side, he might
have felt himself secure. The unexpected appearance of Simcoe’s
infantry, however, designedly spread out on the opposite heights,
deceived him into the idea that it was the van of the British army. In
his alarm he made a night retreat of thirty miles, leaving the greater
part of the stores scattered along the river bank, which were destroyed
the next morning by a small detachment of the enemy sent across in
canoes.
On the 10th of June, Lafayette was at length gladdened by the arrival of
Wayne with about nine hundred of the Pennsylvania line. Thus reinforced,
he changed his whole plan, and ventured on the aggressive. Cornwallis
had gotten between him and a large deposit of military stores at
Albemarle Old Court-house.
The marquis, by a rapid march at night, through a road long disused,
threw himself between the British army and the stores, and, being joined
by a numerous body of mountain militia, took a strong position to
dispute the advance of the enemy.
Cornwallis did not think it advisable to pursue this enterprise,
especially as he heard Lafayette would soon be joined by forces under
Baron Steuben. Yielding easy credence, therefore, to a report that the
stores had been removed from Albemarle Court-house, he turned his face
toward the lower part of Virginia, and made a retrograde march, first to
Richmond, and afterwards to Williamsburg.
Lafayette, being joined by Steuben and his forces, had about four
thousand men under him, one half of whom were regulars. He now followed
the British army at the distance of eighteen or twenty miles, throwing
forward his light troops to harass their rear, which was covered by
Tarleton and Simcoe with their cavalry and infantry.
Cornwallis arrived at Williamsburg on the 25th, and sent out Simcoe with
his rangers and a company of yagers to destroy some boats and stores on
the Chickahominy River, and to sweep off the cattle of the neighborhood.
Lafayette heard of the ravage, and detached Lieutenant-colonel Butler,
of the Pennsylvania line, with a corps of light troops and a body of
horse under Major McPherson, to intercept the marauders. As the infantry
could not push on fast enough for the emergency, McPherson took up fifty
of them behind fifty of his dragoons, and dashed on. He overtook a
company of Simcoe’s rangers under Captain Shank, about six miles from
Williamsburg, foraging at a farm; a sharp encounter took place;
McPherson at the outset was unhorsed and severely hurt. The action
continued. Simcoe with his infantry, who had been in the advance
convoying a drove of cattle, now engaged in the fight. Butler’s riflemen
began to arrive, and supported the dragoons. It was a desperate mêlée;
much execution was done on both sides. Neither knew the strength of the
force they were contending with; but supposed it the advance guard of
the opposite army. An alarm gun was fired by the British on a
neighboring hill. It was answered by alarm guns at Williamsburg. The
Americans supposed the whole British force coming out to assail them,
and began to retire. Simcoe, imagining Lafayette to be at hand, likewise
drew off, and pursued his march to Williamsburg. Both parties fought
well; both had been severely handled; both claimed a victory, though
neither gained one. The loss in killed and wounded on both sides was
severe for the number engaged; but the statements vary, and were never
reconciled. It is certain the result gave great satisfaction to the
Americans, and inspired them with redoubled ardor.
An express was received by Cornwallis at Williamsburg which obliged him
to change his plans. The movements of Washington in the neighborhood of
New York, menacing an attack, had produced the desired effect. Sir Henry
Clinton, alarmed for the safety of the place, had written to Cornwallis,
requiring a part of his troops for its protection. His lordship prepared
to comply with this requisition, but as it would leave him too weak to
continue at Williamsburg, he set out on the 4th of July for Portsmouth.
Lafayette followed him on the ensuing day, and took post within nine
miles of his camp; intending, when the main body of the enemy should
have crossed the ford to the island of Jamestown, to fall upon the
rear-guard. Cornwallis suspected his design, and prepared to take
advantage of it. The wheel carriages, bat horses, and baggage, were
passed over to the island under the escort of the Queen’s Rangers;
making a great display, as if the main body had crossed; his lordship,
however, with the greater part of his forces, remained on the mainland,
his right covered by ponds, the centre and left by morasses over which a
few narrow causeways of logs connected his position with the country,
and James Island lay in the rear. His camp was concealed by a skirt of
woods, and covered by an outpost.
In the morning of the 6th, as the Americans were advancing, a negro and
a dragoon, employed by Tarleton, threw themselves in their way,
pretending to be deserters, and informed them that the body of the
king’s troops had passed James River in the night, leaving nothing
behind but the rear-guard, composed of the British legion and a
detachment of infantry. Persuaded of the fact, Lafayette with his troops
crossed the morass on the left of the enemy by a narrow causeway of
logs, and halted beyond about sunset. Wayne was detached with a body of
riflemen, dragoons and continental infantry, to make the attack, while
the marquis with nine hundred Continentals and some militia stood ready
to support him.
Wayne easily routed a patrol of cavalry and drove in the pickets, who
had been ordered to give way readily. The outpost which covered the camp
defended itself more obstinately, though exceedingly galled by the
riflemen. Wayne pushed forward with the Pennsylvania line, eight hundred
strong, and three field-pieces to attack it; at the first discharge of a
cannon more than two thousand of the enemy emerged from their
concealment, and he found too late that the whole British line was in
battle array before him. To retreat was more dangerous than to go on. So
thinking, with that impetuous valor which had gained him the name of Mad
Anthony, he ordered a charge to be sounded, and threw himself horse and
foot with shouts upon the enemy. It was a sanguinary conflict and a
desperate one, for the enemy were outflanking him right and left.
Fortunately, the heaviness of the fire had awakened the suspicions of
Lafayette,—it was too strong for the outpost of a rear-guard. Spurring
to a point of land which commanded a view of the British camp, he
discovered the actual force of the enemy, and the peril of Wayne.
Galloping back, he sent word to Wayne to fall back to General
Muhlenburg’s brigade, which had just arrived, and was forming within
half a mile of the scene of conflict. Wayne did so in good order,
leaving behind his three cannon, the horses which drew them having been
killed.
The whole army then retired across the morass. The enemy’s cavalry would
have pursued them, but Cornwallis forbade it. The night was falling. The
hardihood of Wayne’s attack, and his sudden retreat, it is said,
deceived and perplexed his lordship. He thought the Americans more
strong than they really were, and the retreat a mere feint to draw him
into an ambuscade. That retreat, if followed close, might have been
converted into a disastrous flight.
The loss of the Americans in this brief but severe conflict is stated by
Lafayette to have been one hundred and eighteen killed, wounded and
prisoners, including ten officers. The British loss was said to be five
officers wounded, and seventy-five privates killed and wounded. “Our
field officers,” said Wayne, “were generally dismounted by having their
horses either killed or wounded under them. I will not condole with the
marquis for the loss of two of his, as he was frequently requested to
keep at a greater distance. His natural bravery rendered him deaf to
admonition.”
Lafayette retreated to Green Springs, where he rallied and reposed his
troops. Cornwallis crossed over to Jamestown Island after dark, and
three days afterwards, passing James River with his main force,
proceeded to Portsmouth. His object was, in conformity to his
instructions from the ministry, to establish there or elsewhere on the
Chesapeake, a permanent post, to serve as a central point for naval and
military operations.
In his letters to Washington giving an account of these events,
Lafayette says: “I am anxious to know your opinion of the Virginia
campaign. The subjugation of this State was incontestably the principal
object of the ministry. I think your diversion has been of more use than
any of my maneuvers; but the latter have been above all directed by
political views. As long as his lordship desired an action, not a musket
has been fired; the moment he would avoid a combat, we began a war of
skirmishes; but I had always care not to compromise the army. The naval
superiority of the enemy, his superiority in cavalry, in regular troops,
and his thousand other advantages, make me consider myself lucky to have
come off safe and sound. I had my eye fixed on negotiations in Europe,
and I made it my aim to give his lordship the disgrace of a
retreat.”[80]
We will now turn to resume the course of General Greene’s campaigning in
the Carolinas.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXIV.
Greene’s Retrograde Operation in South Carolina.—Appears before
Camden.—Affair at Hobkirk’s Hill.—Rawdon abandons Camden.—Rapid
Successes of the Americans.—Greene’s Attack on the Fortress of
Ninety Six.—Operations against Lord Rawdon.—Greene on the High Hills
of Santee.—Sumter scours the Lower Country.—Dash of Colonel Wade
Hampton at the Gates of Charleston.—Exploits of Lee and Hampton.—Of
Captain Armstrong at Quimby Bridge.—Action in the Neighborhood.—End
of the Campaign.
It will be recollected that Greene, on the 5th of April, set out from
Deep River on a retrograde march, to carry the war again into South
Carolina, beginning by an attack on Lord Rawdon’s post at Camden. Sumter
and Marion had been keeping alive the revolutionary fire in that State;
the former on the northeast frontier, the latter in his favorite
fighting ground between the Pedee and Santee rivers. On the reappearance
of Greene, they stood ready to aid with heart and hand.
On his way to Camden, Greene detached Lee to join Marion with his
legion, and make an attack upon Fort Watson by way of diversion. For
himself, he appeared before Camden, but finding it too strong and too
well garrisoned, fell back about two miles, and took post at Hobkirk’s
Hill, hoping to draw his lordship out. He succeeded but too well. His
lordship attacked him on the 25th of April, coming upon him partly by
surprise. There was a hard-fought battle, but through some false move
among part of his troops, Greene was obliged to retreat. His lordship
did not pursue, but shut himself up in Camden, waiting to be rejoined by
part of his garrison which was absent.
Greene posted himself near Camden Ferry on the Wateree, to intercept
these reinforcements. Lee and Marion, who had succeeded in capturing
Fort Watson, also took a position on the high hills of Santee for the
same purpose. Their efforts were unavailing. Lord Rawdon was rejoined by
the other part of his troops. His superior force now threatened to give
him the mastery. Greene felt the hazardous nature of his situation. His
troops were fatigued by their long marchings; he was disappointed of
promised aid and reinforcements from Virginia; still he was undismayed,
and prepared for another of his long and stubborn retreats. “We must
always operate,” said he, “on the maxim that your enemy will do what he
ought to do. Lord Rawdon will push us back to the mountains, but we will
dispute every inch of ground in the best manner we can.” Such were his
words to General Davie on the evening of the 9th of May, as he sat in
his tent with a map before him studying the roads and fastnesses of the
country. An express was to set off for Philadelphia the next morning,
and he requested General Davie, who was of that city, to write to the
members of Congress with whom he was acquainted, painting in the
strongest colors their situation and gloomy prospects.
The very next morning there was a joyful reverse. Greene sent for
General Davie. “Rawdon,” cried he, exultingly, “is preparing to evacuate
Camden; that place was the key of the enemy’s line of posts, they will
now all fall or be evacuated; all will now go well. Burn your letters. I
shall march immediately to the Congaree.”
His lordship had heard of the march of Cornwallis into Virginia, and
that all hope of aid from him was at an end. His garrison was out of
provisions. All supplies were cut off by the Americans; he had no choice
but to evacuate. He left Camden in flames. Immense quantities of stores
and baggage were consumed, together with the court-house, the gaol, and
many private houses.
Rapid successes now attended the American arms. Fort Motte, the middle
post between Camden and Ninety Six, was taken by Marion and Lee. Lee
next captured Granby, and marched to aid Pickens in the siege of
Augusta; while Greene, having acquired a supply of arms, ammunition, and
provisions, from the captured forts, sat down before the fortress of
Ninety Six, on the 22d of May. It was the great mart and stronghold of
the royalists, and was principally garrisoned by royalists from New
Jersey and New York, commanded by Colonel Cruger, a native of New York.
The siege lasted for nearly a month. The place was valiantly defended.
Lee arrived with his legion, having failed before Augusta, and invested
a stockaded fort which formed part of the works.
Word was brought that Lord Rawdon was pressing forward with
reinforcements, and but a few miles distant on the Saluda. Greene
endeavored to get up Sumter, Marion, and Pickens, to his assistance, but
they were too far on the right of Lord Rawdon to form a junction. The
troops were eager to storm the works before his lordship should arrive.
A partial assault was made on the 18th of June. It was a bloody contest.
The stockaded fort was taken, but the troops were repulsed from the main
works.
Greene retreated across the Saluda, and halted at Bush River, at twenty
miles distance, to observe the motion of the enemy. In a letter thence
to Washington, he writes: “My fears are principally from the enemy’s
superior cavalry. To the northward cavalry is nothing, from the numerous
fences; but to the southward, a disorder, by a superior cavalry, may be
improved into a defeat, and a defeat into a rout. Virginia and North
Carolina could not be brought to consider cavalry of such great
importance as they are to the security of the army and the safety of a
country.”
Lord Rawdon entered Ninety Six on the 21st, but sallied forth again on
the 24th, taking with him all the troops capable of fatigue, two
thousand in number, without wheel carriage of any kind, or even
knapsacks, hoping by a rapid move to overtake Greene. Want of provisions
soon obliged him to give up the pursuit, and return to Ninety Six.
Leaving about one half of his force there, under Colonel Cruger, he
sallied a second time from Ninety Six, at the head of eleven hundred
infantry, with cavalry, artillery and field-pieces, marching by the
south side of the Saluda for the Congaree.
He was now pursued in his turn by Greene and Lee. In this march more
than fifty of his lordship’s soldiers fell dead from heat, fatigue, and
privation. At Orangeburg, where he arrived on the 8th of July, his
lordship was joined by a large detachment under Colonel Stuart.
Greene had followed him closely, and having collected all his
detachments, and being joined by Sumter, appeared within four miles of
Orangeburg, on the 10th of July, and offered battle. The offer was not
accepted, and the position of Lord Rawdon was too strong to be attacked.
Greene remained there two or three days; when, learning that Colonel
Cruger was advancing with the residue of the forces from Ninety Six,
which would again give his lordship a superiority of force, he moved off
with his infantry on the night of the 13th of July, crossed the Saluda,
and posted himself on the east side of the Wateree, at the high hills of
Santee. In this salubrious and delightful region, where the air was pure
and breezy, and the water delicate, he allowed his weary soldiers to
repose and refresh themselves, awaiting the arrival of some continental
troops and militia from North Carolina, when he intended to resume his
enterprise of driving the enemy from the interior of the country.
At the time when he moved from the neighborhood of Orangeburg (July
13th), he detached Sumter with about a thousand light troops to scour
the lower country, and attack the British posts in the vicinity of
Charleston, now left uncovered by the concentration of their forces at
Orangeburg. Under Sumter acted Marion, Lee, the Hamptons, and other
enterprising partisans. They were to act separately in breaking up the
minor posts at and about Dorchester, but to unite at Monk’s Corner,
where Lieutenant-colonel Coates was stationed with the ninth regiment.
This post carried, they were to reunite with Greene’s army on the high
hills of Santee.
Scarce was Sumter on his march, when he received a letter from Greene,
dated July 14th, stating that Cruger had formed a junction with Lord
Rawdon the preceding night; no time, therefore, was to be lost. “Push
your operations night and day: station a party to watch the enemy’s
motions at Orangeburg. Keep Colonel Lee and General Marion advised of
all matters from above, and tell Colonel Lee to thunder even at the
gates of Charleston.”
Conformably to these orders, Colonel Henry Hampton with a party was
posted to keep an eye on Orangeburg. Lee with his legion, accompanied by
Lieutenant-colonel Wade Hampton, and a detachment of cavalry, was sent
to carry Dorchester, and then press forward to the gates of Charleston;
while Sumter, with the main body, took up his line of march along the
road on the south side of the Congaree, towards Monk’s Corner.
As Lee approached Dorchester, Colonel Wade Hampton, with his cavalry,
passed to the east of that place, to a bridge on Goose Creek, to cut off
all communication between the garrison and Monk’s Corner. His sudden
appearance gave the alarm, the garrison abandoned its post, and when Lee
arrived there he found it deserted. He proceeded to secure a number of
horses and wagons, and some fixed ammunition, which the garrison had
left behind, and to send them off to Hampton. Hampton, kept in suspense
by this delay, lost patience. He feared that the alarm would spread
through the country, and the dash into the vicinity of Charleston be
prevented—or, perhaps, that Lee might intend to make it by himself.
Abandoning the bridge at Goose Creek, therefore, he set off with his
cavalry, clattered down to the neighborhood of the lines, and threw the
city into confusion. The bells rang, alarm guns were fired, the citizens
turned out under arms. Hampton captured a patrol of dragoons and a
guard, at the Quarter House; completed his bravado by parading his
cavalry in sight of the sentinels on the advanced works, and then
retired, carrying off fifty prisoners, several of them officers.
Lee arrived in the neighborhood on the following day, but too late to
win any laurels. Hampton had been beforehand with him, made the dash,
and “thundered at the gate.” Both now hastened to rejoin Sumter on the
evening of the 16th, who was only waiting to collect his detachments,
before he made an attack on Colonel Coates at Monk’s Corner. The assault
was to be made on the following morning. During the night Coates
decamped in silence; the first signal of his departure was the bursting
of flames through the roof of a brick church, which he had used as a
magazine, and which contained stores that could not be carried away. A
pursuit was commenced; Lee with his legion, and Hampton with the State
cavalry, took the lead. Sumter followed with the infantry. The
rear-guard of the British, about one hundred strong, was overtaken with
the baggage, at the distance of eighteen miles. They were new troops,
recently arrived from Ireland, and had not seen service. On being
charged by the cavalry sword in hand, they threw down their arms without
firing a shot, and cried for quarter, which was granted. While Lee was
securing them, Captain Armstrong with the first section of cavalry
pushed on in pursuit of Coates and the main body. That officer had
crossed a wooden bridge over Quimby Creek, loosened the planks, and was
only waiting to be rejoined by his rear-guard, to throw them off, and
cut off all pursuit. His troops were partly on a causeway beyond the
bridge, partly crowded in a lane. He had heard no alarm guns, and knew
nothing of an enemy being at hand, until he saw Armstrong spurring up
with his section Coates gave orders for his troops to halt, form, and
march up; a howitzer was brought to bear upon the bridge, and a fatigue
party rushed forward to throw off the planks. Armstrong saw the danger,
dashed across the bridge, with his section, drove off the artillerists,
and captured the howitzer before it could be discharged. The fatigue
men, who had been at work on the bridge, snatched up their guns, gave a
volley, and fled. Two dragoons fell dead by the howitzer; others were
severely wounded. Armstrong’s party, in crossing the bridge, had
displaced some of the planks, and formed a chasm. Lieutenant Carrington,
with the second section of dragoons, leaped over it; the chasm being
thus enlarged, the horses of the third section refused. A pell-mell
fight took place between the handful of dragoons who had crossed, and
some of the enemy. Armstrong and Carrington were engaged hand to hand
with Colonel Coates and his officers, who defended themselves from
behind a wagon. The troops were thronging to their aid from lane and
causeway. Armstrong, seeing the foe too strong in front, and no
reinforcement coming on in rear, wheeled off with some of his men to the
left, galloped into the woods, and pushed up along the stream to ford
it, and seek the main body.
During the mêlée, Lee had come up and endeavored with the dragoons of
the third section to replace the planks of the bridge. Their efforts
were vain; the water was deep, the mud deeper; there was no foothold,
nor was there any firm spot where to swim the horses across.
While they were thus occupied, Colonel Coates, with his men, opened a
fire upon them from the other end of the bridge; having no firearms to
reply with, they were obliged to retire. The remainder of the planks
were then thrown off from the bridge, after which Colonel Coates took
post on an adjacent plantation, made the dwelling-house, which stood on
a rising ground, his citadel, planted the howitzer before it, and
distributed part of his men in outhouses and within fences and garden
pickets, which sheltered them from the attack of cavalry. Here he
awaited the arrival of Sumter with the main body, determined to make a
desperate defense.
It was not until three o’clock in the afternoon, that Sumter with his
forces appeared upon the ground, having had to make a considerable
circuit on account of the destruction of the bridge.
By four o’clock the attack commenced. Sumter, with part of the troops,
advanced in front under cover of a line of negro huts, which he wished
to secure. Marion, with his brigade, much reduced in number, approached
on the right of the enemy, where there was no shelter but fences; the
cavalry, not being able to act, remained at a distance as a reserve,
and, if necessary, to cover a retreat.
Sumter’s brigade soon got possession of the huts, where they used their
rifles with sure effect. Marion and his men rushed up through a galling
fire to the fences on the right. The enemy retired within the house and
garden, and kept up a sharp fire from doors and windows and picketed
fence. Unfortunately, the Americans had neglected to bring on their
artillery; their rifles and muskets were not sufficient to force the
enemy from his stronghold. Having repaired the bridge, they sent off for
the artillery and a supply of powder, which accompanied it. The evening
was at hand; their ammunition was exhausted, and they retired in good
order, intending to renew the combat with artillery in the morning.
Leaving the cavalry to watch and control the movements of the enemy,
they drew off across Quimby Bridge, and encamped at the distance of
three miles.
Here, when they came to compare notes, it was found that the loss in
killed and wounded had chiefly fallen on Marion’s corps. His men, from
their exposed situation, had borne the brunt of the battle; while
Sumter’s had suffered but little, being mostly sheltered in the huts.
Jealousy and distrust were awakened, and discord reigned in the camp.
Partisan and volunteer troops readily fall asunder under such
circumstances. Many moved off in the night. Lee, accustomed to act
independently, and unwilling, perhaps, to acknowledge Sumter as his
superior officer, took up his line of march for head-quarters without
consulting him. Sumter still had force enough, now that he was joined by
the artillery, to have held the enemy in a state of siege; but he was
short of ammunition, only twenty miles from Charleston, at a place
accessible by tide-water, and he apprehended the approach of Lord
Rawdon, who, it was said, was moving down from Orangeburg. He therefore
retired across the Santee, and rejoined Greene at his encampment.
So ended this foray, which fell far short of the expectations formed
from the spirit and activity of the leaders and their men. Various
errors have been pointed out in their operations, but concerted schemes
are rarely carried out in all their parts by partisan troops. One of the
best effects of the incursion, was the drawing down Lord Rawdon from
Orangeburg, with five hundred of his troops. He returned no more to the
upper country, but sailed not long after from Charleston for Europe.
Colonel Stuart, who was left in command at Orangeburg, moved forward
from that place, and encamped on the south side of the Congaree River,
near its junction with the Wateree, and within sixteen miles of Greene’s
position on the high hills of Santee. The two armies lay in sight of
each other’s fires, but two large rivers intervened, to secure each
party from sudden attack. Both armies, however, needed repose, and
military operations were suspended, as if by mutual consent, during the
sultry summer heat.
The campaign had been a severe and trying one, and checkered with
vicissitudes; but Greene had succeeded in regaining the greater part of
Georgia and the two Carolinas, and, as he said, only wanted a little
assistance from the North to complete their recovery. He was soon
rejoiced by a letter from Washington, informing him that a detachment
from the army of Lafayette might be expected to bring him the required
assistance; but he was made still more happy by the following cordial
passage in the letter: “It is with the warmest pleasure I express my
full approbation of the various movements and operations which your
military conduct has lately exhibited, while I confess to you that I am
unable to conceive what more could have been done under your
circumstances, than has been displayed by your little, persevering, and
determined army.”
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXV.
Washington disappointed as to Reinforcements.—French Armament destined
for the Chesapeake.—Attempts on New York postponed.—March of the
Armies to the Chesapeake.—Stratagems to deceive the Enemy.—Arnold
ravages New London.—Washington at Philadelphia.—March of the Two
Armies through the City.—Cornwallis at Yorktown.—Preparations to
proceed against Him.—Visit to Mount Vernon.
After the grand reconnoissance of the posts on New York Island, related
in a former page, the confederate armies remained encamped about Dobbs
Ferry and the Greenburgh hills, awaiting an augmentation of force for
their meditated attack. To Washington’s great disappointment, his army
was but tardily and scantily recruited, while the garrison of New York
was augmented by the arrival of three thousand Hessian troops from
Europe. In this predicament he dispatched a circular letter to the
governments of the Eastern States, representing his delicate and
embarrassed situation. “Unable to advance with prudence, beyond my
present position,” writes he, “while, perhaps, in the general opinion,
my force is equal to the commencement of operations against New York, my
conduct must appear, if not blamable, highly mysterious at least. Our
allies, who were made to expect a very considerable augmentation of
force by this time, instead of seeing a prospect of advancing, must
conjecture, upon good grounds, that the campaign will waste fruitlessly
away. It will be no small degree of triumph to our enemies, and will
have a pernicious influence upon our friends in Europe, should they find
such a failure of resource, or such a want of energy to draw it out,
that our boasted and extensive preparations end only in idle parade....
The fulfillment of my engagements must depend upon the degree of vigor
with which the executives of the several States exercise the powers with
which they have been vested, and enforce the laws lately passed for
filling up and supplying the army. In full confidence that the means
which have been voted will be obtained, I shall continue my operations.”
Until we study Washington’s full, perspicuous letters, we know little of
the difficulties he had to struggle with in conducting his campaigns;
how often the sounding resolves of legislative bodies disappointed him;
how often he had to maintain a bold front when his country failed to
back him; how often, as in the siege of Boston, he had to carry on the
war without powder!
In a few days came letters from Lafayette, dated 26th and 30th of July,
speaking of the embarkation of the greatest part of Cornwallis’s army at
Portsmouth. “There are in Hampton Roads thirty transport ships full of
troops, most of them red coats, and eight or ten brigs with cavalry on
board.” He supposed their destination to be New York, yet, though wind
and weather were favorable, they did not sail. “Should a French fleet
now come into Hampton Roads,” adds the sanguine marquis, “the British
army would, I think, be ours.”
At this juncture arrived the French frigate Concorde at Newport,
bringing despatches from Admiral the Count de Grasse. He was to leave
St. Domingo on the 3d of August, with between twenty-five and thirty
ships of the line, and a considerable body of land forces, and to steer
immediately for the Chesapeake.
This changed the face of affairs, and called for a change in the game.
All attempt upon New York was postponed; the whole of the French army,
and as large a part of the Americans as could be spared, were to move to
Virginia, and coöperate with the Count de Grasse for the redemption of
the Southern States. Washington apprised the count by letter of this
intention. He wrote also to Lafayette on the 15th of August: “By the
time this reaches you, the Count de Grasse will either be in the
Chesapeake, or may be looked for every moment. Under these
circumstances, whether the enemy remain in full force, or whether they
have only a detachment left, you will immediately take such a position
as will best enable you to prevent their sudden retreat through North
Carolina, which I presume they will attempt the instant they perceive so
formidable an armament.”
Should General Wayne, with the troops destined for South Carolina, still
remain in the neighborhood of James River, and the enemy have made no
detachment to the southward, the marquis was to detain these troops
until he heard again from Washington, and was to inform General Greene
of the cause of their detention.
“You shall hear further from me,” concludes the letter, “as soon as I
have concerted plans and formed dispositions for sending a reinforcement
from hence. In the mean time, I have only to recommend a continuance of
that prudence and good conduct which you have manifested through the
whole of your campaign. You will be particularly careful to conceal the
expected arrival of the count; because, if the enemy are not apprised of
it, they will stay on board their transports in the bay, which will be
the luckiest circumstance in the world.”
Washington’s “soul was now in arms.” At length, after being baffled and
disappointed so often by the incompetency of his means, and above all,
thwarted by the enemy’s naval potency, he had the possibility of coping
with them both on land and sea. The contemplated expedition was likely
to consummate his plans, and wind up the fortunes of the war, and he
determined to lead it in person. He would take with him something more
than two thousand of the American army; the rest, chiefly Northern
troops, were to remain with General Heath, who was to hold command of
West Point, and the other posts of the Hudson.
Perfect secrecy was maintained as to this change of plan. Preparations
were still carried on, as if for an attack upon New York. An extensive
encampment was marked out in the Jerseys, and ovens erected, and fuel
provided for the baking of bread; as if a part of the besieging force
was to be stationed there, thence to make a descent upon the enemy’s
garrison on Staten Island, in aid of the operations against the city.
The American troops, themselves, were kept in ignorance of their
destination. “General Washington,” observes one of the shrewdest of
them, “matures his great plans and designs under an impenetrable veil of
secrecy, and while we repose the fullest confidence in our chief, our
opinions (as to his intentions) must be founded only on doubtful
conjecture.”[81]
Previous to his decampment, Washington sent forward a party of pioneers
to clear the roads towards King’s Bridge, as if the posts recently
reconnoitered were about to be attempted. On the 19th of August, his
troops were paraded with their faces in that direction. When all were
ready, however, they were ordered to face about, and were marched up
along the Hudson River towards King’s Ferry.
De Rochambeau, in like manner, broke up his encampment, and took the
road by White Plains, North Castle, Pine’s Bridge, and Crompond, towards
the same point. All Westchester County was again alive with the tramp of
troops, the gleam of arms, and the lumbering of artillery and baggage
wagons along its roads.
On the 20th, Washington arrived at King’s Ferry, and his troops began to
cross the Hudson with their baggage, stores, and cannon, and encamp at
Haverstraw. He himself crossed in the evening, and took up his quarters
at Colonel Hay’s, at the White House. Thence he wrote confidentially to
Lafayette, on the 21st, now first apprising him of his being on the
march with the expedition, and repeating his injunctions that the land
and naval forces, already at the scene of action, should so combine
their operations, that the English, on the arrival of the French fleet,
might not be able to escape. He wrote also to the Count de Grasse
(presuming that the letter would find him in the Chesapeake), urging him
to send up all his frigates and transports to the Head of Elk, by the
8th of September, for the transportation of the combined army, which
would be there by that time. He informed him also, that the Count de
Barras had resolved to join him in the Chesapeake with his squadron. One
is reminded of the tissue of movements planned from a distance, which
ended in the capture of Burgoyne.
On the 22d, the French troops arrived by their circuitous route, and
began to cross to Stony Point with their artillery, baggage, and stores.
The operation occupied between two and three days; during which time
Washington took the Count de Rochambeau on a visit to West Point, to
show him the citadel of the Highlands, an object of intense interest, in
consequence of having been the scene of Arnold’s treason.
The two armies having safely crossed the Hudson, commenced on the 25th,
their several lines of march towards the Jerseys; the Americans for
Springfield on the Rahway, the French for Whippany towards Trenton. Both
armies were still kept in the dark as to the ultimate object of their
movement. An intelligent observer, already quoted, who accompanied the
army, writes: “Our situation reminds me of some theatrical exhibition,
where the interest and expectations of the spectators are continually
increasing, and where curiosity is wrought to the highest point. Our
destination has been for some time matter of perplexing doubt and
uncertainty; bets have run high on one side, that we were to occupy the
ground marked out on the Jersey shore, to aid in the siege of New York;
and on the other, that we are stealing a march on the enemy, and are
actually destined to Virginia, in pursuit of the army under
Cornwallis.... A number of bateaux mounted on carriages have followed in
our train; supposed for the purpose of conveying the troops over to
Staten Island.”[82]
The mystery was at length solved. “We have now passed all the enemy’s
posts,” continues the foregoing writer, “and are pursuing our route,
with increased rapidity, toward Philadelphia. Wagons have been prepared
to carry the soldiers’ packs, that they may press forward with greater
facility. Our destination can no longer be a secret. Cornwallis is
unquestionably the object of our present expedition.... His Excellency,
General Washington, having succeeded in a masterly piece of
_generalship_, has now the satisfaction of leaving his adversary to
ruminate on his own mortifying situation, and to anticipate the perilous
fate which awaits his friend, Lord Cornwallis, in a different
quarter.”[83]
Washington had in fact reached the Delaware with his troops, before Sir
Henry Clinton was aware of their destination. It was too late to oppose
their march, even had his forces been adequate. As a kind of
counterplot, therefore, and in the hope of distracting the attention of
the American commander, and drawing off a part of his troops, he hurried
off an expedition to the eastward, to insult the State of Connecticut,
and attack her seaport of New London.
The command of this expedition, which was to be one of ravage and
destruction, was given to Arnold, as if it was necessary to complete the
measure of his infamy, that he should carry fire and sword into his
native State, and desecrate the very cradle of his infancy.
On the 6th of September he appeared off the harbor of New London with a
fleet of ships and transports and a force of two thousand infantry and
three hundred cavalry; partly British troops, but a great part made up
of American royalists and refugees, and Hessian yagers.
New London stands on the west bank of the river Thames. The approach to
it was defended by two forts on opposite sides of the river, and about a
mile below the town; Fort Trumbull on the west and Fort Griswold on the
east side, on a height called Groton Hill. The troops landed in two
divisions of about eight hundred men each; one under Lieutenant-colonel
Eyre on the east side, the other under Arnold on the west, on the same
side with New London, and about three miles below it. Arnold met with
but little opposition. The few militia which manned an advance battery
and Fort Trumbull, abandoned their posts, and crossed the river to Fort
Griswold. He pushed on and took possession of the town.
Colonel Eyre had a harder task. The militia, about one hundred and
fifty-seven strong, had collected in Fort Griswold, hastily and
imperfectly armed it is true, some of them merely with spears, but they
were brave men, and had a brave commander, Colonel William Ledyard,
brother of the celebrated traveller. The fort was square and regularly
built. Arnold, unaware of its strength, had ordered Colonel Eyre to take
it by a coup de main. He discovered his mistake, and sent counter
orders, but too late.
Colonel Eyre forced the pickets; made his way into the fosse, and
attacked the fort on three sides; it was bravely defended; the enemy
were repeatedly repulsed; they returned to the assault, scrambled up on
each other’s shoulders, effected a lodgment on the fraise, and made
their way with fixed bayonets through the embrasures. Colonel Eyre
received a mortal wound near the works; Major Montgomery took his place;
a negro thrust him through with a spear as he mounted the parapet; Major
Bromfield succeeded to the command, and carried the fort at the point of
the bayonet. In fact, after the enemy were within the walls, the
fighting was at an end and the slaughter commenced. Colonel Ledyard had
ordered his men to lay down their arms; but the enemy, exasperated by
the resistance they had experienced, and by the death of their officers,
continued the deadly work of the musket and the bayonet. Colonel
Ledyard, it is said, was thrust through with his own sword after
yielding it up to Major Bromfield. Seventy of the garrison were slain,
and thirty-five desperately wounded: and most of them after the fort had
been taken. The massacre was chiefly perpetrated by the tories,
refugees, and Hessians. Major Bromfield himself was a New Jersey
loyalist. The rancor of such men against their patriot countrymen was
always deadly. The loss of the enemy was two officers and forty-six
soldiers killed, and eight officers and one hundred and thirty-five
soldiers wounded.
Arnold, in the mean time, had carried on the work of destruction at New
London. Some of the American shipping had effected their escape up the
river, but a number were burnt. Fire, too, was set to the public stores;
it communicated to the dwelling-houses, and, in a little while, the
whole place was wrapped in flames. The destruction was immense, not only
of public but private property: many families once living in affluence
were ruined and rendered homeless.
Having completed his ravage, Arnold retreated to his boats, leaving the
town still burning. Alarm guns had roused the country; the traitor was
pursued by the exasperated yeomanry; he escaped their well-merited
vengeance, but several of his men were killed and wounded.
So ended his career of infamy in his native land; a land which had once
delighted to honor him, but in which his name was never thenceforth to
be pronounced without a malediction.
The expedition, while it added one more hateful and disgraceful incident
to this unnatural war, failed of its main object. It had not diverted
Washington from the grand object on which he had fixed his mind. On the
30th of August, he, with his suite, had arrived at Philadelphia about
noon, and alighted at the city tavern amidst enthusiastic crowds, who
welcomed him with acclamations, but wondered at the object of this
visit. During his sojourn in the city he was hospitably entertained at
the house of Mr. Morris, the patriotic financier. The greatest
difficulty with which he had to contend in his present enterprise, was
the want of funds, part of his troops not having received any pay for a
long time, and having occasionally given evidence of great discontent.
The service upon which they were going was disagreeable to the Northern
regiments, and the _douceur_ of a little hard money would have an
effect, Washington thought, to put them into a proper temper. In this
emergency he was accommodated by the Count de Rochambeau, with a loan of
twenty thousand hard dollars, which Mr. Robert Morris engaged to repay
by the first of October. This pecuniary pressure was relieved by the
arrival in Boston, on the 25th of August, of Colonel John Laurens from
his mission to France, bringing with him two and a half millions of
livres in cash, being part of a subsidy of six millions of livres
granted by the French king.
On the 2d of September the American troops passed through Philadelphia.
Their line of march, including appendages and attendants, extended
nearly two miles. The general officers and their staffs were well
dressed and well mounted, and followed by servants and baggage. In the
rear of every brigade were several field-pieces with ammunition wagons.
The soldiers kept step to the sound of the drum and fife. In the rear
followed a great number of wagons laden with tents, provisions, and
baggage, beside a few soldiers’ wives and children. The weather was warm
and dry. The troops as they marched raised a cloud of dust “like a
smothering snow-storm,” which almost blinded them. The begriming effect
was especially mortifying to the campaigner whom we quote, “as ladies
were viewing them from the windows of every house as they passed.”
Notwithstanding the dusty and somewhat ragged plight of the soldiery,
however, they were cheered with enthusiasm by the populace, who hailed
them as the war-worn defenders of the country.
The French troops entered on the following day but in different style.
Halting within a mile of the city they arranged their arms and
accoutrements; brushed the dust off of their gay white uniforms faced
with green, and then marched in with buoyant step and brilliant array to
the swelling music of a military band. The streets were again thronged
by the shouting populace. The windows were crowded with ladies; among
whom probably were some of the beauties who had crowned the British
knights in the chivalrous mime of the Mischianza, now ready to bestow
smiles and wreaths on their Gallic rivals.
At Philadelphia Washington received dispatches from Lafayette, dated the
21st and 24th of August, from his camp at the Forks of York River in
Virginia. The embarkation at Portsmouth, which the Marquis had supposed
might be intended for New York, was merely for Yorktown, where
Cornwallis had determined to establish the permanent post ordered in his
instructions.
Yorktown was a small place situated on a projecting bank on the south
side of York River, opposite a promontory called Gloucester Point. The
river between was not more than a mile wide, but deep enough to admit
ships of a large size and burthen. Here concentrating his forces, he had
proceeded to fortify the opposite points, calculating to have the works
finished by the beginning of October; at which time Sir Henry Clinton
intended to recommence operations on the Chesapeake. Believing that he
had no present enemy but Lafayette to guard against, Cornwallis felt so
secure in his position, that he wrote to Sir Henry on the 22d of August,
offering to detach a thousand or twelve hundred men to strengthen New
York against the apprehended attack of the combined armies.
While Cornwallis, undervaluing his youthful adversary, felt thus secure,
Lafayette, in conformity to the instructions of Washington, was taking
measures to cut off any retreat by land which his lordship might attempt
on the arrival of De Grasse. With this view he called upon General
Thomas Nelson, the Governor of Virginia, for six hundred of the militia
to be collected upon Blackwater; detached troops to the south of James
River, under pretext of a design to dislodge the British from
Portsmouth, and requested General Wayne to move southward, to be ready
to cross James River at Westover.
As to himself, Lafayette was prepared, as soon as he should hear of the
arrival of De Grasse, to march at once to Williamsburg and form a
junction with the troops which were to be landed from the fleet. Thus a
net was quietly drawn round Cornwallis by the youthful general, while
the veteran felt himself so secure that he was talking of detaching
troops to New York.
Lafayette, at the time of writing his dispatches, was ignorant that
Washington had taken command of the expedition coming to his aid, and
expressed an affectionate solicitude on the subject. “In the present
state of affairs, my dear general,” writes he, “I hope you will come
yourself to Virginia, and that, if the French army moves this way, I
will have at least the satisfaction of beholding you, myself, at the
head of the combined armies.” In concluding his letter, he writes:
“Adieu, my dear general. I heartily thank you for having ordered me to
remain in Virginia; and to your goodness to me I am owing the most
beautiful prospect I may ever behold.”
The letter of Lafayette gave no account of the Count de Grasse, and
Washington expressed himself distressed beyond measure to know what had
become of that commander. He had heard of an English fleet at sea
steering for the Chesapeake, and feared it might arrive and frustrate
all the flattering prospects in that quarter. Still, as usual, he looked
to the bright side. “Of many contingencies,” writes he, “we will hope
for the most propitious events. Should the retreat of Lord Cornwallis by
water be cut off by the arrival of either of the French fleets, I am
persuaded you will do all in your power to prevent his escape by land.
May that great felicity be reserved for you.”
Washington left Philadelphia on the 5th of September, on his way to the
Head of Elk. About three miles below Chester, he was met by an express
bearing tidings of the arrival of the Count de Grasse in the Chesapeake
with twenty-eight ships of the line. Washington instantly rode back to
Chester to rejoice with the Count de Rochambeau, who was coming down to
that place from Philadelphia by water. They had a joyous dinner
together, after which Washington proceeded in the evening on his
destination.
The express meantime reached Philadelphia most opportunely. There had
been a grand review of the French troops, at which the President of
Congress and all the fashion of the city were present. It was followed
by a banquet given to the officers by the French Minister, the Chevalier
de Luzerne. Scarce were the company seated at table, when dispatches
came announcing the arrival of De Grasse and the landing of three
thousand troops under the Marquis St. Simon, who, it was added, had
opened a communication with Lafayette.
All now was mutual gratulations at the banquet. The news soon went forth
and spread throughout the city. Acclamations were to be heard on all
sides, and crowds assembling before the house of the French Minister
rent the air with hearty huzzas for Louis the Sixteenth.
Washington reached the Head of Elk on the 6th. The troops and a great
part of the stores were already arrived, and beginning to embark. Thence
he wrote to the Count De Grasse, felicitating him on his arrival; and
informing him that the van of the two armies were about to embark and
fall down the Chesapeake, form a junction with the troops under the
Count de St. Simon and the Marquis de Lafayette, and coöperate in
blocking up Cornwallis in York River, so as to prevent his retreat by
land or his getting any supplies from the country. “As it will be of the
greatest importance,” writes he, “to prevent the escape of his lordship
from his present position, I am persuaded that every measure which
prudence can dictate will be adopted for that purpose, until the arrival
of our complete force, when I hope his lordship will be compelled to
yield his ground to the superior power of our combined forces.”
Everything had thus far gone on well, but there were not vessels enough
at the Head of Elk for the immediate transportation of all the troops,
ordnance, and stores; a part of the troops would have to proceed to
Baltimore by land. Leaving General Heath to bring on the American
forces, and the Baron de Viomenil the French, Washington, accompanied by
De Rochambeau, crossed the Susquehanna early on the 8th, and pushed
forward for Baltimore. He was met by a deputation of the citizens, who
made him a public address, to which he replied, and his arrival was
celebrated in the evening with illuminations.
On the 9th he left Baltimore a little after daybreak, accompanied only
by Colonel Humphreys; the rest of his suite were to follow at their
ease; for himself, he was determined to reach Mount Vernon that evening.
Six years had elapsed since last he was under its roof; six wearing
years of toil, of danger, and of constant anxiety. During all that time,
and amid all his military cares, he had kept up a regular weekly
correspondence with his steward or agent, regulating all the affairs of
his rural establishment with as much exactness as he did those of the
army.
It was a late hour when he arrived at Mount Vernon; where he was joined
by his suite at dinner time on the following day, and by the Count de
Rochambeau in the evening. General Chastellux and his aides-de-camp
arrived there on the 11th, and Mount Vernon was now crowded with guests,
who were all entertained in the ample style of old Virginian
hospitality. On the 12th, tearing himself away once more from the home
of his heart, Washington with his military associates continued onward
to join Lafayette at Williamsburg.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXVI.
Cornwallis aroused to his Danger.—His Retreat to the Carolinas cut
off.—Strengthens his Works.—Action between the French and British
Fleets.—Washington and De Rochambeau visit the French
Fleet.—Operations before Yorktown.
Lord Cornwallis had been completely roused from his dream of security by
the appearance, on the 28th of August, of the fleet of Count de Grasse
within the Capes of the Delaware. Three French ships of the line and a
frigate soon anchored at the mouth of York River. The boats of the fleet
were immediately busy conveying three thousand three hundred land
forces, under the Marquis de St. Simon, up James River to form the
preconcerted junction with those under Lafayette.
Awakened to his danger, Cornwallis, as Washington had foreseen,
meditated a retreat to the Carolinas. It was too late. York River was
blocked up by French ships; James River was filled with armed vessels
covering the transportation of the troops. His lordship reconnoitered
Williamsburg; it was too strong to be forced, and Wayne had crossed
James River to join his troops to those under the marquis. Seeing his
retreat cut off in every direction, Cornwallis proceeded to strengthen
his works; sending off repeated expresses to apprise Sir Henry Clinton
of his perilous situation.
The Count de Grasse, eager to return to the West Indies, urged Lafayette
to make an immediate attack upon the British army, with the American and
French troops under his command, without waiting for the combined force
under Washington and Rochambeau, offering to aid him with marines and
sailors from the ships. The admiral was seconded by the Marquis de St.
Simon. They represented that the works at Yorktown were yet incomplete;
and that that place and Gloucester, immediately opposite, might be
carried by storm by their superior force. It was a brilliant achievement
which they held out to tempt the youthful commander, but he remained
undazzled. He would not, for the sake of personal distinction, lavish
the lives of the brave men confided to him; but would await the arrival
of the combined forces, when success might be attained with little loss,
and would leave to Washington the _coup de grace_; in all probability
the closing triumph of the war.
The Count de Grasse had been but a few days anchored within the
Chesapeake, and fifteen hundred of his seamen were absent, conveying the
troops up James River, when Admiral Graves, who then commanded the
British naval force on the American coast, appeared with twenty sail off
the capes of Virginia. De Grasse, anxious to protect the squadron of the
Count de Barras, which was expected from Rhode Island, and which it was
the object of Graves to intercept immediately slipped his cables and put
to sea with twenty-four ships, leaving the rest to blockade York and
James rivers.
Washington received information of the sailing of the fleet from the
capes, shortly after his departure from Mount Vernon, and instantly
dispatched missives, ordering the troops who were embarked at the Head
of Elk to stop until the receipt of further intelligence, fearing that
the navigation in Chesapeake Bay might not be secure. For two days he
remained in anxious uncertainty, until, at Bowling Green, he was
relieved by favorable rumors concerning the fleet, which were confirmed
on his arriving at Williamsburg on the evening of the 14th.
Admiral Graves, it appeared, on, the sallying forth of the French fleet,
immediately prepared for action, although he had five ships less than De
Grasse. The latter, however, was not disposed to accept the challenge,
his force being weakened by the absence of so many of his seamen,
employed in transporting troops. His plan was to occupy the enemy by
partial actions and skillful maneuvers, so as to retain his possession
of the Chesapeake, and cover the arrival of De Barras.
The vans of the two fleets, and some ships of the centre, engaged about
four o’clock in the afternoon of the 7th of September. The conflict soon
became animated. Several ships were damaged, and many men killed and
wounded on both sides.
De Grasse, who had the advantage of the wind, drew off after sunset;
satisfied with the damage done and sustained, and not disposed for a
general action; nor was the British admiral inclined to push the
engagement so near night, and on a hostile coast. Among his ships that
had suffered, one had been so severely handled, that she was no longer
seaworthy, and had to be burnt. For four days the fleets remained in
sight of each other, repairing damages and maneuvering; but the French
having still the advantage of the wind, maintained their prudent policy
of avoiding a general engagement. At length De Grasse, learning that De
Barras was arrived within the capes, formed a junction with him, and
returned with him to his former anchoring ground, with two English
frigates which he had captured. Admiral Graves, disappointed in his hope
of intercepting De Barras, and finding the Chesapeake guarded by a
superior force with which he could not prudently contend; having,
moreover, to encounter the autumnal gales in the battered state of
several of his ships, left the coast and bore away for New York. Under
convoy of the squadron of De Barras came a fleet of transports,
conveying land forces under M. de Choisy, with siege artillery and
military stores. It should be mentioned to the credit of De Barras,
that, in his orders from the French minister of marine to come to
America, he was left at liberty to make a cruise on the banks of
Newfoundland, so as not to be obliged to serve under De Grasse, who was
his inferior in rank, but whom the minister wished to continue in the
command. “But De Barras,” writes Lafayette, “nobly took the part of
conducting, himself, the artillery from Rhode Island, and of coming with
all his vessels and placing himself under the orders of an admiral his
junior in service.”[84]
From Williamsburg, Washington sent forward Count Fersen, one of the
aides-de-camp of De Rochambeau, to hurry on the French troops with all
possible dispatch. He wrote to the same purport to General Lincoln:
“Every day we now lose,” said he, “is comparatively an age; as soon as
it is in our power with safety, we ought to take our position near the
enemy. Hurry on, then, my dear sir, with your troops, on the wings of
speed. The want of our men and stores is now all that retards our
immediate operations. Lord Cornwallis is improving every moment to the
best advantage; and every day that is given him to make his preparations
may cost us many lives to encounter them.”
It was with great satisfaction Washington learned that Admiral de Barras
had anticipated his wishes, in sending transports and prize vessels up
the bay to assist in bringing on the French troops. In the mean time he
with Count de Rochambeau was desirous of having an interview with the
admiral on board of his ship, provided he could send some fast-sailing
cutter to receive them. A small ship, the _Queen Charlotte_, was
furnished by the admiral for the purpose. It had been captured on its
voyage from Charleston to New York, having Lord Rawdon on board, and had
been commodiously fitted up for his lordship’s reception.
On board of this vessel Washington and De Rochambeau, with the Chevalier
de Chastellux and generals Knox and Duportail, embarked on the 18th, and
proceeding down James River, came the next morning in sight of the
French fleet riding at anchor in Lynn Haven Bay, just under the point of
Cape Henry. About noon they got along side of the admiral’s ship, the
_Ville de Paris_ and were received on board with great ceremony, and
naval and military parade. Admiral de Grasse was a tall, fine-looking
man, plain in his address and prompt in the discharge of business. A
plan of coöperation was soon arranged, to be carried into effect on the
arrival of the American and French armies from the North, which were
actually on their way down the Chesapeake from the Head of Elk. Business
being dispatched, dinner was served, after which they were conducted
throughout the ship, and received the visits of the officers of the
fleet, almost all of whom came on board.
About sunset Washington and his companions took their leave of the
admiral, and returned on board of their own little ship; when the yards
of all the ships of the fleet were manned, and a parting salute was
thundered from the _Ville de Paris_. Owing to storms and contrary winds,
and other adverse circumstances, the party did not reach Williamsburg
until the 22d, when intelligence was received that threatened to
disconcert all the plans formed in the recent council on board ship.
Admiral Digby, it appeared, had arrived in New York with six ships of
the line and a reinforcement of troops. This intelligence Washington
instantly transmitted to the Count de Grasse by one of the Count de
Rochambeau’s aides-de-camp. De Grasse in reply expressed great concern,
observing that the position of affairs was changed by the arrival of
Digby. “The enemy,” writes he, “is now nearly equal to us in strength,
and it would be imprudent in me to place myself in a situation that
would prevent my attacking them should they attempt to afford succor.”
He proposed, therefore, to leave two vessels at the mouth of York River,
and the corvettes and frigates in James River, which, with the French
troops on shore, would be sufficient assistance; and to put to sea with
the rest, either to intercept the enemy and fight them where there was
good sea room, or to blockade them in New York should they not have
sailed.
On reading this letter, Washington dreaded that the present plan of
coöperation might likewise fall through, and the fruits of all his
schemes and combinations be lost when within his reach. With the
assistance of the fleet the reduction of Yorktown was demonstrably
certain, and the surrender of the garrison must go far to terminate the
war; whereas the departure of the ships, by leaving an opening for
succor to the enemy, might frustrate these brilliant prospects and
involve the whole enterprise in ruin and disgrace. Even a momentary
absence of the French fleet might enable Cornwallis to evacuate Yorktown
and effect a retreat, with the loss merely of his baggage and artillery,
and perhaps a few soldiers. These and other considerations were urged in
a letter to the count, remonstrating against his putting to sea.
Lafayette was the bearer of the letter, and seconded it with so many
particulars respecting the situation of the armies, and argued the case
so earnestly and eloquently, that the count consented to remain. It was,
furthermore, determined in a council of war of his officers, that a
large part of the fleet, should anchor in York River; four or five
vessels be stationed so as to pass up and down James River, and a
battery for cannon and mortars be erected with the aid of the allied
troops on Point Comfort.
By the 25th the American and French troops were mostly arrived and
encamped near Williamsburg, and preparations were made for the decisive
blow.
Yorktown, as has already been noted, is situated on the south side of
York River, immediately opposite Gloucester Point. Cornwallis had
fortified the town with seven redoubts and six batteries on the land
side connected by intrenchments; and there was a line of batteries along
the river. The town was flanked on each side by deep ravines and creeks
emptying into York River; their heads, in front of the town, being not
more than half a mile apart. The enemy had availed themselves of these
natural defenses, in the arrangement of extensive outworks, with
redoubts strengthened by abatis; field-works mounted with cannon, and
trees cut down and left with the branches pointed outward.
Gloucester Point had likewise been fortified—its batteries, with those
of Yorktown, commanding the intervening river. Ships of war were
likewise stationed on it, protected by the guns of the forts, and the
channel was obstructed by sunken vessels.
The defense of Gloucester Point was confided to Lieutenant-colonel
Dundas, with six or seven hundred men. The enemy’s main army was
encamped about Yorktown, within the range of the outer redoubts and
field-works.
Washington and his staff bivouacked that night on the ground in the open
air. He slept under a mulberry tree, the root serving for his pillow. On
the following morning the two armies drew out on each side of Beaver Dam
Creek. The Americans, forming the right wing, took station on the east
side of the creek; the French, forming the left wing, on the west.
That evening Cornwallis received dispatches from Sir Henry Clinton,
informing him of the arrival of Admiral Digby, and that a fleet of
twenty-three ships of the line, with about five thousand troops, would
sail to his assistance probably on the 5th of October. A heavy firing
would be made by them on arriving at the entrance of the Chesapeake. On
hearing it, if all went on well at Yorktown, his lordship was to make
three separate columns of smoke; and four, should he still possess the
post at Gloucester Point.
Cornwallis immediately wrote in reply: “I have ventured these last two
days to look General Washington’s whole force in the face in the
position on the outside of my works, and have the pleasure to assure
your Excellency, that there is but one wish throughout the army, which
is that the enemy would advance.... I shall retire this night within the
works, and have no doubt, if relief arrives in any reasonable time, York
and Gloucester will be both in the possession of His Majesty’s troops. I
believe your Excellency must depend more on the sound of our cannon than
the signal of smokes for information; however, I will attempt it on the
Gloucester side.”[85]
That night his lordship accordingly abandoned his outworks, and drew his
troops within the town; a measure strongly censured by Tarleton in his
Commentaries as premature; as cooping up the troops in narrow quarters,
and giving up a means of disputing, inch by inch, the approaches of the
besiegers, and thus gaining time to complete the fortifications of the
town.
The outworks thus abandoned were seized upon the next morning by
detachments of American light infantry and French troops, and served to
cover the troops employed in throwing up breastworks. Colonel Alexander
Scammel, officer of the day, while reconnoitering the ground abandoned
by the enemy, was set upon by a party of Hessian troopers. He attempted
to escape, but was wounded, captured, and carried off to Yorktown.
Washington, to whom he had formerly acted as aide-de-camp, interested
himself in his favor, and at his request Cornwallis permitted him to be
removed to Williamsburg, where he died in the course of a few days. He
was an officer of much merit, and his death was deeply regretted by
Washington and the army.
The combined French and American forces were now twelve thousand strong,
exclusive of the Virginia militia which Governor Nelson had brought into
the field. An instance of patriotic self-devotion on the part of this
functionary is worthy of special record. The treasury of Virginia was
empty; the governor, fearful that the militia would disband for want of
pay, had endeavored to procure a loan from a wealthy individual on the
credit of the State. In the precarious situation of affairs, the
guarantee was not deemed sufficient. The governor pledged his own
property, and obtained the loan at his individual risk.
On the morning of the 28th of September, the combined armies marched
from Williamsburg toward Yorktown, about twelve miles distant, and
encamped at night within two miles of it, driving in the pickets and
some patrols of cavalry. General de Choisy was sent across York River,
with Lauzun’s legion and General Weedon’s brigade of militia, to watch
the enemy on the side of Gloucester Point.
By the first of October the line of the besiegers, nearly two miles from
the works, formed a semicircle, each end resting on the river, so that
the investment by land was complete; while the Count de Grasse, with the
main fleet, remained in Lynn Haven Bay, to keep off assistance by sea.
About this time the Americans threw up two redoubts in the night, which,
on being discovered in the morning, were severely cannonaded. Three of
the men were killed and several severely wounded. While Washington was
superintending the works, a shot struck the ground close by him,
throwing up a cloud of dust. The Rev. Mr. Evans, chaplain in the army,
who was standing by him, was greatly agitated. Taking off his hat and
showing it covered with sand, “See here, General,” exclaimed he. “Mr.
Evans,” said Washington with grave pleasantry, “you had better carry
that home, and show it to your wife and children.”[86]
The besieged army began now to be greatly distressed for want of forage,
and had to kill many of their horses, the carcasses of which were
continually floating down the river. In the evening of the 2d of
October, Tarleton with his legion and the mounted infantry were passed
over the river to Gloucester Point, to assist in foraging. At daybreak
Lieutenant-colonel Dundas led out part of his garrison to forage the
neighboring country. About ten o’clock the wagons and bat horses laden
with Indian corn were returning, covered by a party of infantry, with
Tarleton and his dragoons as a rear-guard. The wagons and infantry had
nearly reached York River, when word was brought that an enemy was
advancing in force. The report was confirmed by a cloud of dust from
which emerged Lauzun and the French hussars and lancers.
Tarleton, with part of his legion, advanced to meet them; the rest, with
Simcoe’s dragoons, remained as a rear-guard in a skirt of woods. A
skirmish ensued, gallantly sustained on each side, but the superiority
of Tarleton’s horses gave him the advantage. General Choisy hastened up
with a corps of cavalry and infantry to support the hussars. In the
medley fight, a dragoon’s horse, wounded by a lance, plunged, and
overthrew both Tarleton and his steed. The rear-guard rushed from their
covert to rescue their commander. They came galloping up in such
disorder, that they were roughly received by Lauzun’s hussars, who were
drawn up on the plain. In the mean time Tarleton scrambled out of the
mêlée, mounted another horse, and ordered a retreat, to enable his men
to recover from their confusion. Dismounting forty infantry, he placed
them in a thicket. Their fire checked the hussars in their pursuit. The
British dragoons rallied, and were about to charge; when the hussars
retired behind their infantry; and a fire was opened upon the British by
some militia from behind a fence. Tarleton again ordered a retreat to be
sounded, and the conflict came to an end. The loss of the British in
killed and wounded was one officer and eleven men; that of the French
two officers and fourteen hussars. This was the last affair of Tarleton
and his legion in the Revolutionary War.
The next day General Choisy, being reinforced by a detachment of marines
from the fleet of De Grasse, cut off all communication by land between
Gloucester and the country.
At this momentous time, when the first parallel before the besieged city
was about to be opened, Washington received dispatches from his faithful
coadjutor, General Greene, giving him important intelligence of his
coöperations in the South; to consider which we will suspend for a
moment our narrative of affairs before Yorktown.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXVII.
Greene on the High Hills of Santee.—The Enemy harassed.—Greene marches
against Stuart.—Battle near Eutaw Springs.
For some weeks in the months of July and August, General Greene had
remained encamped with his main force on the high hills of Santee,
refreshing and disciplining his men, and awaiting the arrival of
promised reinforcements. He was constantly looking to Washington as his
polar star by which to steer, and feared dispatches from him had been
intercepted. “I wait with impatience for intelligence,” said he, “by
which I mean to govern my own operations. If things are flattering in
the North, I will hazard less in the South; but, if otherwise there, we
must risk more here.” In the meantime, Marion with his light troops,
aided by Colonel Washington with his dragoons, held control over the
lower Santee. Lee was detached to operate with Sumter’s brigade on the
Congaree, and Colonel Harden with his mounted militia was scouring the
country about the Edisto. The enemy was thus harassed in every quarter;
their convoys and foraging parties waylaid, and Stuart was obliged to
obtain all his supplies from below.
Greene was disappointed as to reinforcements. All that he received were
two hundred North Carolina levies and five hundred South Carolina
militia; still he prepared for a bold effort to drive the enemy from
their remaining posts. For that purpose, on the 22d of August he broke
up his encampment on the “benign hills of Santee,” to march against
Colonel Stuart. The latter still lay encamped about sixteen miles
distant in a straight line; but the Congaree and Wateree lay between,
bordered by swamps overflowed by recent rains; to cross them and reach
the hostile camp, it was necessary to make a circuit of seventy miles.
While Greene was making it, Stuart abandoned his position, and moved
down forty miles to the vicinity of Eutaw Springs, where he was
reinforced by a detachment from Charleston with provisions.
Greene followed on by easy marches. He had been joined by General
Pickens with a party of the Ninety Six militia, and by the State troops
under Lieutenant-colonel Henderson; and now moved slowly to give time
for Marion, who was scouring the country about the Edisto, to rejoin
him. This was done on the 5th of September at Laurens’ place, within
seventeen miles of Stuart’s camp. Here baggage, tents, everything that
could impede motion, was left behind, and on the afternoon of the
seventh the army was pushed on within seven miles of the Eutaws, where
it bivouacked for the night, Greene lying on the ground wrapped in his
cloak, with the root of a tree for a pillow.
At four o’clock in the morning his little army was in motion. His whole
force at that time did not exceed two thousand men; that of the enemy he
was seeking, about twenty-three hundred. The Americans, however, were
superior in cavalry. Owing to the difficulty of receiving information,
and the country being covered with forests, the enemy were not aware of
Greene’s approach until he was close upon them.
His army advanced in two columns, which were to form the two lines of
battle. The first column, commanded by General Marion, was composed of
two battalions of North and two of South Carolina militia. The second
column of three brigades; one of North Carolina, one of Virginia, and
one of Maryland continental troops. Colonel Lee with his legion covered
the right flank, Colonel Henderson the left. Colonel Washington, with
his dragoons and the Delaware troops, formed the reserve. Each column
had two field-pieces.
Within four miles of Eutaw they met with a British detachment of one
hundred and fifty infantry and fifty cavalry under Major Coffin, sent
forward to reconnoiter; it was put to flight after a severe skirmish, in
which a number were killed and wounded, and several taken prisoners.
Supposing this to be the van of the enemy, Greene halted his columns and
formed. The South Carolinians in equal divisions formed the right and
left of the first line, the North Carolinians the centre. General Marion
commanded the right; General Pickens, the left; Colonel Malmedy, the
centre. Colonel Henderson with the State troops covered the left of the
line; Colonel Lee with his legion the right.
Of the second line, composed of regulars, the North Carolinians, under
General Sumner, were on the right; the Marylanders, under Colonel
Williams, on the left; the Virginians, under Colonel Campbell, in the
centre.
Colonel Washington with his cavalry followed in the rear as a _corps de
reserve_.
Two three-pounders moved on the road in the centre of the first line.
Two six-pounders in a like position in the second line.
In this order the troops moved forward, keeping their lines as well as
they could through open woods, which covered the country on each side of
the road.
Within a mile of the camp they encountered a body of infantry thrown
forward by Colonel Stuart, to check their advance while he had time to
form his troops in order of battle. These were drawn up in line in a
wood two hundred yards west of Eutaw Springs. The right rested on Eutaw
Creek (or brook), and was covered by a battalion of grenadiers and
infantry under Major Majoribanks, partly concealed among thickets on the
margin of the stream. The left of the line extended across the
Charleston road, with a reserve corps in a commanding situation covering
the road. About fifty yards in the rear of the British line was a
cleared field, in which was their encampment, with the tents all
standing. Adjoining it was a brick house with a palisadoed garden which
Colonel Stuart intended as a protection, if too much pressed by cavalry.
The advanced party of infantry, which had retired firing before the
Americans, formed on the flanks of Colonel Stuart’s line. The Carolinian
militia had pressed after them. About nine o’clock the action was
commenced by the left of the American line, and soon became general. The
militia fought for a time with the spirit and firmness of regulars.
Their two field-pieces were dismounted; so was one of the enemy’s; and
there was great carnage on both sides. The militia fought until they had
expended seventeen rounds, when they gave way, covered by Lee and
Henderson, who fought bravely on the flanks on the line.
Sumner, with the regulars who formed the second line, advanced in fine
style to take the place of the first. The enemy likewise brought their
reserve into action; the conflict continued to be bloody and severe.
Colonel Henderson, who commanded the State troops in the second line,
was severely wounded; this caused some confusion. Sumner’s brigade,
formed partly of recruits, gave way under the superior fire of the
enemy. The British rushed forward to secure their fancied victory.
Greene, seeing their line disordered, instantly ordered Williams with
his Marylanders to “sweep the field with the bayonet.” Williams was
seconded by Colonel Campbell with the Virginians. The order was
gallantly obeyed. They delivered a deadly volley at forty yards’
distance, and then advanced at a brisk rate, with loud shouts and
trailed arms, prepared to make the deadly thrust. The British recoiled.
While the Marylanders and Virginians attacked them in front, Lee with
his legion turned their left flank and charged them in rear. Colonel
Hampton with the State cavalry made a great number of prisoners, and
Colonel Washington, coming up with his reserve of horse and foot,
completed their defeat. They were driven back through their camp; many
were captured; many fled along the Charleston road, and others threw
themselves into the brick house.
Major Majoribanks and his troops could still enfilade the left flank of
the Americans from their covert among the thickets on the border of the
stream. Greene ordered Colonel Washington with his dragoons and
Kirkwood’s Delaware infantry to dislodge them, and Colonel Wade Hampton
to assist with the State troops. Colonel Washington without waiting for
the infantry, dashed forward with his dragoons. It was a rash move. The
thickets were impervious to cavalry. The dragoons separated into small
squads, and endeavored to force their way in. Horses and riders were
shot down or bayoneted; most of the officers were either killed or
wounded. Colonel Washington had his horse shot under him; he himself was
bayoneted, and would have been slain, had not a British officer
interposed, who took him prisoner.
By the time Hampton and Kirkwood came up, the cavalry were routed; the
ground was strewed with the dead and the wounded; horses were plunging
and struggling in the agonies of death; others were galloping about
without their riders. While Hampton rallied the scattered cavalry
Kirkwood with his Delawares charged with bayonets upon the enemy in the
thicket. Majoribanks fell back with his troops and made a stand in the
palisadoed garden of the brick house.
Victory now seemed certain on the side of the Americans. They had driven
the British from the field, and had taken possession of their camp;
unfortunately, the soldiers, thinking the day their own, fell to
plundering the tents, devouring the food and carousing on the liquors
found there. Many of them became intoxicated and unmanageable—the
officers interfered in vain; all was riot and disorder.
The enemy in the mean time recovered from their confusion and opened a
fire from every window of the house and from the palisadoed garden.
There was a scattering fire also from the woods and thickets on the
right and left. Four cannon, one of which had been captured from the
enemy, were now advanced by the Americans to batter the house. The fire
from the windows was so severe, that most of the officers and men who
served the cannon were either killed or wounded. Greene ordered the
survivors to retire; they did so, leaving the cannon behind.
Colonel Stuart was by this time rallying his left wing, and advancing to
support the right; when Greene, finding his ammunition nearly exhausted,
determined to give up the attempt to dislodge the enemy from their
places of refuge, since he could not do it without severe loss; whereas
the enemy could maintain their posts but a few hours, and he should have
a better opportunity of attacking them on their retreat.
He remained on the ground long enough to collect his wounded, excepting
those who were too much under the fire of the house, and then, leaving
Colonel Hampton with a strong picket on the field, he returned to the
position seven miles off which he had left in the morning; not finding
water anywhere nearer.
The enemy decamped in the night after destroying a large quantity of
provisions, staving many barrels of rum, and breaking upwards of a
thousand stand of arms which they threw into the springs of the Eutaw;
they left behind also seventy of their wounded who might have impeded
the celerity of their retreat. Their loss in killed, wounded, and
captured, in this action, was six hundred and thirty-three, of whom five
hundred were prisoners in the hands of the Americans; the loss
sustained, by the latter in killed, wounded, and missing, was five
hundred and thirty-five. One of the slain most deplored was Colonel
Campbell, who had so bravely led on the Virginians. He fell in the shock
of the charge with the bayonet. It was a glorious close of a gallant
career. In his dying moments he was told of the defeat of the enemy, and
is said to have uttered the celebrated ejaculation of General Wolfe, “I
die contented.”
In the morning, General Greene, who knew not that the enemy had
decamped, detached Lee and Marion to scour the country between Eutaw
Springs and Charleston, to intercept any reinforcements which might be
coming to Colonel Stuart, and to retard the march of the latter should
he be retreating. Stuart, however, had met with reinforcements about
fourteen miles from Eutaw, but continued his retreat to Monk’s Corner,
within twenty-five miles of Charleston.
Greene, when informed of the retreat, had followed with his main force
almost to Monk’s Corner; finding the number and position of the enemy
too strong to be attacked with prudence, he fell back to Eutaw, where he
remained a day or two to rest his troops, and then returned by easy
marches to his old position near the heights of Santee.
Thence, as usual, he dispatched an account of affairs to Washington.
“Since I wrote to you before, we have had a most bloody battle. It was
by far the most obstinate fight I ever saw. Victory was ours; and had it
not been for one of those little incidents which frequently happen in
the progress of war, we should have taken the whole British army.... I
am trying to collect a body of militia to oppose Lord Cornwallis should
he attempt to escape through North Carolina to Charleston. Charleston
itself may be reduced, if you will bend your forces this way, and it
will give me great pleasure to join your Excellency in the attempt; for
I shall be equally happy, whether as a principal or subordinate, so that
the public good is promoted.”
Such was the purport of the intelligence received from Greene.
Washington considered the affair at Eutaw Springs a victory, and sent
Greene his congratulations. “Fortune,” writes he, “must have been coy
indeed, had she not yielded at last to so persevering a pursuer as you
have been.”
“I can say with sincerity, that I feel with the highest degree of
pleasure the good effects which you mention as resulting from the
perfect good understanding between you, the marquis, and myself. I hope
it will never be interrupted, and I am sure it never can be while we are
all influenced by the same pure motive, that of love to our country and
interest in the cause in which we are embarked.”
We will now resume our narrative of the siege of Yorktown.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Siege and Surrender of Yorktown.
General Lincoln had the honor on the night of the 6th of October, 1781,
of opening the first parallel before Yorktown. It was within six hundred
yards of the enemy; nearly two miles in extent, and the foundations were
laid for two redoubts. He had under him a large detachment of French and
American troops, and the work was conducted with such silence and
secrecy in a night of extreme darkness, that the enemy were not aware of
it until daylight. A severe cannonade was then opened from the
fortifications; but the men were under cover and continued working—the
greatest emulation and good-will prevailing between the officers and
soldiers of the allied armies thus engaged.
By the afternoon of the 9th the parallel was completed, and two or three
batteries were ready to fire upon the town. “General Washington put the
match to the first gun,” says an observer who was present; “a furious
discharge of cannon and mortars immediately followed, and Earl
Cornwallis received his first salutation.”[87]
Governor Nelson, who had so nobly pledged his own property to raise
funds for the public service, gave another proof of his self-sacrificing
patriotism on this occasion. He was asked which part of the town could
be most effectively cannonaded. He pointed to a large handsome house on
a rising ground as the probable head-quarters of the enemy. It proved to
be his own.[88]
The governor had an uncle in the town, very old, and afflicted with the
gout. He had been for thirty years secretary under the royal colonial
government, and was still called Mr. Secretary Nelson. He had taken no
part in the Revolution, unfitted, perhaps, for the struggle, by his
advanced age and his infirmities; and had remained in Yorktown when
taken possession of by the English, not having any personal enmity to
apprehend from them. He had two sons in Washington’s army, who now were
in the utmost alarm for his safety. At their request Washington sent in
a flag, desiring that their father might be permitted to leave the
place. “I was a witness,” writes the Count de Chastellux in his memoirs,
“of the cruel anxiety of one of those young men, as he kept his eyes
fixed upon the gate of the town by which the flag would come out. It
seemed as if he were awaiting his own sentence in the reply that was to
be received. Lord Cornwallis had not the inhumanity to refuse so just a
request.”
The appearance of the venerable secretary, his stately person, noble
countenance, and gray hairs, commanded respect and veneration. “I can
never recall without emotion,” writes the susceptible count, “his
arrival at the head-quarters of General Washington. He was seated, his
attack of the gout still continuing, and while we stood around him, he
related with a serene visage what had been the effect of our
batteries.”[89]
His house had received some of the first shots; one of his negroes had
been killed, and the head-quarters of Lord Cornwallis had been so
battered, that he had been driven out of them.
The cannonade was kept up almost incessantly for three or four days from
the batteries above mentioned, and from three others managed by the
French. “Being in the trenches every other night and day,” writes an
observer already quoted,[90] “I have a fine opportunity of witnessing
the sublime and stupendous scene which is continually exhibiting. The
bomb-shells from the besiegers and the besieged are incessantly crossing
each other’s path in the air. They are clearly visible in the form of a
black ball in the day, but in the night they appear like a fiery meteor
with a blazing tail, most beautifully brilliant, ascending majestically
from the mortar to a certain altitude, and gradually descending to the
spot where they are destined to execute their work of destruction. When
a shell falls, it whirls round, burrows and excavates the earth to a
considerable extent, and, bursting, makes dreadful havoc around.” “Some
of our shells, over-reaching the town, are seen to fall into the river,
and bursting, throw up columns of water like the spouting monsters of
the deep.”
The half-finished works of the enemy suffered severely, the guns were
dismounted or silenced, and many men killed. The red-hot shot from the
French batteries northwest of the town reached the English shipping. The
Charon, a forty-four gunship, and three large transports, were set on
fire by them. The flames ran up the rigging to the tops of the masts.
The conflagration, seen in the darkness of the night, with the
accompanying flash and thundering of cannon, and soaring and bursting of
shells, and the tremendous explosions of the ships, all presented a
scene of mingled magnificence and horror.
On the night of the 11th the second parallel was opened by the Baron
Steuben’s division, within three hundred yards of the works. The British
now made new embrasures, and for two or three days kept up a galling
fire upon those at work. The latter were still more annoyed by the
flanking fire of two redoubts three hundred yards in front of the
British works. As they enfiladed the entrenchments, and were supposed
also to command the communication between Yorktown and Gloucester, it
was resolved to storm them both, on the night of the 14th; the one
nearest the river by a detachment of Americans commanded by Lafayette;
the other by a French detachment led by the Baron de Viomenil. The
grenadiers of the regiment of Gatinais were to be at the head of the
French detachment. This regiment had been formed out of that of
Auvergne, of which De Rochambeau had been colonel, and which, by its
brave and honorable conduct, had won the appellation of the regiment
_D’Auvergne sans tache_ (Auvergne without a stain). When De Rochambeau
assigned the Gatinais grenadiers their post in the attack, he addressed
to them a few soldier-like words. “My lads, I have need of you this
night, and hope you will not forget that we have served together in that
brave regiment of Auvergne sans tache.” They instantly replied, that if
he would promise to get their old name restored to them, they would
sacrifice themselves to the last man. The promise was given.
In the arrangement for the American assault, Lafayette had given the
honor of leading the advance to his own aide-de-camp, Lieutenant-colonel
Gimat. This instantly touched the military pride of Hamilton, who
exclaimed against it as an unjust preference, it being his tour of duty.
The marquis excused himself by alleging the arrangement had been
sanctioned by the commander-in-chief, and could not be changed by him.
Hamilton forthwith made a spirited appeal by letter to Washington. The
latter, who was ignorant of the circumstances of the case, sent for the
marquis, and, finding that it really was Hamilton’s tour of duty,
directed that he should be reinstated in it, which was done.[91] It was
therefore arranged that Colonel Gimat’s battalion should lead the van,
and be followed by that of Hamilton, and that the latter should command
the whole advanced corps.[92]
About eight o’clock in the evening rockets were sent up as signals for
the simultaneous attack. Hamilton, to his great joy, led the advance of
the Americans. The men, without waiting for the sappers to demolish the
abatis in regular style, pushed them aside or pulled them down with
their hands, and scrambled over, like rough bush-fighters. Hamilton was
the first to mount the parapet, placing one foot on the shoulder of a
soldier, who knelt on one knee for the purpose.[93] The men mounted
after him. Not a musket was fired. The redoubt was carried at the point
of the bayonet. The loss of the Americans was one sergeant and eight
privates killed, seven officers and twenty-five non-commissioned
officers and privates wounded. The loss of the enemy was eight killed
and seventeen taken prisoners. Among the latter was Major Campbell, who
had commanded the redoubt. A New Hampshire captain of artillery would
have taken his life in revenge of the death of his favorite Colonel
Scammel, but Colonel Hamilton prevented him. Not a man was killed after
he ceased to resist.[94]
The French stormed the other redoubt, which was more strongly
garrisoned, with equal gallantry, but less precipitation. They proceeded
according to rule. The soldiers paused while the sappers removed the
abatis, during which time they were exposed to a destructive fire, and
lost more men than did the Americans in their headlong attack. As the
Baron de Viomenil, who led the party, was thus waiting, Major Barbour,
Lafayette’s aide de-camp, came through the tremendous fire of the enemy,
with a message from the marquis, letting him know that he was in his
redoubt, and wished to know where the baron was. “Tell the marquis,”
replied the latter, “that I am not in mine, but will be in it in five
minutes.”
The abatis being removed, the troops rushed to the assault. The
Chevalier de Lameth, Lafayette’s adjutant-general, was the first to
mount the parapet of the redoubt, and received a volley at arms’ length
from the Hessians who manned it. Shot through both knees, he fell back
into the ditch, and was conveyed away under care of his friend, the
Count de Dumas. The Count de Deuxponts, leading on the royal grenadiers
of the same name, was likewise wounded.
The grenadiers of the Gatinais regiment remembered the promise of De
Rochambeau, and fought with true Gallic fire. One third of them were
slain, and among them Captain de Sireuil, a valiant officer of
chasseurs; but the regiment by its bravery on this occasion regained
from the king its proud name of the _Royal Auvergne_.
Washington was an intensely excited spectator of these assaults, on the
result of which so much depended. He had dismounted, given his horse to
a servant, and taken his stand in the grand battery with generals Knox
and Lincoln and their staffs. The risk he ran of a chance shot, while
watching the attack through an embrasure, made those about him uneasy.
One of his aides-de-camp ventured to observe that the situation was very
much exposed. “If you think so,” replied he gravely, “you are at liberty
to step back.”
Shortly afterwards a musket ball struck the cannon in the embrasure,
rolled along it, and fell at his feet. General Knox grasped his arm. “My
dear general,” exclaimed he, “we can’t spare you yet.” “It is a spent
ball,” replied Washington quietly; “no harm is done.”
When all was over and the redoubts were taken, he drew a long breath,
and turning to Knox, observed, “The work is done, _and well done_!” Then
called to his servant, “William, bring me my horse.”
In his dispatches he declared that in these assaults nothing could
exceed the firmness and bravery of the troops. Lafayette also testified
to the conduct of Colonel Hamilton, “whose well-known talents and
gallantry,” writes he, “were on this occasion most conspicuous and
serviceable.”[95]
The redoubts thus taken were included the same night in the second
parallel, and howitzers were mounted upon them the following day. The
capture of them reduced Lord Cornwallis almost to despair. Writing that
same day to Sir Henry Clinton, he observes, “My situation now becomes
very critical; we dare not show a gun to their old batteries, and I
expect that their new ones will open to-morrow morning.... The safety of
the place is, therefore, so precarious, that I cannot recommend that the
fleet and army should run great risk in endeavoring to save us,”—a
generous abnegation of self on the part of the beleaguered commander.
Had the fleet and army sailed, as he had been given to expect, about the
5th of October, they might have arrived in time to save his lordship;
but at the date of the above letter they were still lingering in port.
Delay of naval succor was fatal to British operations in this war.
The second parallel was now nearly ready to open. Cornwallis dreaded the
effect of its batteries on his almost dismantled works. To retard the
danger as much as possible, he ordered an attack on two of the batteries
that were in the greatest state of forwardness, their guns to be spiked.
It was made a little before daybreak of the 16th, by about three hundred
and fifty men, under the direction of Lieutenant-colonel Abercrombie. He
divided his forces; a detachment of guards and a company of grenadiers
attacked one battery, and a corps of light infantry the other.
The redoubts which covered the batteries were forced in gallant style,
and several pieces of artillery spiked. By this time the supporting
troops from the trenches came up, and the enemy were obliged to retreat,
leaving behind them seven or eight dead and six prisoners. The French
who had guard of this part of the trenches, had four officers and twelve
privates killed or wounded, and the Americans lost one sergeant. The
mischief had been done too hastily. The spikes were easily extracted,
and before evening all the batteries and the parallel were nearly
complete.
At this time the garrison could not show a gun on the side of the works
exposed to attack, and the shells were nearly expended; the place was no
longer tenable. Rather than surrender, Cornwallis determined to attempt
an escape. His plan was to leave his sick and wounded and his baggage
behind, cross over in the night to Gloucester Point, attack Choisy’s
camp before daybreak, mount his infantry on the captured cavalry horses,
and on such other as could be collected on the road, push for the upper
country by rapid marches until opposite the fords of the great rivers,
then turn suddenly northward, force his way through Maryland,
Pennsylvania, and the Jerseys, and join Sir Henry Clinton in New York.
It was a wild and daring scheme, but his situation was desperate, and
the idea of surrender intolerable.
In pursuance of this design, sixteen large boats were secretly prepared;
a detachment was appointed to remain and capitulate for the town’s
people, the sick and the wounded; a large part of the troops were
transported to the Gloucester side of the river before midnight, and the
second division had actually embarked, when a violent storm of wind and
rain scattered the boats, and drove them a considerable distance down
the river. They were collected with difficulty. It was now too late to
effect the passage of the second division before daybreak, and an effort
was made to get back the division which had already crossed. It was not
done until the morning was far advanced, and the troops in recrossing
were exposed to the fire of the American batteries.
The hopes of Lord Cornwallis were now at an end. His works were tumbling
in ruins about him, under an incessant cannonade; his garrison was
reduced in number by sickness and death, and exhausted by constant
watching and severe duty. Unwilling to expose the residue of the brave
troops which had stood by him so faithfully, to the dangers and horrors
of an assault, which could not fail to be successful, he ordered a
parley to be beaten about ten o’clock on the morning of the 17th, and
dispatched a flag with a letter to Washington proposing a cessation of
hostilities for twenty-four hours, and that two officers might be
appointed by each side to meet and settle terms for the surrender of the
posts of Yorktown and Gloucester.
Washington felt unwilling to grant such delay, when reinforcements might
be on the way for Cornwallis from New York. In reply, therefore, he
requested that, previous to the meeting of commissioners, his lordship’s
proposals might be sent in writing to the American lines, for which
purpose a suspension of hostilities during two hours from the delivery
of the letter, would be granted. This was complied with; but as the
proposals offered by Cornwallis were not all admissible, Washington drew
up a schedule of such terms as he would grant, and transmitted it to his
lordship.
The armistice was prolonged. Commissioners met, the Viscount de Noailles
and Lieutenant-colonel Laurens on the part of the allies; Colonel Dundas
and Major Ross on the part of the British. After much discussion, a
rough draft was made of the terms of capitulation to be submitted to the
British general. These Washington caused to be promptly transcribed, and
sent to Lord Cornwallis early in the morning of the 19th, with a note
expressing his expectation that they would be signed by eleven o’clock,
and that the garrison would be ready to march out by two o’clock in the
afternoon. Lord Cornwallis was fain to comply, and, accordingly, on the
same day, the posts of Yorktown and Gloucester were surrendered to
General Washington as commander-in-chief of the combined army; and the
ships of war, transports, and other vessels, to the Count de Grasse, as
commander of the French fleet. The garrison of Yorktown and Gloucester,
including the officers of the navy and seamen of every denomination,
were to surrender as prisoners of war to the combined army; the land
force to remain prisoners to the United States, the seamen to the King
of France.
The garrison was to be allowed the same honors granted to the garrison
of Charleston when it surrendered to Sir Henry Clinton. The officers
were to retain their side arms; both officers and soldiers their private
property, and no part of their baggage or papers was to be subject to
search or inspection. The soldiers were to be kept in Virginia,
Maryland, or Pennsylvania, as much by regiments as possible, and
supplied with the same rations of provisions as the American soldiers.
The officers were to be permitted to proceed, upon parole, to Europe or
to any maritime port on the continent of America in possession of
British troops. The _Bonetta_ sloop of war was to be at the disposal of
Lord Cornwallis; to convey an aide-de-camp, with dispatches to Sir Henry
Clinton, with such soldiers as he might think proper to send to New
York, and was to sail without examination. (We will here observe that in
this vessel, thus protected from scrutiny, a number of royalists, whose
conduct had rendered them peculiarly odious to their countrymen,
privately took their departure.)
It was arranged in the allied camp that General Lincoln should receive
the submission of the royal army, precisely in the manner in which the
submission of his own army had been received on the surrender of
Charleston. An eye-witness has given us a graphic description of the
ceremony.
NOTE.
The number of prisoners made by the above capitulation amounted to
7,073, of whom 5,950 were rank and file; six commissioned and
twenty-eight non-commissioned officers and privates, had previously
been captured in the two redoubts, or in the sortie of the garrison.
The loss sustained by the garrison during the siege, in killed,
wounded, and missing, amounted to 552. That of the combined army in
killed was about 300. The combined army to which Cornwallis
surrendered, was estimated at 16,000, of whom 7,000 were French, 5,500
Continentals, and 3,500 militia.—_Holmes Annals_, vol. ii. p. 333.
“At about twelve o’clock the combined army was drawn up in two lines
more than a mile in length, the Americans on the right side of the road,
the French on their left. Washington, mounted on a noble steed, and
attended by his staff, was in front of the former; the Count de
Rochambeau and his suite, of the latter. The French troops in complete
uniform, and well equipped, made a brilliant appearance, and had marched
to the ground with a band of music playing, which was a novelty in the
American service. The American troops, but part in uniform, and all in
garments much the worse for wear, yet had a spirited, soldier-like air,
and were not the worse in the eyes of their countrymen for bearing the
marks of hard service and great privations. The concourse of spectators
from the country seemed equal in number to the military, yet silence and
order prevailed.
“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. They were all well clad, having been furnished with new
suits prior to the capitulation. They were led by General O’Hara on
horseback, who, riding up to General Washington, took off his hat and
apologized for the non-appearance of Lord Cornwallis, on account of
indisposition. Washington received him with dignified courtesy, but
pointed to Major-general Lincoln as the officer who was to receive the
submission of the garrison. By him they were conducted into a field
where they were to ground their arms. In passing through the line formed
by the allied army, their march was careless and irregular, and their
aspect sullen, the order to “ground arms” was given by their platoon
officer with a tone of deep chagrin, and many of the soldiers threw down
their muskets with a violence sufficient to break them. This
irregularity was checked by General Lincoln; yet it was excusable in
brave men in their unfortunate predicament. This ceremony over, they
were conducted back to Yorktown, to remain under guard until removed to
their places of destination.”[96]
On the following morning, Washington in general orders congratulated the
allied armies on the recent victory, awarding high praise to the
officers and troops both French and American, for their conduct during
the siege, and specifying by name several of the generals and other
officers who had especially distinguished themselves. All those of his
army who were under arrest, were pardoned and set at liberty. “Divine
service,” it was added, “is to be performed to-morrow in the several
brigades and divisions. The commander-in-chief earnestly recommends that
the troops, not on duty, should universally attend, with that
seriousness of deportment and gratitude of heart which the recognition
of such reiterated and astonishing interpositions of Providence demand
of us.”
Cornwallis felt deeply the humiliation of this close to all his wide and
wild campaigning, and was made more sensitive on the subject by
circumstances of which he soon became apprised. On the very day that he
had been compelled to lay down his arms before Yorktown, the lingering
armament intended for his relief sailed from New York. It consisted of
twenty-five ships of the line, two fifty gun ships, and eight frigates;
with Sir Henry Clinton and seven thousand of his best troops. Sir Henry
arrived off the Capes of Virginia on the 24th, and gathered information
which led him to apprehend that Lord Cornwallis had capitulated. He
hovered off the mouth of the Chesapeake until the 29th, when, having
fully ascertained that he had come too late, he turned his tardy prows
toward New York.
Cornwallis, in a letter written subsequently, renders the following
testimony to the conduct of his captors: “The treatment, in general,
that we have received from the enemy since our surrender has been
perfectly good and proper; but the kindness and attention that has been
shown to us by the French officers in particular, their delicate
sensibility of our situation, their generous and pressing offer of
money, both public and private, to any amount, has really gone beyond
what I can possibly describe, and will, I hope, make an impression in
the breast of every officer, whenever the fortune of war shall put any
of them into our power.”
In the mean time, the rejoicings which Washington had commenced with
appropriate solemnities in the victorious camp, had spread throughout
the Union. “Cornwallis is taken!” was the universal acclaim. It was
considered a death-blow to the war.
Congress gave way to transports of joy. Thanks were voted to the
commander-in-chief, to the Counts De Rochambeau and De Grasse, to the
officers of the allied armies generally, and to the corps of artillery
and engineers especially. Two stands of colors, trophies of the
capitulation, were voted to Washington, two pieces of field ordnance to
De Rochambeau and De Grasse; and it was decreed that a marble column,
commemorative of the alliance between France and the United States, and
of the victory achieved by their associated arms, should be erected in
Yorktown. Finally, Congress issued a proclamation, appointing a day for
general thanksgiving and prayer, in acknowledgment of this signal
interposition of Divine Providence.
Far different was the feeling of the British ministry when news of the
event reached the other side of the Atlantic. Lord George Germaine was
the first to announce it to Lord North at his office in Downing Street.
“And how did he take it?” was the inquiry. “As he would have taken a
ball in the breast,” replied Lord George, “for he opened his arms,
exclaiming wildly as he paced up and down the apartment, ‘O God! it is
all over!’”[97]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXIX.
Dissolution of the Combined Armies.—Washington at Eltham.—Death of
John Parke Custis.—Washington at Mount Vernon.—Correspondence about
the Next Campaign.—Lafayette sails for France.—Washington stimulates
Congress to Military Preparations.—Project to surprise and carry off
Prince William Henry from New York.—The Case of Captain Asgill.
Washington would have followed up the reduction of Yorktown by a
combined operation against Charleston, and addressed a letter to the
Count de Grasse on the subject, but the count alleged in reply that the
orders of his court, ulterior projects, and his engagements with the
Spaniards, rendered it impossible to remain the necessary time for the
operation.
The prosecution of the Southern war, therefore, upon the broad scale
which Washington had contemplated, had to be relinquished; for without
shipping and a convoy, the troops and everything necessary for a siege
would have to be transported by land with immense trouble, expense, and
delay; while the enemy, by means of their fleets, could reinforce or
withdraw the garrison at pleasure.
Under these circumstances, Washington had to content himself, for the
present, with detaching two thousand Pennsylvania, Maryland, and
Virginia continental troops, under General St. Clair for the support of
General Greene, trusting that with this aid, he would be able to command
the interior of South Carolina, and confine the enemy to the town of
Charleston.
A dissolution of the combined forces now took place. The Marquis St.
Simon embarked his troops on the last of October, and the Count de
Grasse made sail on the 4th of November, taking with him two beautiful
horses which Washington had presented to him in token of cordial regard.
Lafayette, seeing there was no probability of further active service in
the present year, resolved to return to France on a visit to his family,
and, with Washington’s approbation, set out for Philadelphia to obtain
leave of absence from Congress.
The British prisoners were marched to Winchester in Virginia, and
Frederickstown in Maryland, and Lord Cornwallis and his principal
officers sailed for New York on parole.
The main part of the American army embarked for the Head of Elk, and
returned northward under the command of General Lincoln, to be cantoned
for the winter in the Jerseys and on the Hudson, so as to be ready for
operations against New York, or elsewhere, in the next year’s campaign.
The French army were to remain for the winter, in Virginia, and the
Count de Rochambeau established his head-quarters at Williamsburg.
Having attended in person to the distribution of ordnance and stores,
the departure of prisoners, and the embarkation of the troops under
Lincoln, Washington left Yorktown on the 5th of November, and arrived
the same day at Eltham, the seat of his friend Colonel Bassett. He
arrived just in time to receive the last breath of John Parke Custis,
the son of Mrs. Washington, as he had, several years previously,
rendered tender and pious offices at the death-bed of his sister, Miss
Custis. The deceased had been an object of Washington’s care from
childhood, and been cherished by him with paternal affection. Formed
under his guidance and instructions, he had been fitted to take a part
in the public concerns of his country, and had acquitted himself with
credit as a member of the Virginia Legislature. He was but twenty-eight
years old at the time of his death, and left a widow and four young
children. It was an unexpected event, and the dying scene was rendered
peculiarly affecting from the presence of the mother and wife of the
deceased. Washington remained several days at Eltham to comfort them in
their afflictions. As a consolation to Mrs. Washington in her
bereavement, he adopted the two youngest children of the deceased, a boy
and girl, who thenceforth formed a part of his immediate family.
From Eltham, Washington proceeded to Mount Vernon; but public cares gave
him little leisure to attend to his private concerns. We have seen how
repeatedly his steady mind had been exercised in the darkest times of
the revolutionary struggle, in buoying up the public heart when sinking
into despondency. He had now an opposite task to perform, to guard
against an overweening confidence inspired by the recent triumph. In a
letter to General Greene, he writes: “I shall remain but a few days
here, and shall proceed to Philadelphia, when I shall attempt to
stimulate Congress to the best improvement of our late success, by
taking the most vigorous and effectual measures to be ready for an early
and decisive campaign the next year. My greatest fear is, that Congress,
viewing this stroke in too important a point of light, may think our
work too nearly closed, and will fall into a state of languor and
relaxation. To prevent this error, I shall employ every means in my
power, and if, unhappily, we sink into that fatal mistake, no part of
the blame shall be mine.”
In a letter written at the same time to Lafayette, who, having obtained
from Congress an indefinite leave of absence, was about to sail, he
says: “I owe it to your friendship and to my affectionate regard for
you, my dear marquis, not to let you leave this country, without
carrying with you fresh marks of my attachment to you, and new
expressions of the high sense I entertain of your military conduct, and
other important services in the course of the last campaign.” In reply
to inquiries which the marquis had made respecting the operations of the
coming year, he declares that everything must depend absolutely for
success upon the naval force to be employed in these seas and the time
of its appearance. “No land force,” writes he, “can act decisively
unless it is accompanied by a maritime superiority; nor can more than
negative advantages be expected without it. For proof of this we have
only to recur to the instances of the ease and facility with which the
British shifted their ground, as advantages were to be obtained at
either extremity of the continent, and to their late heavy loss the
moment they failed in their naval superiority.... A doubt did not exist,
nor does it at this moment, in any man’s mind, of the total extirpation
of the British force in the Carolinas and Georgia, if the Count de
Grasse could have extended his coöperation two months longer.”
We may add here that Congress, after resolutions highly complimentary to
the marquis, had, through the secretary of foreign affairs, recommended
to the ministers plenipotentiary of the United States, resident in
Europe, to confer with the marquis, and avail themselves of his
information relative to the situation of national affairs, which
information the various heads of departments were instructed to furnish
him; and he was furthermore made the bearer of a letter to his
sovereign, recommending him in the strongest terms to the royal
consideration. Much was anticipated from the generous zeal of Lafayette,
and the influence he would be able to exercise in France, in favor of
the American cause.
Towards the end of November, Washington was in Philadelphia, where
Congress received him with distinguished honors. He lost no time in
enforcing the policy respecting the ensuing campaign, which he had set
forth in his letters to General Greene and the marquis. His views were
met by the military committee of Congress, with which he was in frequent
consultation, and by the secretaries of war, finance, and public
affairs, who attended their conferences. Under his impulse and personal
supervision, the military arrangements for 1782 were made with unusual
dispatch. On the 10th of December resolutions were passed in Congress
for requisitions of men and money from the several States; and
Washington backed those requisitions by letters to the respective
governors, urging prompt compliance. Strenuous exertions, too, were made
by Dr. Franklin, then minister in France, to secure a continuance of
efficient aid from that power; and a loan of six millions had been
promised by the king after hearing of the capitulation of Yorktown.
The persuasion that peace was at hand was, however, too prevalent for
the public to be roused to new sacrifices and toils to maintain what was
considered the mere shadow of a war. The States were slow in furnishing
a small part of their respective quotas of troops, and still slower in
answering to the requisitions for money.
After remaining four months in Philadelphia, Washington set out in March
to rejoin the army at Newburg on the Hudson. He was at Morristown in the
Jerseys on the 28th, when a bold project was submitted to him by Colonel
Matthias Ogden, of the Jersey line. Prince William Henry,[98] son of the
king of England, who was serving as a midshipman in the fleet of Admiral
Digby, was at that time in New York with the admiral, an object of great
attention to the army, and the tory part of the inhabitants. The project
of Colonel Ogden was to surprise the prince and the admiral at their
quarters in the city, and bring them off prisoners. He was to be aided
in the enterprise by a captain, a subaltern, three sergeants, and
thirty-six men. They were to embark from the Jersey shore on a rainy
night in four whale-boats, well manned, and rowed with muffled oars, and
were to land in New York at half-past nine, at a wharf not far from the
quarters of the prince and admiral, which were in Hanover Square. Part
of the men were to guard the boats, while Colonel Ogden with a strong
party was to proceed to the house, force the doors if necessary, and
capture the prince and admiral. In returning to the boats, part of the
men, armed with guns and bayonets, were to precede the prisoners, and
part to follow at half a gunshot distance, to give front to the enemy
until all were embarked.
The plan was approved by Washington, but Colonel Ogden was charged to be
careful that no insult or indignity be offered to the prince or admiral,
should they be captured. They were, on the contrary, to be treated with
all possible respect, and conveyed without delay to Congress.
How far an attempt was made to carry this plan into operation, is not
known. An exaggerated alarm seems to have been awakened by extravagant
reports circulated in New York, as appears by the following citation
from a paper or letter dated April 23d, and transmitted by Washington to
Ogden:—
“Great seem to be their apprehensions here. About a fortnight ago a
number of flat-boats were discovered by a sentinel from the bank of the
river (Hudson), which are said to have been intended to fire the
suburbs, and in the height of the conflagration to make a descent on the
lower part of the city, and wrest from our embraces his Excellency Sir
Henry Clinton, Prince William Henry, and several other illustrious
personages—since which, great precautions have been taken for the
security of those gentlemen, by augmenting the guards, and to render
their persons as little exposed as possible.”
These precautions very probably disconcerted the project of Colonel
Ogden, of which we find no other traces.
In a recent letter to General Greene, Washington had expressed himself
strongly on the subject of retaliation. “Of all laws it is the most
difficult to execute, where you have not the transgressor himself in
your possession. Humanity will ever interfere, and plead strongly
against the sacrifice of an innocent person for the guilt of another.”
It was but three or four months after this writing, that his judgment
and feelings were put to the proof in this respect. We have had occasion
to notice the marauds of the New York refugees in the Jerseys. One of
their number by the name of Philip White had been captured by the Jersey
people, and killed in attempting to escape from those who were
conducting him to Monmouth jail. His partisans in New York determined on
a signal revenge. Captain Joseph Huddy, an ardent whig, who had been
captured when bravely defending a block-house in Monmouth County, and
carried captive to New York; was now drawn forth from prison, conducted
into the Jerseys by a party of refugees, headed by a captain Lippencott,
and hanged on the heights of Middletown with a label affixed to his
breast, bearing the inscription, “Up goes Huddy for Philip White.”
The neighboring country cried out for retaliation. Washington submitted
the matter, with all the evidence furnished, to a board of general and
field officers. It was unanimously determined that the offender should
be demanded for execution, and, if not given up, that retaliation should
be exercised on a British prisoner of equal rank. Washington accordingly
sent proofs to Sir Henry Clinton of what he stigmatized as a murder, and
demanded that Captain Lippencott, or the officer who commanded the
execution of Captain Huddy, should be given up; or if that officer
should be inferior in rank, so many of the perpetrators as would,
according to the tariff of exchange, be an equivalent. “To do this,”
said he, “will mark the justice of your Excellency’s character. In
failure of it, I shall hold myself justifiable in the eyes of God and
man, for the measure to which I will resort.”
Sir Henry declined a compliance, but stated that he had ordered a strict
inquiry into the circumstances of Captain Huddy’s death, and would bring
the perpetrators of it to immediate trial.
Washington about the same time received the copy of a resolution of
Congress approving of his firm and judicious conduct, in his application
to the British general at New York, and promising to support him “in his
fixed purpose of exemplary retaliation.”
He accordingly ordered a selection to be made by lot, for the above
purpose, from among the British officers, prisoners at Lancaster in
Pennsylvania. To enhance the painful nature of the case, the lot fell
upon Captain Charles Asgill, of the Guards, a youth only nineteen years
of age, of an amiable character and high hopes and expectations, being
only son and heir of Sir Charles Asgill, a wealthy baronet.
The youth bore his lot with firmness, but his fellow prisoners were
incensed at Sir Henry Clinton for exposing him to such a fate by
refusing to deliver up the culprit. One of their number, a son of the
Earl of Ludlow, solicited permission from Washington to proceed to New
York and lay the case before Sir Guy Carleton, who had succeeded in
command to Sir Henry Clinton. In granting it, Washington intimated that,
though deeply affected by the unhappy fate to which Captain Asgill was
subjected, and devoutly wishing that his life might be spared, there was
but one alternative that could save him, of which the British commander
must be aware.
The matter remained for some time in suspense. Washington had ordered
that Captain Asgill should be treated “with every tender attention and
politeness (consistent with his present situation), which his rank,
fortune, and connections, together with his unfortunate state,
demanded,” and the captain himself acknowledged in writing the feeling
and attentive manner in which those commands were executed. But on the
question of retaliation Washington remained firm.
Lippencott was at length tried by a court-martial, but, after a long
sitting, acquitted, it appearing that he had acted under the verbal
orders of Governor Franklin, president of the board of associated
loyalists. The British commander reprobated the death of Captain Huddy,
and broke up the board.
These circumstances changed in some degree the ground upon which
Washington was proceeding. He laid the whole matter before Congress,
admitted Captain Asgill on parole at Morristown, and subsequently
intimated to the secretary of war his private opinion in favor of his
release, with permission to go to his friends in Europe.
In the mean time Lady Asgill, the mother of the youth, had written a
pathetic letter to the Count de Vergennes, the French minister of state,
imploring his intercession in behalf of her son. The letter was shown to
the king and queen, and by their direction the count wrote to Washington
soliciting the liberation of Asgill. Washington, as has been shown, had
already suggested his release, and was annoyed at the delay of Congress
in the matter. He now referred to that body the communication from the
count, and urged a favorable decision. To his great relief, he received
their directions to set Captain Asgill at liberty.
This, like the case of the unfortunate André, was one of the painful and
trying predicaments in which a strict sense of public duty obliged
Washington to do violence to his natural impulses, and he declares in
one of his letters, that the situation of Captain Asgill often filled
him with the keenest anguish. “I felt for him on many accounts; and not
the least when, viewing him as a man of honor and sentiment, I
considered how unfortunate it was for him that a wretch who possessed
neither, should be the means of causing him a single pang or a
disagreeable sensation.”
NOTE.
While these pages are going through the press, we have before us an
instance of that conscientious regard for justice which governed
Washington’s conduct.
A favorite aide-de-camp, Colonel Samuel B. Webb, who had been wounded
in the battles of Bunker’s Hill and White Plains, was captured in
December, 1777, when commanding a Connecticut regiment, and
accompanying General Parsons in a descent upon Long Island. He was
then but 24 years of age, and the youngest colonel in the army.
Presuming upon the favor of General Washington, who had pronounced him
one of the most accomplished gentlemen in the service, he wrote to
him, reporting his capture, and begging most strenuously for an
immediate exchange. He received a prompt, but disappointing reply.
Washington lamented his unfortunate condition. “It would give me
pleasure,” said he, “to render you any services in my power, but it is
impossible for me to comply with your request, without violating the
principles of justice, and incurring a charge of partiality.”
In fact, several officers of Colonel Webb’s rank had been a long time
in durance, and it was a rule with Washington that those first
captured should be first released. To this rule he inflexibly adhered,
however his feelings might plead for its infringement. Colonel Webb,
in consequence, was not exchanged until the present year; when
Washington, still on principles of justice, gave him the brevet rank
of Brigadier-general and the command of the light infantry.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXX.
Washington continues his Precautions.—Sir Guy Carleton brings Pacific
News.—Discontents of the Army.—Extraordinary Letter from Colonel
Nicola.—Indignant Reply of Washington.—Joint Letter of Sir Guy
Carleton and Admiral Digby.—Junction of the Allied Armies on the
Hudson.—Contemplated Reduction of the Army.
In disposing of the case of Captain Asgill, we have anticipated dates,
and must revert to the time when Washington again established his
head-quarters at Newburg on the Hudson. The solicitude felt by him on
account of the universal relaxation of the sinews of war, was not
allayed by reports of pacific speeches, and motions made in the British
Parliament, which might be delusive. “Even if the nation and
parliament,” said he, “are really in earnest to obtain peace with
America, it will, undoubtedly, be wisdom in us to meet them with great
caution and circumspection, and by all means to keep our arms firm in
our hands; and instead of relaxing one iota in our exertions, rather to
spring forward with redoubled vigor, that we may take the advantage of
every favorable opportunity, until our wishes are fully obtained. No
nation ever yet suffered in treaty by preparing, even in the moment of
negotiation, most vigorously for the field.”
Sir Guy Carleton arrived in New York early in May to take the place of
Sir Henry Clinton, who had solicited his recall. In a letter dated May
7th, Sir Guy informed Washington of his being joined with Admiral Digby
in the commission of peace; he transmitted at the same time printed
copies of the proceedings in the House of Commons on the 4th of March,
respecting an address to the king in favor of peace; and of a bill
reported in consequence thereof, authorizing the king to conclude a
peace or truce with the revolted provinces of North America. As this
bill, however, had not passed into a law when Sir Guy left England, it
presented no basis for a negotiation; and was only cited by him to show
the pacific disposition of the British nation, with which he professed
the most zealous concurrence. Still, though multiplied circumstances
gradually persuaded Washington of a real disposition on the part of
Great Britain to terminate the war, he did not think fit to relax his
preparations for hostilities.
Great discontents prevailed at this time in the army, both among
officers and men. The neglect of the States to furnish their proportions
of the sum voted by Congress for the prosecution of the war, had left
the army almost destitute. There was scarce money sufficient to feed the
troops from day to day; indeed, there were days when they were
absolutely in want of provisions. The pay of the officers, too, was
greatly in arrear; many of them doubted whether they would ever receive
the half pay decreed to them by Congress for a term of years after the
conclusion of the war, and fears began to be expressed that, in the
event of peace, they would all be disbanded with their claims
unliquidated, and themselves cast upon the community penniless, and
unfitted, by long military habitudes, for the gainful pursuits of peace.
At this juncture Washington received an extraordinary letter from
Colonel Lewis Nicola, a veteran officer, once commandant of Fort
Mifflin, who had been in habits of intimacy with him, and had warmly
interceded in behalf of the suffering army. In this letter he attributed
all the ills experienced and anticipated by the army and the public at
large, to the existing form of government. He condemned a republican
form as incompatible with national prosperity, and advised a mixed
government like that of England; which, he had no doubt, on its benefits
being properly pointed out, would be readily adopted. “In that case,” he
adds, “it will, I believe, be uncontroverted, that the same abilities
which have led us through difficulties apparently insurmountable by
human power, to victory and glory; those qualities that have merited and
obtained the universal esteem and veneration of an army, would be most
likely to conduct and direct us in the smoother paths of peace. Some
people have so connected the idea of tyranny and monarchy, as to find it
very difficult to separate them. It may, therefore, be requisite to give
the head of such a constitution as I propose, some title apparently more
moderate; but, if all other things were once adjusted, I believe strong
arguments might be produced for admitting the title of King, which, I
conceive, would be attended with some material advantages.”
Washington saw at once that Nicola was but the organ of a military
faction, disposed to make the army the basis of an energetic government,
and to place him at the head. The suggestion, backed by the opportunity,
might have tempted a man of meaner ambition: from him it drew the
following indignant letter:—
“With a mixture of great surprise and astonishment, I have read with
attention the sentiments you have submitted to my perusal. Be assured,
sir, no occurrence in the course of the war has given me more painful
sensations, than your information of there being such ideas existing in
the army, as you have expressed, and I must view with abhorrence, and
reprehend with severity. For the present, the communication of them will
rest in my own bosom, unless some further agitation of the matter shall
make a disclosure necessary.
“I am much at a loss to conceive what part of my conduct could have
given encouragement to an address, which to me seems big with the
greatest mischiefs that can befall my country. If I am not deceived in
the knowledge of myself, you could not have found a person to whom your
schemes are more disagreeable. At the same time, in justice to my own
feelings, I must add, that no man possesses a more sincere wish to see
ample justice done to the army than I do; and as far as my powers and
influence, in a constitutional way, extend, they shall be employed to
the utmost of my abilities to effect it, should there be any occasion.
Let me conjure you, then, if you have any regard for your country,
concern for yourself or posterity, or respect for me, to banish these
thoughts from your mind, and never communicate, as from yourself or any
one else, a sentiment of the like nature.”
On the 2d of August, Sir Guy Carleton and Admiral Digby wrote a joint
letter to Washington, informing him that they were acquainted, by
authority, that negotiations for a general peace had already been
commenced at Paris, and that the independence of the United States would
be proposed in the first instance by the British commissioner, instead
of being made a condition of a general treaty.
Even yet, Washington was wary. “From the former infatuation, duplicity,
and perverse system of British policy,” said he, “I confess I am induced
to doubt everything; to suspect everything.”... “Whatever the real
intention of the enemy may be, I think the strictest attention and
exertion, which have ever been exercised on our part, instead of being
diminished, ought to be increased. Jealousy and precaution at least can
do no harm. Too much confidence and supineness may be pernicious in the
extreme.”
What gave force to this policy was, that as yet no offers had been made
on the part of Great Britain, for a general cessation of hostilities,
and, although the British commanders were in a manner tied down by the
resolves of the House of Commons, to a defensive war only, in the United
States, they might be at liberty to transport part of their force to the
West Indies, to act against the French possessions in that quarter. With
these considerations he wrote to the Count de Rochambeau, then at
Baltimore, advising him, for the good of the common cause, to march his
troops to the banks of the Hudson, and form a junction with the American
army.
The junction took place about the middle of September. The French army
crossed the Hudson at King’s Ferry to Verplanck’s Point, where the
American forces were paraded under arms to welcome them. The clothing
and arms recently received from France or captured at Yorktown, enabled
them to make an unusually respectable appearance. Two lines were formed
from the landing-place to head-quarters, between which Count Rochambeau
passed, escorted by a troop of cavalry; after which he took his station
beside General Washington: the music struck up a French march, and the
whole army passed in review before them.
The French army encamped on the left of the American, near Crompond,
about ten miles from Verplanck’s Point. The greatest good-will continued
to prevail between the allied forces, though the Americans had but
little means of showing hospitality to their gay Gallic friends. “Only
conceive the mortification they must suffer, even the general officers,”
says Washington in a letter to the secretary of war, “when they cannot
invite a French officer, a visiting friend, or a travelling
acquaintance, to a better repast than whiskey hot from the still, and
not always that, and a bit of beef without vegetables will afford them.”
Speaking of a contemplated reduction of the army to take place on the
1st of January: “While I premise,” said he, “that no one I have seen or
heard of appears opposed to the principle of reducing the army as
circumstances may require; yet I cannot help fearing the result of the
measure in contemplation, under present circumstances, when I see such a
number of men, goaded by a thousand stings of reflection on the past,
and of anticipation on the future, about to be turned into the world,
soured by penury, and what they call ingratitude of the public, involved
in debts, without one farthing of money to carry them home, after having
spent the flower of their days, and many of them their patrimonies, in
establishing the freedom and independence of their country, and suffered
everything that human nature is capable of enduring on this side of
death,—I repeat it, that when I consider these irritating circumstances,
without one thing to soothe their feelings or dispel the gloomy
prospects, I cannot avoid apprehending that a train of evils will
follow, of a very serious and distressing nature....
“I wish not to heighten the shades of the picture so far as the reality
would justify me in doing it. I could give anecdotes of patriotism and
distress, which have scarcely ever been paralleled, never surpassed in
the history of mankind. But you may rely upon it, the patience and
long-suffering of this army are almost exhausted, and that there was
never so great a spirit of discontent as at this instant. While in the
field, I think it may be kept from breaking out into acts of outrage;
but when we retire into winter-quarters, unless the storm is previously
dissipated, I cannot be at ease respecting the consequences. It is high
time for a peace.”
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXXI.
Discontents of the Army at Newburg.—Memorial of the Officers to
Congress.—Anonymous Papers circulated in the Camp.—Meeting of
Officers called.—Address of Washington.—Resolutions in
Consequence.—Letters of Washington to the President.—His Opinion of
the Anonymous Addresses and their Author.
The anxious fears of Washington in regard to what might take place on
the approaching reduction of the army, were in some degree realized.
After the meeting with the French army at Verplanck’s Point, he had
drawn up his forces to his former encampment at Newburg, where he
established his head-quarters for the winter. In the leisure and
idleness of a winter camp, the discontents of the army had time to
ferment. The arrearages of pay became a topic of angry and constant
comment, as well as the question, whether the resolution of Congress,
granting half pay to officers who should serve to the end of the war,
would be carried into effect. Whence were the funds to arise for such
half pay? The national treasury was empty; the States were slow to tax
themselves; the resource of foreign loans was nearly exhausted. The
articles of confederation required the concurrence of nine States to any
act appropriating public money. There had never been nine States in
favor of the half pay establishment; was it probable that as many would
concur in applying any scanty funds that might accrue, and which would
be imperiously demanded for many other purposes, to the payment of
claims known to be unpopular, and to the support of men, who, the
necessity for their services being at an end, might be regarded as
drones in the community?
The result of these boding conferences was a memorial to Congress in
December, from the officers in camp, on behalf of the army, representing
the hardships of the case, and proposing that a specific sum should be
granted them for the money actually due, and as a commutation for half
pay. Three officers were deputed to present the memorial to Congress,
and watch over and promote its success.
The memorial gave rise to animated and long discussions in Congress.
Some members were for admitting the claims as founded on engagements
entered into by the nation; others were for referring them to the
respective States of the claimants. The winter passed away without any
definite measures on the subject.
On the 10th of March, 1783, an anonymous paper was circulated through
the camp, calling a meeting at eleven o’clock the next day, of the
general and field officers, of an officer from each company, and a
delegate from the medical staff, to consider a letter just received from
their representatives in Philadelphia, and what measures, if any, should
be adopted to obtain that redress of grievances which they seemed to
have solicited in vain.
On the following morning an anonymous address to the officers of the
army was privately put into circulation. It professed to be from a
fellow-soldier who had shared in their toils and mingled in their
dangers, and who till very lately had believed in the justice of his
country.
“After a pursuit of seven long years,” observed he, “the object for
which we set out is at length brought within our reach. Yes, my friends,
that suffering courage of yours was active once; it has conducted the
United States of America through a doubtful and bloody war; it has
placed her in the chair of independency, and peace returns to
bless—whom? a country willing to redress your wrongs, cherish your
worth, and reward your services? a country courting your return to
private life, with tears of gratitude and smiles of admiration, longing
to divide with you that independency which your gallantry has given, and
those riches which your wounds have preserved? Is this the case? or is
it rather a country that tramples upon your rights, disdains your cries,
and insults your distresses? Have you not more than once suggested your
wishes, and made known your wants to Congress—wants and wishes, which
gratitude and policy should have anticipated, rather than evaded? And
have you not lately, in the meek language of entreating memorials,
begged from their justice what you could no longer expect from their
favor? How have you been answered? Let the letter, which you are called
to consider to-morrow, make reply
“If this, then, be your treatment, while the swords you wear are
necessary for the defense of America, what have you to expect from
peace, when your voice shall sink, and your strength dissipate by
division; when those very swords, the instruments and companions of your
glory, shall be taken from your sides, and no remaining mark of military
distinction left but your wants, infirmities, and scars? Can you then
consent to be the only sufferers by this Revolution, and, retiring from
the field, grow old in poverty, wretchedness, and contempt? Can you
consent to wade through the vile mire of dependency, and owe the
miserable remnant of that life to charity, which has hitherto been spent
in honor? If you can, go, and carry with you the jest of tories, and the
scorn of whigs; the ridicule, and what is worse, the pity of the world!
Go, starve and be forgotten! But if your spirits should revolt at this;
if you have sense enough to discover, and spirit sufficient to oppose
tyranny, under whatever garb it may assume, whether it be the plain coat
of republicanism, or the splendid robe of royalty; if you have yet
learned to discriminate between a people and a cause, between men and
principles; awake, attend to your situation, and redress yourselves! If
the present moment be lost, every future effort is in vain; and your
threats then will be as empty as your entreaties now.
“I would advise you, therefore, to come to some final opinion upon what
you can bear, and what you will suffer. If your determination be in any
proportion to your wrongs, carry your appeal from the justice to the
fears of government. Change the milk-and-water style of your last
memorial. Assume a bolder tone, decent, but lively, spirited, and
determined; and suspect the man who would advise to more moderation and
longer forbearance. Let two or three men, who can feel as well as write,
be appointed to draw up your _last remonstrance_, for I would no longer
give it the suing, soft, unsuccessful epithet of _memorial_. Let it
represent in language that will neither dishonor you by its rudeness,
nor betray you by its fears, what has been promised by Congress, and
what has been performed; how long and how patiently you have suffered;
how little you have asked, and how much of that little has been denied.
Tell them, that, though you were the first, and would wish to be the
last to encounter danger, though despair itself can never drive you into
dishonor, it may drive you from the field; that the wound, often
irritated and never healed, may at length become incurable; and that the
slightest mark of indignity from Congress now, must operate like the
grave, and part you forever; that, in any political event, the army has
its alternative. If peace, that nothing shall separate you from your
arms but death; if war, that courting the auspices, and inviting the
direction of your illustrious leader, you will retire to some unsettled
country, smile in your turn, and ‘mock when their fear cometh on.’ But
let it represent, also, that should they comply with the request of your
late memorial, it would make you more happy and them more respectable;
that, while war should continue, you would follow their standard into
the field; and when it came to an end, you would withdraw into the shade
of private life, and give the world another subject of wonder and
applause—an army victorious over its enemies, victorious over itself.”
This bold and eloquent, but dangerous appeal, founded as it was upon the
wrongs and sufferings of a gallant army and the shameful want of
sympathy in tardy legislators, called for the full exercise of
Washington’s characteristic firmness, caution, and discrimination. In
general orders he noticed the anonymous paper, but expressed his
confidence that the good sense of officers would prevent them from
paying attention to such an irregular invitation; which he reprobated as
disorderly. With a view to counteract its effects, he requested a like
meeting of officers on the 15th instant, to hear the report of the
committee deputed to Congress. “After mature deliberation,” added he,
“they will devise what further measures ought to be adopted as most
rational and best calculated to obtain the just and important object in
view.”
On the following day another anonymous address was circulated, written
in a more moderate tone, but to the same purport with the first, and
affecting to construe the general orders into an approbation of the
object sought; only changing the day appointed for the meeting. “Till
now,” it observes, “the commander-in-chief has regarded the steps you
have taken for redress with good wishes alone; his ostensible silence
has authorized your meetings, and his private opinion sanctified your
claims. Had he disliked the object in view, would not the same sense of
duty which forbade you from meeting on the third day of the week, have
forbidden you from meeting on the seventh? Is not the same subject held
up to your view? and has it not passed the seal of office, and taken all
the solemnity of an order? This will give system to your proceedings,
and stability to your resolves,” etc., etc.
On Saturday, the 15th of March, the meeting took place. Washington had
previously sent for the officers, one by one, in private, and enlarged
on the loss of character to the whole army, that would result from
intemperate resolutions. At the meeting, General Gates was called to the
chair. Washington rose and apologized for appearing there, which he had
not intended to do when he issued the order directing the assemblage.
The diligence, however, which had been used in circulating anonymous
writings, rendered it necessary he should give his sentiments to the
army on the nature and tendency of them. He had taken this opportunity
to do so, and had committed his thoughts to writing, which, with the
indulgence of his brother officers, he would take the liberty of reading
to them.
He then proceeded to read a forcible and feeling address, pointing out
the irregularity and impropriety of the recent anonymous summons, and
the dangerous nature of the anonymous address, a production, as he
observed, addressed more to the feelings and passions than to the
judgment drawn with great art, calculated to impress the mind with an
idea of premeditated injustice in the sovereign power of the United
States, and to rouse all those resentments which must unavoidably flow
from such a belief.
On these principles he had opposed the irregular and hasty meeting
appointed in the anonymous summons, not from a disinclination to afford
officers every opportunity, consistent, with their own honor and the
dignity of the army, to make known their grievances. “If my conduct
heretofore,” said he, “has not evinced to you, that I have been a
faithful friend to the army, my declaration of it at this time would be
equally unavailing and improper. But as I was among the first who
embarked in the cause of our common country; as I have never left your
side one moment, but when called from you on public duty; as I have been
the constant companion and witness of your distresses, and not among the
last to feel and acknowledge your merits; as I have ever considered my
own military reputation as inseparably connected with that of the army;
as my heart has ever expanded with joy when I have heard its praises,
and my indignation has arisen when the mouth of detraction has been
opened against it; it can scarcely be supposed at this last stage of the
war that I am indifferent to its interests.”...
“For myself,” observes he, in another part of his address, “a
recollection of the cheerful assistance and prompt obedience I have
experienced from you under every vicissitude of fortune and the sincere
affection I feel for an army I have so long had the honor to command,
will oblige me to declare in this public and solemn manner, that for the
attainment of complete justice for all your toils and dangers, and the
gratification of every wish, so far as may be done consistently with the
great duty I owe my country and those powers we are bound to respect,
you may fully command my services to the utmost extent of my abilities.
“While I give you these assurances, and pledge myself in the most
unequivocal manner to exert whatever abilities I am possessed of in your
favor, let me entreat you, gentlemen, on your part, not to take any
measures which, viewed in the calm light of reason, will lessen the
dignity and sully the glory you have hitherto maintained; let me request
you to rely on the plighted faith of your country, and place a full
confidence in the purity of the intentions of Congress; that, previous
to your dissolution as an army, they will cause all your accounts to be
fairly liquidated, as directed in the resolutions which were published
to you two days ago; and that they will adopt the most effectual
measures in their power to render ample justice to you for your faithful
and meritorious services. And let me conjure you, in the name of our
common country, as you value your own sacred honor, as you respect the
rights of humanity, and as you regard the military and national
character of America, to express your utmost horror and detestation of
the man who wishes, under any specious pretenses, to overturn the
liberties of our country: and who wickedly attempts to open the
flood-gates of civil discord, and deluge our rising empire in blood. By
thus determining and thus acting, you will pursue the plain and direct
road to the attainment of your wishes; you will defeat the insidious
designs of our enemies, who are compelled to resort from open force to
secret artifice; you will give one more distinguished proof of
unexampled patriotism and patient virtue rising superior to the pressure
of the most complicated sufferings; and you will, by the dignity of your
conduct, afford occasion for posterity to say, when speaking of the
glorious example you have exhibited to mankind: ‘Had this day been
wanting, the world had never seen the last stage of perfection to which
human nature is capable of attaining.’”
After he had concluded the address, he observed, that as a corroborating
testimony of the good disposition in Congress toward the army, he would
communicate to them a letter received from a worthy member of that body,
who on all occasions had approved himself their fast friend. He produced
an able letter from the Hon. Joseph Jones, which, while it pointed out
the difficulties and embarrassments of Congress, held up very forcibly
the idea that the army would at all events be generously dealt with.
Major Shaw, who was present, and from whose memoir we note this scene,
relates that Washington, after reading the first paragraph of the
letter, made a short pause, took out his spectacles, and begged the
indulgence of his audience while he put them on, observing at the same
time that _he had grown gray in their service, and now found himself
growing blind_. “There was something,” adds Shaw, “so natural, so
unaffected in this appeal, as rendered it superior to the most studied
oratory; it forced its way to the heart, and you might see sensibility
moisten every eye.”
“Happy for America,” continues Major Shaw, “that she has a patriot army,
and equally so that Washington is its leader. I rejoice in the
opportunity I have had of seeing this great man in a variety of
situations—calm and intrepid when the battle raged; patient and
persevering under the pressure of misfortune; moderate and possessing
himself in the full career of victory. Great as these qualifications
deservedly render him, he never appeared to me more truly so than at the
assembly we have been speaking of. On other occasions he has been
supported by the exertions of an army and the countenance of his
friends; but on this he stood single and alone. There was no saying
where the passions of an army which were not a little inflamed, might
lead; but it was generally allowed that further forbearance was
dangerous, and moderation had ceased to be a virtue. Under these
circumstances he appeared, not at the head of his troops, but, as it
were, in opposition to them; and for a dreadful moment the interests of
the army and its general seemed to be in competition! He spoke—every
doubt was dispelled, and the tide of patriotism rolled again in its
wonted course. Illustrious man! What he says of the army may with equal
justice be applied to his own character: ‘Had this day been wanting, the
world had never seen the last stage of perfection to which human nature
is capable of attaining.’”[99]
The moment Washington retired from the assemblage, a resolution was
moved by the warm-hearted Knox, seconded by General Putnam, and passed
unanimously, assuring him that the officers reciprocated his
affectionate expressions with the greatest sincerity of which the human
heart is capable. Then followed resolutions, declaring that no
circumstances of distress or danger should induce a conduct calculated
to sully the reputation and glory acquired at the price of their blood
and eight years’ faithful services; that they continued to have an
unshaken confidence in the justice of Congress and their country; and
that the commander-in-chief should be requested to write to the
President of Congress, earnestly entreating a speedy decision on the
late address forwarded by a committee of the army.
A letter was accordingly written by Washington, breathing that generous
yet well-tempered spirit, with which he ever pleaded the cause of the
army.
“The result of the proceedings of the grand convention of officers,”
said he, “which I have the honor of inclosing to your Excellency for the
inspection of Congress, will, I flatter myself, be considered as the
last glorious proof of patriotism which could have been given by men who
aspired to the distinction of a patriot army, and will not only confirm
their claim to the justice, but will increase their title to the
gratitude of their country.
“Having seen the proceedings on the part of the army terminate with
perfect unanimity, and in a manner entirely consonant to my wishes;
being impressed with the liveliest sentiments of affection for those who
have so long, so patiently, and so cheerfully suffered and fought under
my immediate direction; having, from motives of justice, duty, and
gratitude, spontaneously offered myself as an advocate for their rights;
and having been requested to write to your Excellency, earnestly
entreating the most speedy decision of Congress upon the subjects of the
late address from the army to that honorable body; it only remains for
me to perform the task I have assumed, and to intercede on their behalf,
as I now do, that the sovereign power will be pleased to verify the
predictions I have pronounced, and the confidence the army have reposed
in the justice of their country.”
After referring to further representations made by him to Congress, on
the subject of a half pay to be granted to officers for life, he adds:
“If, besides the simple payment of their wages, a further compensation
is not due to the sufferings and sacrifices of the officers, then have I
been mistaken indeed. If the whole army had not merited whatever a
grateful people can bestow, then I have been beguiled by prejudice and
built opinion on the basis of error. If this country should not, in the
event, perform everything which has been requested in the last memorial
to Congress, then will my belief become vain, and the hope that has been
excited, void of foundation. And if, as has been suggested for the
purpose of inflaming their passions, ‘the officers of the army are to be
the only sufferers by the Revolution; if, retiring from the field, they
are to grow old in poverty, wretchedness, and contempt; if they are to
wade through the vile mire of dependency, and owe the miserable remnant
of that life to charity, which has hitherto been spent in honor;’ then
shall I have learned what ingratitude is, then shall I have realized a
tale which will embitter every moment of my future life. But I am under
no such apprehensions. A country, rescued by their arms from impending
ruin, will never leave unpaid the debt of gratitude.”
This letter to the President was accompanied by other letters to members
of Congress; all making similar direct and eloquent appeals. The object
was again taken up in Congress, nine States concurred in a resolution
commuting the half pay into a sum equal to five years’ whole pay; and
the whole matter, at one moment so fraught with danger to the republic,
through the temperate wisdom of Washington, was happily adjusted.
The anonymous addresses to the army, which were considered at the time
so insidious and inflammatory, and which certainly were ill-judged and
dangerous, have since been avowed by General John Armstrong, a man who
has sustained with great credit to himself various eminent posts under
our government. At the time of writing them he was a young man,
aide-de-camp to General Gates, and he did it at the request of a number
of his fellow-officers, indignant at the neglect of their just claims by
Congress, and in the belief that the tardy movements of that body
required the spur and the lash. Washington, in a letter dated 23d
January, 1797, says, “I have since had sufficient reason for believing
that the object of the author was just, honorable, and friendly to the
country, though the means suggested by him were certainly liable to much
misunderstanding and abuse.”
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXXII.
News of Peace.—Letter of Washington in Behalf of the Army.—Cessation
of Hostilities proclaimed.—Order of the Cincinnati formed.—Letter of
Washington to the State Governors.—Mutiny in the Pennsylvania
Line.—Letter of Washington on the Subject.—Tour to the Northern
Posts.
At length arrived the wished-for news of peace. A general treaty had
been signed at Paris on the 20th of January. An armed vessel, the
_Triumph_, belonging to the Count d’Estaing’s squadron, arrived at
Philadelphia from Cadiz, on the 23d of March, bringing a letter from the
Marquis de Lafayette, to the President of Congress, communicating the
intelligence. In a few days Sir Guy Carleton informed Washington by
letter, that he was ordered to proclaim a cessation of hostilities by
sea and land.
A similar proclamation issued by Congress, was received by Washington on
the 17th of April. Being unaccompanied by any instructions respecting
the discharge of the part of the army with him, should the measure be
deemed necessary, he found himself in a perplexing situation.
The accounts of peace received at different times, had raised an
expectation in the minds of those of his troops that had engaged “for
the war,” that a speedy discharge must be the consequence of the
proclamation. Most of them could not distinguish between a proclamation
of a cessation of hostilities and a definitive declaration of peace, and
might consider any further claim on their military services an act of
injustice. It was becoming difficult to enforce the discipline necessary
to the coherence of an army. Washington represented these circumstances
in a letter to the President, and earnestly entreated a prompt
determination on the part of Congress, as to what was to be the period
of the services of these men, and how he was to act respecting their
discharge.
One suggestion of his letter is expressive of his strong sympathy with
the patriot soldier, and his knowledge of what formed a matter of pride
with the poor fellows who had served and suffered under him. He urged
that, in discharging those who had been engaged “for the war,” the
non-commissioned officers and soldiers should be allowed to take with
them, as their own property and as a gratuity, their arms and
accoutrements. “This act,” observes he, “would raise pleasing sensations
in the minds of these worthy and faithful men, who, from their early
engaging in the war at moderate bounties, and from their patient
continuance under innumerable distresses, have not only deserved nobly
of their country, but have obtained an honorable distinction over those
who, with shorter terms, have gained large pecuniary rewards. This, at a
comparatively small expense, would be deemed an honorable testimonial
from Congress of the regard they bear to these distinguished worthies,
and the sense they have of their suffering virtues and services....
“These constant companions of their toils, preserved with sacred
attention, would be handed down from the present possessors to their
children, as honorary badges of bravery and military merit; and would
probably be brought forth on some future occasion, with pride and
exultation, to be improved with the same military ardor and emulation in
the hands of posterity, as they have been used by their forefathers in
the present establishment and foundation of our national independence
and glory.”
This letter dispatched, he notified in general orders that the cessation
of hostilities should be proclaimed at noon on the following day, and
read in the evening at the head of every regiment and corps of the army,
“after which,” adds he, “the chaplains with the several brigades will
render thanks to Almighty God for all his mercies, particularly for his
overruling the wrath of man to his own glory, and causing the rage of
war to cease among the nations.”
Having noticed that this auspicious day, the 19th of April, completed
the eighth year of the war, and was the anniversary of the eventful
conflict at Lexington, he went on in general orders, to impress upon the
army a proper idea of the dignified part they were called upon to act.
“The generous task for which we first flew to arms being accomplished;
the liberties of our country being fully acknowledged, and firmly
secured, and the characters of those who have persevered through every
extremity of hardship, suffering, and danger, being immortalized by the
appellation of _the patriot army_, nothing now remains, but for the
actors of this mighty scene to preserve a perfect, unvarying consistency
of character, through the very last act, to close the drama with
applause, and to retire from the military theatre with the same
approbation of angels and men which has crowned all their former
virtuous actions.”
The letter which he had written to the President produced a resolution
in Congress, that the service of the men engaged in the war did not
expire until the ratification of the definitive articles of peace; but
that the commander-in-chief might grant furloughs to such as he thought
proper, and that they should be allowed to take their arms with them.
Washington availed himself freely of this permission: furloughs were
granted without stint; the men set out singly or in small parties for
their rustic homes, and the danger and inconvenience were avoided of
disbanding large masses, at a time, of unpaid soldiery. Now and then
were to be seen three or four in a group, bound probably to the same
neighborhood, beguiling the way with camp jokes and camp stories. The
war-worn soldier was always kindly received at the farm-houses along the
road, where he might shoulder his gun and fight over his battles. The
men thus dismissed on furlough were never called upon to rejoin the
army. Once at home, they sank into domestic life their weapons were hung
up over their fire-places, military trophies of the Revolution to be
prized by future generations.
In the mean time Sir Guy Carleton was making preparations for the
evacuation of the city of New York. The moment he had received the royal
order for the cessation of hostilities, he had written for all the
shipping that could be procured from Europe and the West Indies. As
early as the 27th of April a fleet had sailed for different parts of
Nova Scotia, carrying off about seven thousand persons, with all their
effects. A great part of these were troops, but many were royalists and
refugees, exiled by the laws of the United States. They looked forward
with a dreary eye to their voyage, “bound,” as one of them said, “to a
country where there were nine months of winter and three months of cold
weather every year.”
On the 6th of May a personal conference took place between Washington
and Sir Guy at Orangetown, about the transfer of posts in the United
States, held by the British troops, and the delivery of all property
stipulated by the treaty to be given up to the Americans. On the 8th of
May, Egbert Benson, William S. Smith, and Daniel Parker, were
commissioned by Congress to inspect and superintend at New York the
embarkation of persons and property, in fulfillment of the seventh
article of the provisional treaty.
While sadness and despair prevailed among the tories and refugees in New
York, the officers in the patriot camp on the Hudson were not without
gloomy feelings at the thought of their approaching separation from each
other. Eight years of dangers and hardships, shared in common and nobly
sustained, had welded their hearts together, and made it hard to rend
them asunder. Prompted by such feelings, General Knox, ever noted for
generous impulses, suggested, as a mode of perpetuating the friendships
thus formed, and keeping alive the brotherhood of the camp, the
formation of a society composed of the officers of the army. The
suggestion met with universal concurrence, and the hearty approbation of
Washington.
Meetings were held, at which the Baron Steuben, as senior officer,
presided. A plan was drafted by a committee composed of generals Knox,
Hand, and Huntingdon, and Captain Shaw; and the society was organized at
a meeting held on the 13th of May, at the baron’s quarters in the old
Verplanck House, near Fishkill.
By its formula, the officers of the American army in the most solemn
manner combined themselves into one society of friends: to endure as
long as they should endure, or any of their eldest male posterity, and
in failure thereof, their collateral branches who might be judged worthy
of being its supporters and members. In memory of the illustrious Roman,
Lucius Quintius Cincinnatus, who retired from war to the peaceful duties
of the citizen, it was to be called “The Society of the Cincinnati.” The
objects proposed by it were to preserve inviolate the rights and
liberties for which they had contended; to promote and cherish national
honor and union between the States; to maintain brotherly kindness
toward each other, and extend relief to such officers and their families
as might stand in need of it.
In order to obtain funds for the purpose, each officer was to contribute
one month’s pay, the interest only to be appropriated to the relief of
the unfortunate. The general society, for the sake of frequent
communications, was to be divided into State societies, and these again
into districts. The general society was to meet annually on the first
Monday in May, the State societies on each 4th of July, the districts as
often as should be agreed on by the State society.
The society was to have an insignia called “The Order of the
Cincinnati.” It was to be a golden American eagle, bearing on its breast
emblematical devices; this was to be suspended by a deep-blue ribbon two
inches wide, edged with white; significative of the union of America
with France.
Individuals of the respective States, distinguished for patriotism and
talents, might be admitted as honorary members for life; their numbers
never to exceed a ratio of one to four. The French ministers who had
officiated at Philadelphia, and the French admirals, generals, and
colonels, who had served in the United States, were to be presented with
the insignia of the order, and invited to become members.
Washington was chosen unanimously to officiate as president of it, until
the first general meeting, to be held in May, 1784.
On the 8th of June, Washington addressed a letter to the governors of
the several States on the subject of the dissolution of the army. The
opening of it breathes that aspiration after the serene quiet of private
life, which had been his dream of happiness throughout the storms and
trials of his anxious career, but the full fruition of which he was
never to realize.
“The great object,” said he, “for which I had the honor to hold an
appointment in the service of my country being accomplished, I am now
preparing to return to that domestic retirement which, it is well known,
I left with the greatest reluctance; a retirement for which I never
ceased to sigh, through a long and painful absence, and in which (remote
from the noise and trouble of the world) I meditate to pass the
remainder of life in a state of undisturbed repose.”
His letter then described the enviable condition of the citizens of
America. “Sole lords and proprietors of a vast tract of continent,
comprehending all the various soils and climates of the world, and
abounding with all the necessaries and conveniences of life; and
acknowledged possessors of ‘absolute freedom and independency.’ This is
the time,” said he, “of their political probation; this is the moment
when the eyes of the whole world are turned upon them; this is the
moment to establish or ruin their national character forever. This is
the favorable moment to give such a tone to the federal government, as
will enable it to answer the ends of its institution; or this may be the
moment for relaxing the powers of the Union, annihilating the cement of
the confederation, and exposing us to become the sport of European
politics which may play one State against another, to prevent their
growing importance, and to serve their own interested purposes.
“With this conviction of the importance of the present crisis, silence
in me would be a crime. I will therefore speak the language of freedom
and sincerity without disguise.
“I am aware, however,” continues he, modestly, “that those who differ
from me in political sentiment may perhaps remark, that I am stepping
out of the proper line of my duty, and may possibly ascribe to arrogance
or ostentation, what I know is the result of the purest intention. But
the rectitude of my own heart, which disdains such unworthy motives; the
part I have hitherto acted in life; the determination I have formed of
not taking any share in public business hereafter; the ardent desire I
feel, and shall continue to manifest, of quietly enjoying, in private
life, after all the toils of war, the benefits of a wise and liberal
government; will, I flatter myself, sooner or later convince my
countrymen that I could have no sinister views in delivering, with so
little reserve, the opinions contained in this address.”
He then proceeded ably and eloquently to discuss what he considered the
four things essential to the well-being, and even the existence of the
United States as an independent power.
First. An indissoluble union of the States under one federal head, and a
perfect acquiescence of the several States, in the full exercise of the
prerogative vested in such a head by the constitution.
Second. A sacred regard to public justice in discharging debts and
fulfilling contracts made by Congress, for the purpose of carrying on
the war.
Third. The adoption of a proper peace establishment; in which care
should be taken to place the militia throughout the Union on a regular,
uniform, and efficient footing. “The militia of this country,” said he,
“must be considered as the palladium of our security, and the first
effectual resort in case of hostility. It is essential, therefore, that
the same system should pervade the whole: that the formation and
discipline of the militia of the continent should be absolutely uniform,
and that the same species of arms, accoutrements, and military apparatus
should be introduced in every part of the United States.”
And Fourth. A disposition among the people of the United States to
forget local prejudices and policies; to make mutual concessions, and to
sacrifice individual advantages to the interests of the community.
These four things Washington pronounced the pillars on which the
glorious character must be supported. “Liberty is the basis; and
whosoever would dare to sap the foundation, or overturn the structure,
under whatever specious pretext he may attempt it, will merit the
bitterest execration and the severest punishment which can be inflicted
by his injured country.”
We forbear to go into the ample and admirable reasoning with which he
expatiates on these heads, and above all, enforces the sacred
inviolability of the Union; they have become familiar with every
American mind, and ought to govern every American heart. Nor will we
dwell upon his touching appeal on the subject of the half pay and
commutation promised to the army, and which began to be considered in
the odious light of a pension. “That provision,” said he, “should be
viewed as it really was—a reasonable compensation offered by Congress,
at a time when they had nothing else to give the officers of the army
for services then to be performed. It was the only means to prevent a
total dereliction of the service. It was a part of their hire. I may be
allowed to say it was the price of their blood and of your independency;
it is therefore more than a common debt, it is a debt of honor.”
Although we have touched upon but a part of this admirable letter, we
cannot omit its affecting close, addressed as it was to each individual
governor.
“I have thus freely declared what I wished to make known, before I
surrendered up my public trust to those who committed it to me. The task
is now accomplished. I now bid adieu to your Excellency, as the chief
magistrate of your State, at the same time I bid a last farewell to the
cares of office and all the employments of public life.
“It remains, then, to be my final and only request, that your Excellency
will communicate these sentiments to your legislature at their next
meeting, and that they may be considered the legacy of one who has
ardently wished, on all occasions, to be useful to his country, and who,
even in the shade of retirement, will not fail to implore the divine
benediction on it.
“I now make it my earnest prayer, that God would have you, and the State
over which you preside, in his holy protection; that he would incline
the hearts of the citizens to cultivate a spirit of subordination and
obedience to government, to entertain a brotherly affection and love for
one another, for their fellow-citizens of the United States at large,
and particularly for brethren who have served in the field; and finally,
that he would most graciously be pleased to dispose us all to do
justice, to love mercy, and to demean ourselves with that charity,
humility, and pacific temper of mind, which are the characteristics of
the Divine Author of our blessed religion, and without whose example in
those things we can never hope to be a happy nation.”
While the patriot army, encamped under the eye of Washington, bore their
hardships and privations without flinching, or returned quietly to their
homes with, as yet, no actual reward but the weapons with which they had
vindicated their country’s cause, about eighty newly recruited soldiers
of the Pennsylvania line, stationed at Lancaster, suddenly mutinied and
set off in a body for Philadelphia, to demand redress of fancied
grievances from the legislature of the State. Arriving at that city,
they were joined by about twelve hundred comrades from the barracks, and
proceeded on the 2d of June with beat of drum and fixed bayonets to the
State House, where Congress and the supreme executive council of
Pennsylvania were in session.
Placing sentinels at every door to prevent egress, they sent in a
written message to the President and council, threatening military
violence if their demands were not complied with in the course of twenty
minutes.
Though these menaces were directed against the State government,
Congress felt itself outraged by being thus surrounded and blockaded for
several hours by an armed soldiery. Fearing lest the State of
Pennsylvania might not be able to furnish adequate protection, it
adjourned to meet within a few days at Princeton; sending information,
in the mean time, to Washington of this mutinous outbreak.
The latter immediately detached General Howe with fifteen hundred men to
quell the mutiny and punish the offenders; at the same time, in a letter
to the President of Congress, he expressed his indignation and distress
at seeing a handful of men, “contemptible in numbers and equally so in
point of service, and not worthy to be called soldiers,” insulting the
sovereign authority of the Union, and that of their own State. He
vindicated the army at large, however, from the stain the behavior of
these men might cast upon it. These were mere recruits, soldiers of a
day, who had not borne the heat and burden of the war, and had in
reality few hardships to complain of. He contrasted their conduct with
that of the soldiers recently furloughed veterans, who had patiently
endured hunger, nakedness, and cold; who had suffered and bled without a
murmur, and who had retired in perfect good order to their homes,
without a settlement of their accounts or a farthing of money in their
pockets. While he gave vent to his indignation and scorn, roused by the
“arrogance and folly and wickedness of the mutineers,” he declared that
he could not sufficiently admire the fidelity, bravery, and patriotism
of the rest of the army.
Fortunately, before the troops under General Howe reached Philadelphia,
the mutiny had been suppressed without bloodshed. Several of the
mutineers were tried by a court-martial, two were condemned to death,
but ultimately pardoned, and four received corporal punishment.
Washington now found his situation at head-quarters irksome; there was
little to do, and he was liable to be incessantly teased with
applications and demands, which he had neither the means nor power to
satisfy. He resolved, therefore, to while away part of the time that
must intervene before the arrival of the definitive treaty, by making a
tour to the northern and western parts of the State, and visiting the
places which had been the theatre of important military transactions. He
had another object in view; he desired to facilitate as far as in his
power the operations which would be necessary for occupying, as soon as
evacuated by British troops, the posts ceded by the treaty of peace.
Governor Clinton accompanied him on the expedition. They set out by
water from Newburg, ascended the Hudson to Albany, visited Saratoga and
the scene of Burgoyne’s surrender, embarked on Lake George, where light
boats had been provided for them, traversed that beautiful lake so full
of historic interest; proceeded to Ticonderoga and Crown Point; and
after reconnoitering those eventful posts, returned to Schenectady,
whence they proceeded up the valley of the Mohawk River, “to have a
view,” writes Washington, “of that tract of country which is so much
celebrated for the fertility of its soil and the beauty of its
situation.” Having reached Fort Schuyler, formerly Fort Stanwix, they
crossed over to Wood Creek, which empties into Oneida Lake, and affords
the water communication with Ontario. They then traversed the country to
the head of the eastern branch of the Susquehanna, and viewed Lake
Otsego and the portage between that lake and the Mohawk River.
Washington returned to head-quarters at Newburg on the 5th of August,
after a tour of at least seven hundred and fifty miles, performed in
nineteen days, and for the most part on horseback. In a letter to the
Chevalier de Chastellux, written two or three months afterwards, and
giving a sketch of his tour through what was, as yet, an unstudied
wilderness, he writes: “Prompted by these actual observations, I could
not help taking a more extensive view of the vast inland navigation of
these United States from maps and the information of others; and could
not but be struck with the immense extent and importance of it, and with
the goodness of that Providence which has dealt its favors to us with so
profuse a hand; would to God, we may have wisdom enough to improve them.
I shall not rest contented till I have explored the western country, and
traversed those lines, or a great part of them, which have given bounds
to a new empire.” The vast advantages of internal communication between
the Hudson and the great lakes, which dawned upon Washington’s mind in
the course of this tour, have since been realized in that grand artery
of national wealth, the Erie Canal.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXXIII.
The Army to be discharged.—Parting Address of Washington.—Evacuation
of New York.—Parting Scene of Washington with his Officers at New
York.—Washington resigns his Commission to Congress.—Retires to
Mount Vernon.
By a proclamation of Congress, dated 18th of October, all officers and
soldiers absent on furlough were discharged from further service; and
all others who had engaged to serve during the war, were to be
discharged from and after the 3d of November. A small force only,
composed of those who had enlisted for a definite time, were to be
retained in service until the peace establishment should be organized.
In general orders of November 2d, Washington, after adverting to this
proclamation, adds: “It only remains for the commander-in-chief to
address himself once more, and that for the last time, to the armies of
the United States, however widely dispersed the individuals who compose
them may be, and to bid them an affectionate and a long farewell.”
He then goes on to make them one of those paternal addresses which so
eminently characterize his relationship with his army, so different from
that of any other commander. He takes a brief view of the glorious
struggle from which they had just emerged; the unpromising circumstances
under which they had undertaken it, and the signal interposition of
Providence in behalf of their feeble condition; the unparalleled
perseverance of the American armies for eight long years through almost
every possible suffering and discouragement, a perseverance which he
justly pronounces to be little short of _a standing miracle_.
Adverting then to the enlarged prospects of happiness opened by the
confirmation of national independence and sovereignty, and the ample and
profitable employments held out in a Republic so happily circumstanced,
he exhorts them to maintain the strongest attachment to THE UNION, and
to carry with them into civil society the most conciliatory
dispositions; proving themselves not less virtuous and useful as
citizens, than they had been victorious as soldiers; feeling assured
that the private virtues of economy, prudence, and industry would not be
less amiable in civil life, than the more splendid qualities of valor,
perseverance, and enterprise were in the field.
After a warm expression of thanks to the officers and men for the
assistance he had received from every class, and in every instance, he
adds:
“To the various branches of the army the general takes this last and
solemn opportunity of professing his invariable attachment and
friendship. He wishes more than bare professions were in his power; that
he was really able to be useful to them all in future life. He flatters
himself, however, they will do him the justice to believe, that whatever
could with propriety be attempted by him has been done.
“And being now to conclude these his last public orders, to take his
ultimate leave in a short time of the military character, and to bid a
final adieu to the armies he has so long had the honor to command, he
can only offer in their behalf his recommendations to their grateful
country, and his prayers to the God of armies. May ample justice be done
them here, and may the choicest of Heaven’s favors, both here and
hereafter, attend those who, under the Divine auspices, have secured
innumerable blessings for others. With these wishes, and this
benediction, the commander-in-chief is about to retire from service. The
curtain of separation will soon be drawn, and the military scene to him
will be closed for ever.”
There was a straightforward simplicity in Washington’s addresses to his
army; they were so void of tumid phrases or rhetorical embellishments;
the counsels given in them were so sound and practicable; the feelings
expressed in them so kind and benevolent, and so perfectly in accordance
with his character and conduct, that they always had an irresistible
effect on the rudest and roughest hearts.
A person who was present at the breaking up of the army, and whom we
have had frequent occasion to cite, observes, on the conduct of the
troops, “The advice of their beloved commander-in-chief, and the
resolves of Congress to pay and compensate them in such manner as the
ability of the United States would permit, operated to keep them quiet
and prevent tumult, but no description would be adequate to the painful
circumstances of the parting scene.” “Both officers and soldiers, long
unaccustomed to the affairs of private life, turned loose on the world
to starve, and to become the prey to vulture speculators. Never can that
melancholy day be forgotten when friends, companions for seven long
years in joy and in sorrow, were torn asunder without the hope of ever
meeting again, and with prospects of a miserable subsistence in
future.”[100]
Notwithstanding every exertion had been made for the evacuation of New
York, such was the number of persons and the quantity of effects of all
kinds to be conveyed away, that the month of November was far advanced
before it could be completed. Sir Guy Carleton had given notice to
Washington of the time he supposed the different posts would be vacated,
that the Americans might be prepared to take possession of them. In
consequence of this notice, General George Clinton, at that time
Governor of New York, had summoned the members of the State council to
convene at East Chester on the 21st of November, for the purpose of
establishing civil government in the districts hitherto occupied by the
British; and a detachment of troops was marched from West Point to be
ready to take possession of the posts as they were vacated.
On the 21st the British troops were drawn in from the oft-disputed post
of King’s Bridge and from M’Gowan’s Pass, also from the various posts on
the eastern part of Long Island. Paulus Hook was relinquished on the
following day, and the afternoon of the 25th of November was appointed
by Sir Guy for the evacuation of the city and the opposite village of
Brooklyn.
Washington, in the mean time, had taken his station at Harlem,
accompanied by Governor Clinton, who in virtue of his office, was to
take charge of the city. They found there General Knox with the
detachment from West Point. Sir Guy Carleton had intimated a wish that
Washington would be at hand to take immediate possession of the city,
and prevent all outrage, as he had been informed of a plot to plunder
the place whenever the king’s troops should be withdrawn. He had
engaged, also, that the guards of the redoubts on the East River,
covering the upper part of the town, should be the first to be
withdrawn, and that an officer should be sent to give Washington’s
advanced guard information of their retiring.
Although Washington doubted the existence of any such plot as that which
had been reported to the British commander, yet he took precautions
accordingly. On the morning of the 25th the American troops, composed of
dragoons, light infantry and artillery, moved from Harlem to the Bowery
at the upper part of the city. There they remained until the troops in
that quarter were withdrawn, when they marched into the city and took
possession, the British embarking from the lower parts.
A formal entry then took place of the military and civil authorities.
General Washington and Governor Clinton, with their suites, on
horseback, led the procession, escorted by a troop of Westchester
cavalry. Then came the lieutenant-governor and members of the council,
General Knox and the officers of the army, the speaker of the Assembly,
and a large number of citizens on horseback and on foot.
An American lady, who was at that time very young and had resided during
the latter part of the war in the city, has given us an account of the
striking contrast between the American and British troops. “We had been
accustomed for a long time,” said she, “to military display in all the
finish and finery of garrison life; the troops just leaving us were as
if equipped for show, and with their scarlet uniforms and burnished
arms, made a brilliant display; the troops that marched in, on the
contrary, were ill-clad and weather-beaten, and made a forlorn
appearance; but then they were _our_ troops, and as I looked at them,
and thought upon all they had done and suffered for us, my heart and my
eyes were full, and I admired and gloried in them the more, because they
were weather-beaten and forlorn.”
The city was now a scene of public festivity and rejoicing. The governor
gave banquets to the French ambassador, the commander-in-chief, the
military and civil officers, and a large number of the most eminent
citizens, and at night the public were entertained by splendid
fire-works.
In the course of a few days Washington prepared to depart for Annapolis,
where Congress was assembling, with the intention of asking leave to
resign his command. A barge was in waiting about noon on the 4th of
December at Whitehall Ferry to convey him across the Hudson to Paulus
Hook. The principal officers of the army assembled at Fraunces’ Tavern
in the neighborhood of the ferry, to take a final leave of him. On
entering the room, and finding himself surrounded by his old companions
in arms, who had shared with him so many scenes of hardship, difficulty,
and danger, his agitated feelings overcame his usual self-command.
Filling a glass of wine, and turning upon them his benignant but
saddened countenance, “With a heart full of love and gratitude,” said
he, “I now take leave of you, most devoutly wishing that your latter
days may be as prosperous and happy as your former ones have been
glorious and honorable.”
Having drunk this farewell benediction, he added with emotion, “I cannot
come to each of you to take my leave, but shall be obliged if each of
you will come and take me by the hand.”
General Knox, who was nearest, was the first to advance. Washington,
affected even to tears, grasped his hand and gave him a brother’s
embrace. In the same affectionate manner he took leave severally of the
rest. Not a word was spoken. The deep feeling and manly tenderness of
these veterans in the parting moment could find no utterance in words.
Silent and solemn they followed their loved commander as he left the
room, passed through a corps of light infantry, and proceeded on foot to
Whitehall Ferry. Having entered the barge, he turned to them, took off
his hat and waved a silent adieu. They replied in the same manner, and
having watched the barge until the intervening point of the Battery shut
it from sight, returned, still solemn and silent, to the place where
they had assembled.[101]
On his way to Annapolis, Washington stopped for a few days at
Philadelphia, where with his usual exactness in matters of business, he
adjusted with the Comptroller of the Treasury his accounts from the
commencement of the war down to the 13th of the actual month of
December. These were all in his own handwriting, and kept in the
cleanest and most accurate manner, each entry being accompanied by a
statement of the occasion and object of the charge.
The gross amount was about fourteen thousand five hundred pounds
sterling; in which were included moneys expended for secret intelligence
and service, and in various incidental charges. All this, it must be
noted, was an account of money actually expended in the progress of the
war; not for arrearage of pay; for it will be recollected Washington
accepted no pay. Indeed, on the final adjustment of his accounts, he
found himself a considerable loser, having frequently, in the hurry of
business, neglected to credit himself with sums drawn from his private
purse in moments of exigency.
The schedule of his public account furnishes not the least among the
many noble and impressive lessons taught by his character and example.
It stands a touch-stone of honesty in office, and a lasting rebuke on
that lavish expenditure of the public money, too often heedlessly, if
not willfully, indulged by military commanders.
In passing through New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and Maryland, the scenes of
his anxious and precarious campaigns, Washington was everywhere hailed
with enthusiasm by the people, and greeted with addresses by legislative
assemblies and learned and religious institutions. He accepted them all
with that modesty inherent in his nature; little thinking that this
present popularity was but the early outbreaking of a fame, that was to
go on widening and deepening from generation to generation, and
extending over the whole civilized world.
Being arrived at Annapolis, he addressed a letter to the President of
Congress on the 20th of December, requesting to know in what manner it
would be most proper to offer his resignation; whether in writing or at
an audience. The latter mode was adopted, and the Hall of Congress
appointed for the ceremonial.
A letter from Washington to the Baron Steuben, written on the 23d,
concludes as follows: “This is the last letter I shall write while I
continue in the service of my country. The hour of my resignation is
fixed at twelve to-day, after which I shall become a private citizen on
the banks of the Potomac.”
At twelve o’clock the gallery, and a great part of the floor of the Hall
of Congress, were filled with ladies, with public functionaries of the
state and with general officers. The members of Congress were seated and
covered, as representatives of the sovereignty of the Union. The
gentlemen present as spectators were standing and uncovered.
Washington entered, conducted by the Secretary of Congress, and took his
seat in a chair appointed for him. After a brief pause the president
(General Mifflin) informed him, that “the United States, in Congress
assembled, were prepared to receive his communication.”
Washington then rose, and in a dignified and impressive manner,
delivered a short address.
“The great events,” said he, “on which my resignation depended, having
at length taken place, I now have the honor of offering my sincere
congratulations to Congress, and of presenting myself before them, to
surrender into their hands the trust committed to me, and to claim the
indulgence of retiring from the service of my country.”
After expressing his obligations to the army in general, and
acknowledging the peculiar services and distinguished merits of the
confidential officers who had been attached to his person, and composed
his family during the war, and whom he especially recommended to the
favor of Congress, he continued,—
“I consider it an indispensable duty to close this last solemn act of my
official life, by commending the interests of our dearest country to the
protection of Almighty God; and those who have the superintendence of
them, to his holy keeping.
“Having now finished the work assigned me, I retire from the great
theatre of action; and, bidding an affectionate farewell to this august
body under whose orders I have long acted, I here offer my commission,
and take my leave of all the employments of public life.”
“Few tragedies ever drew so many tears from so many beautiful eyes,”
says a writer who was present, “as the moving manner in which his
Excellency took his final leave of Congress.”[102]
Having delivered his commission into the hands of the president, the
latter, in reply to his address, bore testimony to the patriotism with
which he had answered to the call of his country, and defended its
invaded rights before it had formed alliances, and while it was without
funds or a government to support him; to the wisdom and fortitude with
which he had conducted the great military contest, invariably regarding
the rights of the civil power, through all disasters and changes. “You
retire,” added he, “from the theatre of action with the blessings of
your fellow-citizens; but the glory of your virtues will not terminate
with your military command; it will continue to animate remotest ages.”
The very next morning Washington left Annapolis, and hastened to his
beloved Mount Vernon, where he arrived the same day, on Christmas-eve,
in a frame of mind suited to enjoy the sacred and genial festival.
“The scene is at last closed,” said he in a letter to Governor Clinton;
“I feel myself eased of a load of public care. I hope to spend the
remainder of my days in cultivating the affections of good men, and in
the practice of the domestic virtues.”
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXXIV.
Washington at Mount Vernon.—A Soldier’s Repose.—Plans of Domestic
Life.—Kind Offer of the Council of Pennsylvania.—Historical
Applications.—News of Jacob Van Braam.—Opening of
Spring.—Agricultural Life resumed.—Recollections of the
Fairfaxes.—Meeting of the Order of Cincinnati.—Tour of Washington
and Dr. Craik to the West.—Ideas of Internal Improvement.—Parting
with Lafayette.
For some time after his return to Mount Vernon, Washington was in a
manner locked up by the ice and snow of an uncommonly rigorous winter,
so that social intercourse was interrupted, and he could not even pay a
visit of duty and affection to his aged mother at Fredericksburg. But it
was enough for him at present that he was at length at home at Mount
Vernon. Yet the habitudes of the camp still haunted him; he could hardly
realize that he was free from military duties; on waking in the morning
he] almost expected to hear the drum going its stirring rounds and
beating the reveille.
“Strange as it may seem,” writes he to General Knox, “it is nevertheless
true, that it was not until very lately I could get the better of my
usual custom of ruminating as soon as I waked in the morning, on the
business of the ensuing day; and of my surprise at finding, after
revolving many things in my mind, that I was no longer a public man, nor
had anything to do with public transactions. I feel now, however, as I
conceive a weary traveller must do, who, after treading many a weary
step, with a heavy burthen on his shoulders, is eased of the latter,
having reached the haven to which all the former were directed, and from
his house-top is looking back, and tracing, with an eager eye, the
meanders by which he escaped the quicksands and mires which lay in his
way; and into which none but the all-powerful Guide and Dispenser of
human events could have prevented his falling.”
And in a letter to Lafayette he writes: “Free from the bustle of a camp
and the busy scenes of public life, I am solacing myself with those
tranquil enjoyments which the soldier, who is ever in pursuit of fame,
the statesman, whose watchful days and sleepless nights are spent in
devising schemes to promote the welfare of his own, perhaps the ruin of
other countries—as if this globe was insufficient for us all; and the
courtier, who is always watching the countenance of his prince in hopes
of catching a gracious smile, can have very little conception. I have
not only retired from all public employments, but I am retiring within
myself, and shall be able to view the solitary walk, and tread the paths
of private life with heartfelt satisfaction. Envious of none, I am
determined to be pleased with all; and this, my dear friend, being the
order of my march, I will move gently down the stream of life until I
sleep with my fathers.”
And subsequently, in a letter to the Marchioness de Lafayette, inviting
her to America to see the country, “young, rude, and uncultivated as it
is,” for the liberties of which her husband had fought, bled, and
acquired much glory, and where everybody admired and loved him, he adds:
“I am now enjoying domestic ease under the shadow of my own vine and my
own fig-tree, in a small villa, with the implements of husbandry and
lambkins about me.... Come, then, let me entreat you, and call my
cottage your own; for your doors do not open to you with more readiness
than mine would. You will see the plain manner in which we live, and
meet with rustic civility; and you shall taste the simplicity of rural
life. It will diversify the scene, and may give you a higher relish for
the gayeties of the court when you return to Versailles.”
During the winter storms, he anticipates the time when the return of the
sun will enable him to welcome his friends and companions in arms to
partake of his hospitality; and lays down his unpretending plan of
receiving the curious visitors who are likely to throng in upon him. “My
manner of living,” writes he to a friend, “is plain, and I do not mean
to be put out of it. A glass of wine and a bit of mutton are always
ready; and such as will be content to partake of them, are always
welcome. Those who expect more will be disappointed.”
Some degree of economy was necessary, for his financial concerns had
suffered during the war, and the products of his estate had fallen off
during his long absence.
In the mean time the supreme council of Pennsylvania, properly
appreciating the disinterestedness of his conduct, and aware that
popular love and popular curiosity would attract crowds of visitors to
Mount Vernon, and subject him to extraordinary expenses, had instructed
their delegates in Congress to call the attention of that body to these
circumstances, with a view to produce some national reward for his
eminent services. Before acting upon these instructions, the delegates
were directed to send a copy of them to Washington for his approbation.
He received the document while buried in accounts and calculations, and
when, had he been of mercenary disposition, the offered intervention in
his favor would have seemed most seasonable; but he at once most
gratefully and respectfully declined it, jealously maintaining the
satisfaction of having served his country at the sacrifice of his
private interests.
Applications began to be made to him by persons desirous of writing the
history of the Revolution, for access to the public papers in his
possession. He excused himself from submitting to their inspection those
relative to the occurrences and transactions of his late command, until
Congress should see fit to open their archives to the historian.
His old friend, Dr. Craik, made a similar application to Washington in
behalf of a person who purposed to write his memoirs. He replied, that
any memoir of his life distinct and unconnected with the general history
of the war, would rather hurt his feelings than flatter his pride, while
he could not furnish the papers and information connected with it
without subjecting himself to the imputation of vanity, adding; “I had
rather leave it to posterity to think and say what they please of me,
than, by any act of mine, to have vanity or ostentation imputed to me.”
It was a curious circumstance, that scarce had Washington retired from
the bustle of arms and hung up his sword at Mount Vernon, when he
received a letter from the worthy who had first taught him the use of
that sword in these very halls. In a word, Jacob Van Braam, his early
teacher of the sword exercise, his fellow campaigner and unlucky
interpreter in the affair of the Great Meadows, turned up once more. His
letter gave a glance over the current of his life. It would appear that
after the close of the French war, he had been allowed half pay in
consideration of his services and misadventures; and, in process of
time, had married, and settled on a farm in Wales with his wife and his
wife’s mother. He had carried with him to England a strong feeling in
favor of America, and on the breaking out of the Revolution had been
very free, and, as he seemed to think, eloquent and effective in
speaking in all companies and at country meetings against the American
war. Suddenly, as if to stop his mouth, he received orders from Lord
Amherst, then commander-in-chief, to join his regiment (the 60th), in
which he was appointed eldest captain in the 3d battalion. In vain he
pleaded his rural occupations; his farm cultivated at so much cost, for
which he was in debt, and which must go to ruin should he abandon it so
abruptly. No excuse was admitted—he must embark and sail for East
Florida, or lose his half pay. He accordingly sailed for St. Augustine
in the beginning of 1776, with a couple of hundred recruits picked up in
London, resolving to sell out of the army on the first opportunity. By a
series of cross-purposes he was prevented from doing so until 1779,
having in the interim made a campaign in Georgia. “He quitted the
service,” he adds, “with as much pleasure as ever a young man entered
it.”
He then returned to England and took up his residence in Devonshire; but
his invincible propensity to talk against the ministry made his
residence there uncomfortable. His next move, therefore, was to the old
fertile province of Orleannois in France, where he was still living near
Malesherbes, apparently at his ease, enjoying the friendship of the
distinguished personage of that name, and better versed, it is to be
hoped, in the French language than when he officiated as interpreter in
the capitulation at the Great Meadows. The worthy major appeared to
contemplate with joy and pride the eminence to which his early pupil in
the sword exercise had attained.
“Give me leave, sir, before I conclude,” writes he, “to pour out the
sentiments of my soul in congratulations for your successes in the
American contest; and in wishing you a long life, to enjoy the blessing
of a great people whom you have been the chief instrument in freeing
from bondage.”
So disappears from the scene one of the earliest personages of our
history.
As spring advanced, Mount Vernon, as had been anticipated, began to
attract numerous visitors. They were received in the frank, unpretending
style Washington had determined upon. It was truly edifying to behold
how easily and contentedly he subsided from the authoritative
commander-in-chief of armies, into the quiet country gentleman. There
was nothing awkward or violent in the transition. He seemed to be in his
natural element. Mrs. Washington, too, who had presided with quiet
dignity at head-quarters, and cheered the wintry gloom of Valley Forge
with her presence, presided with equal amenity and grace at the simple
board of Mount Vernon. She had a cheerful good sense that always made
her an agreeable companion, and was an excellent manager. She has been
remarked for an inveterate habit of knitting. It had been acquired, or
at least fostered, in the wintry encampments of the Revolution, where
she used to set an example to her lady visitors, by diligently plying
her needles, knitting stockings for the poor destitute soldiery.
In entering upon the out-door management of his estate, Washington was
but doing in person what he had long been doing through others. He had
never virtually ceased to be the agriculturist. Throughout all his
campaigns he had kept himself informed of the course of rural affairs at
Mount Vernon. By means of maps on which every field was laid down and
numbered, he was enabled to give directions for their several
cultivation, and receive accounts of their several crops. No hurry of
affairs prevented a correspondence with his overseer or agent, and he
exacted weekly reports. Thus his rural were interwoven with his military
cares; the agriculturist was mingled with the soldier; and those strong
sympathies with the honest cultivators of the soil, and that paternal
care of their interests to be noted throughout his military career, may
be ascribed, in a great measure, to the sweetening influences of Mount
Vernon. Yet as spring returned, and he resumed his rides about the
beautiful neighborhood of this haven of his hopes, he must have been
mournfully sensible, now and then, of the changes which time and events
had effected there.
The Fairfaxes, the kind friends of his boyhood, and social companions of
his riper years, were no longer at hand to share his pleasures and
lighten his cares. There were no more hunting dinners at Belvoir. He
paid a sad visit to that happy resort of his youth, and contemplated
with a mournful eye its charred ruins, and the desolation of its once
ornamented grounds. George William Fairfax, its former possessor, was in
England; his political principles had detained him there during the war
and part of his property had been sequestered; still, though an exile,
he continued in heart a friend to America, his hand had been open to
relieve the distresses of Americans in England, and he kept up a cordial
correspondence with Washington.
Old Lord Fairfax, the Nimrod of Greenway Court, Washington’s early
friend and patron, with whom he had first learned to follow the hounds,
had lived on in a green old age at his sylvan retreat in the beautiful
valley of the Shenandoah; popular with his neighbors and unmolested by
the Whigs, although frank and open in his adherence to Great Britain. He
had attained his ninety-second year when tidings of the surrender of
Yorktown wounded the national pride of the old cavalier to the quick,
and snapped the attenuated thread of his existence.[103]
The time was now approaching when the first general meeting of the Order
of Cincinnati was to be held, and Washington saw with deep concern a
popular jealousy awakened concerning it. Judge Burke, of South Carolina,
had denounced it in a pamphlet as an attempt to elevate the military
above the civil classes, and to institute an order of nobility. The
legislature of Massachusetts sounded an alarm that was echoed in
Connecticut, and prolonged from State to State. The whole Union was put
on its guard against this effort to form a hereditary aristocracy out of
the military chiefs and powerful families of the several States.
Washington endeavored to allay this jealousy. In his letters to the
presidents of the State societies, notifying the meeting which was to be
held in Philadelphia on the 1st of May, he expressed his earnest
solicitude that it should be respectable for numbers and abilities, and
wise and deliberate in its proceedings, so as to convince the public
that the objects of the institution were patriotic and trustworthy.
The society met at the appointed time and place. Washington presided,
and by his sagacious counsels effected modifications of its
constitution. The hereditary principle, and the power of electing
honorary members, were abolished, and it was reduced to the harmless,
but highly respectable footing on which it still exists.
In notifying the French military and naval officers included in the
society of the changes which had taken place in its constitution, he
expressed his ardent hopes that it would render permanent those
friendships and connections which had happily taken root between the
officers of the two nations. All clamors against the order now ceased.
It became a rallying place for old comrades in arms, and Washington
continued to preside over it until his death.
In a letter to the Chevalier de Chastellux, for whom he felt an especial
regard, after inviting him to the meeting, he adds: “I will only repeat
to you the assurances of my friendship, and of the pleasure I should
feel in seeing you in the shade of those trees which my hands have
planted; and which, by their rapid growth, at once indicate a knowledge
of my declining years, and their disposition to spread their mantles
over me, before I go hence to return no more.”
On the 17th of August he was gladdened by having the Marquis de
Lafayette under his roof, who had recently arrived from France. The
marquis passed a fortnight with him, a loved and cherished guest, at the
end of which he departed for a time, to be present at the ceremony of a
treaty with the Indians.
Washington now prepared for a tour to the west of the Appalachian
Mountains, to visit his lands on the Ohio and Kanawha rivers. Dr. Craik,
the companion of his various campaigns, and who had accompanied him in
1770 on a similar tour, was to be his fellow-traveller. The way they
were to travel may be gathered from Washington’s directions to the
doctor: “You will have occasion to take nothing from home but a servant
to look after your horses, and such bedding as you may think proper to
make use of. I will carry a marquee, some camp utensils, and a few
stores. A boat, or some other kind of vessel, will be provided for the
voyage down the river, either at my place on the Youghiogheny or Fort
Pitt, measures for this purpose having already been taken. A few
medicines, and hooks and lines, you may probably want.”
This soldier-like tour, made in hardy military style, with tent,
pack-horses, and frugal supplies, took him once more among the scenes of
his youthful expeditions when a land surveyor in the employ of Lord
Fairfax, a leader of Virginia militia, or an aide-de-camp of the
unfortunate Braddock. A veteran now in years, and a general renowned in
arms, he soberly permitted his steed to pick his way across the
mountains by the old military route, still called Braddock’s Road, over
which he had spurred in the days of youthful ardor. His original
intention had been to survey and inspect his lands on the Monongahela
River; then to descend the Ohio to the Great Kanawha, where also he had
large tracts of wild land. On arriving on the Monongahela, however, he
heard such accounts of discontent and irritation among the Indian
tribes, that he did not consider it prudent to venture among them. Some
of his land on the Monongahela was settled; the rest was in the
wilderness, and of little value in the present unquiet state of the
country. He abridged his tour, therefore; proceeded no further west than
the Monongahela; ascended that river, and then struck southward through
the wild, unsettled regions of the Alleghanies, until he came out into
the Shenandoah Valley near Staunton. He returned to Mount Vernon on the
4th of October; having, since the 1st of September, travelled on
horseback six hundred and eighty miles, for a great part of the time in
wild, mountainous country, where he was obliged to encamp at night.
This, like his tour to the northern forts with Governor Clinton, gave
proof of his unfailing vigor and activity.
During all this tour he had carefully observed the course and character
of the streams flowing from the west into the Ohio, and the distance of
their navigable parts from the head navigation of the rivers east of the
mountains, with the nearest and best portage between them. For many
years he had been convinced of the practicability of an easy and short
communication between the Potomac and James rivers, and the waters of
the Ohio, and thence on to the great chain of lakes, and of the vast
advantages that would result therefrom to the States of Virginia and
Maryland. He had even attempted to set a company on foot to undertake at
their own expense the opening of such a communication, but the breaking
out of the Revolution had put a stop to the enterprise. One object of
his recent tour was to make observations and collect information on the
subject; and all that he had seen and heard quickened his solicitude to
carry the scheme into effect.
Political as well as commercial interests, he conceived, were involved
in the enterprise. He had noticed that the flanks and rear of the United
States were possessed by foreign and formidable powers, who might lure
the Western people into a trade and alliance with them. The Western
States, he observes, stood as it were upon a pivot so that the touch of
a feather might turn them any way. They had looked down the Mississippi
and been tempted in that direction by the facilities of sending
everything down the stream; whereas they had no means of coming to us
but by long land transportations and rugged roads. The jealous and
untoward disposition of the Spaniards, it was true, almost barred the
use of the Mississippi; but they might change their policy, and invite
trade in that direction. The retention by the British government, also,
of the posts of Detroit, Niagara, and Oswego, though contrary to the
spirit of the treaty, shut up the channel of trade in that quarter.
These posts, however, would eventually be given up; and then, he was
persuaded, the people of New York would lose no time in removing every
obstacle in the way of a water communication; and “I shall be mistaken,”
said he, “if they do not build vessels for the navigation of the lakes,
which will supersede the necessity of coasting on either side.”
It behooved Virginia, therefore, to lose no time in availing herself of
the present favorable conjuncture to secure a share of western trade by
connecting the Potomac and James rivers with the waters beyond the
mountains. The industry of the western settlers had hitherto been
checked by the want of outlets to their products, owing to the
before-mentioned obstacles: “But smooth the road,” said he, “and make
easy the way for them, and then see what an influx of articles will pour
upon us; how amazingly our exports will be increased by them, and how
amply all shall be compensated for any trouble and expense we may
encounter to effect it.”
Such were some of the ideas ably and amply set forth by him in a letter
to Benjamin Harrison, Governor of Virginia, who, struck with his plan
for opening the navigation of the western waters, laid the letter before
the State Legislature. The favor with which it was received induced
Washington to repair to Richmond and give his personal support to the
measure. He arrived there on the 15th of November. On the following
morning a committee of five members of the House of Assembly, headed by
Patrick Henry, waited on him in behalf of that body, to testify their
reverence for his character and affection for his person, and their
sense of the proofs given by him, since his return to private life, that
no change of situation could turn his thoughts from the welfare of his
country. The suggestions of Washington in his letter to the governor,
and his representations, during this visit to Richmond, gave the first
impulse to the great system of internal improvement since pursued
throughout the United States.
At Richmond he was joined by the Marquis de Lafayette; who since their
separation had accompanied the commissioners to Fort Schuyler, and been
present at the formation of a treaty with the Indians; after which he
had made a tour of the Eastern States, “crowned everywhere,” writes
Washington, “with wreaths of love and respect.”[104]
They returned together to Mount Vernon, where Lafayette again passed
several days, a cherished inmate of the domestic circle.
When his visit was ended, Washington, to defer the parting scene,
accompanied him to Annapolis. On returning to Mount Vernon, he wrote a
farewell letter to the marquis, bordering more upon the sentimental than
almost any other in his multifarious correspondence.
“In the moment of our separation, upon the road as I have travelled, and
every hour since, I have felt all that love, respect, and attachment for
you, with which length of years, close connection, and your merits have
inspired me. I often asked myself, as our carriages separated, whether
that was the last sight I ever should have of you? And though I wished
to answer No, my fears answered Yes. I called to mind the days of my
youth, and found they had long since fled to return no more; that I was
now descending the hill I had been fifty-two years climbing, and that,
though I was blessed with a good constitution, I was of a short-lived
family, and might soon expect to be entombed in the mansion of my
fathers. These thoughts darkened the shades, and gave a gloom to the
picture, and consequently, to my prospect of ever seeing you again.”
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXXV.
Scheme of Inland Navigation.—Shares of Stock offered to
Washington.—Declined.—Rural Improvements.—The Tax of
Letter-writing.—The Tax of Sitting for Likenesses.—Ornamental
Gardening.—Management of the Estate.—Domestic Life.—Visit of Mr.
Watson.—Reverential Awe inspired by Washington.—Irksome to
him.—Instances of his Festive Gayety.—Of his Laughing.—Passion
for Hunting revived.—Death of General Greene.—His
Character.—Washington’s Regrets and Encomiums.—Letters to the
French Noblemen.
Washington’s zeal for the public good had now found a new channel; or,
rather, his late tours into the interior of the Union had quickened
ideas long existing in his mind on the subject of internal navigation.
In a letter to Richard Henry Lee, recently chosen President of Congress,
he urged it upon his attention; suggesting that the western waters
should be explored, their navigable capabilities ascertained, and that a
complete map should be made of the country; that in all grants of land
by the United States, there should be a reserve made for special sale of
all mines, mineral and salt springs, that a medium price should be
adopted for the western lands, sufficient to prevent monopoly, but not
to discourage useful settlers. He had a salutary horror of “land
jobbers” and “roaming speculators,” prowling about the country like
wolves; marking and surveying valuable spots to the great disquiet of
the Indian tribes. “The spirit of emigration is great,” said he; “people
have got impatient, and though you cannot stop the road, it is yet in
your power to mark the way; a little while, and you will not be able to
do either.”
In the latter part of December he was at Annapolis, at the request of
the Assembly of Virginia, to arrange matters with the Assembly of
Maryland respecting the communication between the Potomac and the
western waters. Through his indefatigable exertions two companies were
formed under the patronage of the governments of these States, for
opening the navigation of the Potomac and James rivers, and he was
appointed president of both. By a unanimous vote of the Assembly of
Virginia, fifty shares in the Potomac, and one hundred in the James
River Company, were appropriated for his benefit, to the end that, while
the great works he had promoted would remain monuments of his glory,
they might also be monuments of the gratitude of his country. The
aggregate amount of these shares was about forty thousand dollars.
Washington was exceedingly embarrassed by the appropriation. To decline
so noble and unequivocal a testimonial of the good opinion and good-will
of his countrymen, might be construed into disrespect, yet he wished to
be perfectly free to exercise his judgment and express his opinions in
the matter, without being liable to the least suspicion of interested
motives. It had been his fixed determination, also, when he surrendered
his military command, never to hold any other office under government to
which emolument might become a necessary appendage. From this resolution
his mind had never swerved.
While, however, he declined to receive the proffered shares for his own
benefit, he intimated a disposition to receive them in trust, to be
applied to the use of some object or institution of a public nature. His
wishes were complied with, and the shares were ultimately appropriated
by him to institutions devoted to public education. Yet, though the love
for his country would thus interfere with his love for his home, the
dream of rural retirement at Mount Vernon still went on.
“The more I am acquainted with agricultural affairs,” he says, in a
letter to a friend in England, “the better I am pleased with them;
insomuch that I can nowhere find so much satisfaction as in those
innocent and useful pursuits. While indulging these feelings, I am led
to reflect, how much more delightful to an undebauched mind is the task
of making improvements on the earth, than all the vainglory that can be
acquired from ravaging it by the most uninterrupted career of conquest.”
“How pitiful, in the age of reason and religion, is that false ambition
which desolates the world with fire and sword for the purpose of
conquest and fame, compared to the milder virtues of making our
neighbors and our fellow-men as happy as their frail convictions and
perishable natures will permit them to be.”
He had a congenial correspondent in his quondam brother-soldier,
Governor Clinton of New York, whose spear, like his own, had been turned
into a pruning-hook.
“Whenever the season is proper and an opportunity offers,” writes he to
the governor, “I shall be glad to receive the balsam-trees or others
which you may think curious and exotic with us, as I am endeavoring to
improve the grounds about my house in this way.” He recommends to the
governor’s care certain grape-vines of the choicest kinds for the table,
which an uncle of the Chevalier de Luzerne had engaged to send from
France, and which must be about to arrive at New York. He is literally
going to sit under his own vine and his own fig-tree, and devote himself
to the quiet pleasures of rural life.
At the opening of the year (1785) the entries in his diary show him
diligently employed in preparations to improve his groves and shrubbery.
On the 10th of January he notes that the white thorn is full in berry.
On the 20th he begins to clear the pine-groves of undergrowth.
In February he transplants ivy under the walls of the garden to which it
still clings. In March he is planting hemlock-trees, that most beautiful
species of American evergreen, numbers of which had been brought hither
from Occoquan. In April he is sowing holly berries in drills, some
adjoining a green-briar hedge on the north side of the garden gate;
others in a semicircle on the lawn. Many of the holly bushes thus
produced, are still flourishing about the place in full vigor. He had
learnt the policy, not sufficiently adopted in our country, of clothing
his ornamented grounds as much as possible with evergreens, which resist
the rigors of our winter, and keep up a cheering verdure throughout the
year. Of the trees fitted for shade in pasture-land he notes the locust,
maple, black mulberry, black walnut, black gum, dogwood, and sassafras,
none of which he observes, materially injure the grass beneath them.
Is then for once a soldier’s dream realized? Is he in perfect enjoyment
of that seclusion from the world and its distractions, which he had so
often pictured to himself amid the hardships and turmoils of the camp?
Alas, no! The “post,” that “herald of a noisy world,” invades his quiet
and loads his table with letters, until correspondence becomes an
intolerable burden.
He looks in despair at the daily accumulating mass of unanswered
letters. “Many mistakenly think,” writes he, “that I am retired to ease,
and to that kind of tranquillity which would grow tiresome for want of
employment; but at no period of my life, not in the eight years I served
the public, have I been obliged to write so much myself, as I have done
since my retirement.”[105] Again, “It is not the letters from my friends
which give me trouble, or add aught to my perplexity. It is references
to old matters, with which I have nothing to do; applications which
often cannot be complied with; inquiries which would require the pen of
a historian to satisfy; letters of compliment as unmeaning perhaps as
they are troublesome, but which must be attended to; and the commonplace
business which employs my pen and my time often disagreeably. These,
with company, deprive me of exercise, and unless I can obtain relief,
must be productive of disagreeable consequences.”
From much of this drudgery of the pen he was subsequently relieved by
Mr. Tobias Lear, a young gentleman of New Hampshire, a graduate of
Harvard College, who acted as his private secretary, and at the same
time took charge of the instruction of the two children of the late Mr.
Parke Custis, whom Washington had adopted.
There was another tax imposed by his celebrity upon his time and
patience. Applications were continually made to him to sit for his
likeness. The following is his sportive reply to Mr. Francis Hopkinson,
who applied in behalf of Mr. Pine:—
“‘_In for a penny in for a pound_,’ is an old adage. I am so hackneyed
to the touches of the painters’ pencil, that I am altogether at their
beck, and sit ‘like Patience on a monument,’ whilst they are delineating
the lines of my face. It is a proof among many others, of what habit and
custom can accomplish. At first I was impatient at the request, and as
restive under the operation as a colt is under the saddle. The next time
I submitted very reluctantly, but with less flouncing. Now no dray-horse
moves more readily to his thill, than I to the painter’s chair. It may
easily be conceived, therefore, that I yield a ready obedience to your
request, and to the views of Mr. Pine.”
It was not long after this that M. Houdon, an artist of great merit,
chosen by Mr. Jefferson and Dr. Franklin, arrived from Paris, to make a
study of Washington for a statue, for the Legislature of Virginia. He
remained a fortnight at Mount Vernon, and having formed his model, took
it with him to Paris, where he produced that excellent statue and
likeness, to be seen in the State House in Richmond, Virginia.
Being now in some measure relieved from the labors of the pen,
Washington had more time to devote to his plan for ornamental
cultivation of the grounds about his dwelling.
We find in his diary noted down with curious exactness, each day’s labor
and the share he took in it; his frequent rides to the Mid Swamp; the
Dogue Creek; the “Plantation of the Neck,” and other places along the
Potomac in quest of young elms, ash-trees, white thorn, crab-apples,
maples, mulberries, willows, and lilacs; the winding walks which he lays
out, and the trees and shrubs which he plants along them. Now he sows
acorns and buck-eye nuts brought by himself from the Monongahela; now he
opens vistas through the Pine Grove, commanding distant views through
the woodlands; and now he twines round his columns scarlet honeysuckles,
which his gardener tells him will blow all the summer.
His care-worn spirit freshens up in these employments. With him Mount
Vernon is a kind of idyl. The transient glow of poetical feeling which
once visited his bosom, when in boyhood he rhymed beneath its groves,
seems about to return once more; and we please ourselves with noting
among the trees set out by him, a group of young horse-chestnuts from
Westmoreland, his native country, the haunt of his schoolboy days; which
had been sent to him by Colonel Lee (Light-horse Harry), the son of his
“lowland beauty.”
A diagram of the plan in which he had laid out his grounds, still
remains among his papers at Mount Vernon; the places are marked on it
for particular trees and shrubs. Some of those trees and shrubs are
still to be found in the places thus assigned to them. In the present
neglected state of Mount Vernon, its walks are overgrown, and vegetation
runs wild; but it is deeply interesting still to find traces of these
toils in which Washington delighted, and to know that many of the trees
which gave it its present umbrageous beauty were planted by his hand.
The ornamental cultivation of which we have spoken, was confined to the
grounds appertaining to what was called the mansion-house farm; all but
his estate included four other farms, lying contiguous, and containing
three thousand two hundred and sixty acres; each farm having its bailiff
or overseer, with a house for his accommodation, barns and outhouses for
the produce, and cabins for the negroes. On a general map of the estate,
drawn out by Washington himself, these farms were all laid down
accurately and their several fields numbered; he knew the soil and local
qualities of each, and regulated the culture of them accordingly.
In addition to these five farms there were several hundred acres of fine
woodland, so that the estate presented a beautiful diversity of land and
water. In the stables near the mansion-house were the carriage and
saddle horses, of which he was very choice; on the four farms there were
54 draft horses, 12 mules, 317 head of black cattle, 360 sheep, and a
great number of swine which last ran at large in the woods.
He now read much on husbandry and gardening, and copied out treatises on
those subjects. He corresponded also with the celebrated Arthur Young,
from whom he obtained seeds of all kinds, improved ploughs, plans for
laying out farm-yards, and advice on various parts of rural economy.
“Agriculture,” writes he to him, “has ever been among the most favored
of my amusements, though I have never possessed much skill in the art,
and nine years total inattention to it has added nothing to a knowledge,
which is best understood from practice; but with the means you have been
so obliging as to furnish me, I shall return to it, though rather late
in the day, with more alacrity than ever.”
In the management of his estate he was remarkably exact. No negligence
on the part of the overseers or those under them was passed unnoticed.
He seldom used many words on the subject of his plans; rarely asked
advice; but, when once determined, carried them directly and silently
into execution; and was not easily dissuaded from a project when once
commenced.
We have shown, in a former chapter, his mode of apportioning time at
Mount Vernon, prior to the Revolution. The same system was, in a great
measure, resumed. His active day began sometime before the dawn. Much of
his correspondence was dispatched before breakfast, which took place at
half-past seven. After breakfast he mounted his horse which stood ready
at the door, and rode out to different parts of his estate, as he used
to do to various parts of the camp, to see that all was right at the
outposts, and every one at his duty. At half-past two he dined.
If there was no company he would write until dark, or, if pressed by
business until nine o’clock in the evening, otherwise he read in the
evening, or amused himself with a game of whist.
His secretary, Mr. Lear, after two years’ residence in the family on the
most confidential footing, says, “General Washington is, I believe, the
only man of an exalted character who does not lose some part of his
respectability by an intimate acquaintance. I have never found a single
thing that could lessen my respect for him. A complete knowledge of his
honesty, uprightness, and candor in all his private transactions, has
sometimes led me to think him more than a man.”
The children of Parke Custis formed a lively part of his household. He
was fond of children and apt to unbend with them. Miss Custis, recalling
in after life the scenes of her childhood, writes, “I have sometimes
made him laugh most heartily from sympathy with my joyous and
extravagant spirits;” she observes, however, that “he was a silent,
thoughtful man. He spoke little generally; never of himself. I never
heard him relate a single act of his life during the war. I have often
seen him perfectly abstracted, his lips moving; but no sound was
perceptible.”
An observant traveller, Mr. Elkanah Watson, who visited Mount Vernon in
the winter of 1785, bearer of a letter of introduction from General
Greene and Colonel Fitzgerald, gives a home picture of Washington in his
retirement. Though sure that his credentials would secure him a
respectful reception, he says, “I trembled with awe, as I came into the
presence of this great man. I found him at table with Mrs. Washington
and his private family, and was received in the native dignity, and with
that urbanity so peculiarly combined in the character of a soldier and
an eminent private gentleman. He soon put me at my ease, by unbending in
a free and affable conversation.
“The cautious reserve which wisdom and policy dictated, whilst engaged
in rearing the glorious fabric of our independence, was evidently the
result of consummate prudence and not characteristic of his nature. I
observed a peculiarity in his smile, which seemed to illuminate his eye;
his whole countenance beamed with intelligence, while it commanded
confidence and respect.
“I found him kind and benignant in the domestic circle; revered and
beloved by all around him; agreeably social, without ostentation;
delighting in anecdote and adventures; without assumption; his domestic
arrangements harmonious and systematic. His servants seemed to watch his
eye, and to anticipate his every wish; hence a look was equivalent to a
command. His servant Billy, the faithful companion of his military
career, was always at his side. Smiling content animated and beamed on
every countenance in his presence.”
In the evening Mr. Watson sat conversing for a full hour with Washington
after all the family had retired, expecting, perhaps, to hear him fight
over some of his battles; but, if so, he was disappointed, for he
observes: “He modestly waived all allusions to the events in which he
had acted so glorious and conspicuous a part. Much of his conversation
had reference to the interior country, and to the opening of the
navigation of the Potomac by canals and locks, at the Seneca, the Great
and Little Falls. His mind appeared to be deeply absorbed by that
object, then in earnest contemplation.”
Mr. Watson had taken a severe cold in the course of a harsh winter
journey, and coughed excessively. Washington pressed him to take some
remedies, but he declined. After retiring for the night his coughing
increased. “When some time had elapsed,” writes he, “the door of my room
was gently opened, and, on drawing my bed curtains, I beheld Washington
himself, standing at my bedside with a bowl of hot tea in his hand. I
was mortified and distressed beyond expression. This little incident,
occurring in common life with an ordinary man, would not have been
noticed; but as a trait of the benevolence and private virtue of
Washington, deserves to be recorded.”
The late Bishop White, in subsequent years, speaking of Washington’s
unassuming manners, observes: “I know no man who so carefully guarded
against the discoursing of himself or of his acts, or of anything that
pertained to him and it has occasionally occurred to me when in his
company, that, if a stranger to his person were present, he would never
have known from anything said by him that he was conscious of having
distinguished himself in the eye of the world.”
An anecdote is told of Washington’s conduct while commander-in-chief,
illustrative of his benignant attention to others, and his freedom from
all assumption. While the army was encamped at Morristown, he one day
attended a religious meeting where divine service was to be celebrated
in the open air. A chair had been set out for his use. Just before the
service commenced, a woman bearing a child in her arms approached. All
the seats were occupied. Washington immediately rose, placed her in the
chair which had been assigned to him, and remained standing during the
whole service.[106]
The reverential awe which his deeds and elevated position threw around
him was often a source of annoyance to him in private life; especially
when he perceived its effect upon the young and gay. We have been told
of a case in point, when he made his appearance at a private ball where
all were enjoying themselves with the utmost glee. The moment he entered
the room the buoyant mirth was checked; the dance lost its animation;
every face was grave; every tongue was silent. He remained for a time,
endeavoring to engage in conversation with some of the young people, and
to break the spell; finding it in vain, he retired sadly to the company
of the elders in an adjoining room, expressing his regret that his
presence should operate as such a damper. After a little while light
laughter and happy voices again resounded from the ball-room; upon which
he rose cautiously, approached on tip-toe the door, which was ajar, and
there stood for some time a delighted spectator of the youthful revelry.
Washington in fact, though habitually grave and thoughtful, was of a
social disposition, and loved cheerful society. He was fond of the
dance, and it was the boast of many ancient dames in our day, who had
been belles in the time of the Revolution, that they had danced minuets
with him, or had him for a partner in contra-dances. There were balls in
camp, in some of the dark times of the Revolution. “We had a little
dance at my quarters,” writes General Greene from Middlebrook, in March,
1779. “His Excellency and Mrs. Greene danced upwards of three hours
without once sitting down. Upon the whole, we had a pretty little
frisk.”[107]
A letter of Colonel Tench Tilghman, one of Washington’s aides-de-camp,
gives an instance of the general’s festive gayety, when in the above
year the army was cantoned near Morristown. A large company, of which
the general and Mrs. Washington, general and Mrs. Greene, and Mr. and
Mrs. Olney were part, dined with colonel and Mrs. Biddle. Some little
time after the ladies had retired from the table, Mr. Olney followed
them into the next room. A clamor was raised against him as a deserter,
and it was resolved that a party should be sent to demand him, and that
if the ladies refused to give him up, he should be brought by force.
Washington humored the joke, and offered to head the party. He led it
with great formality to the door of the drawing-room, and sent in a
summons. The ladies refused to give up the deserter. An attempt was made
to capture him. The ladies came to the rescue. There was a mêlée; in the
course of which his Excellency seems to have had a passage at arms with
Mrs. Olney. The ladies were victorious, as they always ought to be, says
the gallant Tilghman.[108]
More than one instance is told of Washington’s being surprised into
hearty fits of laughter, even during the war. We have recorded one
produced by the sudden appearance of old General Putnam on horseback,
with a female prisoner _en croupe_. The following is another which
occurred at the camp at Morristown. Washington had purchased a young
horse of great spirit and power. A braggadocio of the army, vain of his
horsemanship, asked the privilege of breaking it. Washington gave his
consent, and with some of his officers attended to see the horse receive
his first lesson. After much preparation, the pretender to equitation
mounted into the saddle and was making a great display of his science,
when the horse suddenly planted his fore feet, threw up his heels, and
gave the unlucky Gambado a somerset over his head. Washington, a
thorough horseman, and quick to perceive the ludicrous in these matters,
was so convulsed with laughter, that, we are told, the tears ran down
his cheeks.[109]
Still another instance is given, which occurred at the return of peace,
when he was sailing in a boat on the Hudson, and was so overcome by the
drollery of a story told by Major Fairlie of New York, of facetious
memory, that he fell back in the boat in a paroxysm of laughter. In that
fit of laughter, it was sagely presumed that he threw off the burden of
care which had been weighing down his spirits throughout the war. He
certainly relaxed much of his thoughtful gravity of demeanor when he had
no longer the anxieties of a general command to harass him. The late
Judge Brooke, who had served as an officer in the legion of Light-horse
Harry, used to tell of having frequently met Washington on his visits to
Fredericksburg after the Revolutionary War, and how “hilarious” the
general was on those occasions with “Jack Willis, and other friends of
his young days,” laughing heartily at the comic songs which were sung at
table.
Colonel Henry Lee, too, who used to be a favored guest at Mount Vernon,
does not seem to have been much under the influence of that “reverential
awe” which Washington is said to have inspired, if we may judge from the
following anecdote. Washington one day at table mentioned his being in
want of carriage horses, and asked Lee if he knew where he could get a
pair.
NOTE.
Another instance is on record of one of Washington’s fits of laughter,
which occurred in subsequent years. Judge Marshall and Judge
Washington, a relative of the general, were on their way on horseback
to visit Mount Vernon, attended by a black servant, who had charge of
a large portmanteau containing their clothes. As they passed through a
wood on the skirts of the Mount Vernon grounds, they were tempted to
make a hasty toilet beneath its shade; being covered with dust from
the state of the roads. Dismounting, they threw off their dusty
garments, while the servant took down the portmanteau. As he opened
it, out flew cakes of windsor soap and fancy articles of all kinds.
The man by mistake had changed their portmanteau at the last stopping
place for one which resembled it, belonging to a Scotch pedlar. The
consternation of the negro, and their own dismantled state, struck
them so ludicrously as to produce loud and repeated bursts of
laughter. Washington, who happened to be out upon his grounds, was
attracted by the noise, and so overcome by the strange plight of his
friends, and the whimsicality of the whole scene, that he is said to
have actually rolled on the grass with laughter.—See _Life of Judge J.
Smith_.
“I have a fine pair, general,” replied Lee, “but you cannot get them.”
“Why not?”
“Because you will never pay more than half price for anything; and I
must have full price for my horses.”
The bantering reply set Mrs. Washington laughing, and her parrot,
perched beside her, joined in the laugh. The general took this familiar
assault upon his dignity in great good part, “Ah, Lee, you are a funny
fellow,” said he; “see, that bird is laughing at you.”[110]
Hearty laughter, however, was rare with Washington. The sudden
explosions we hear of were the result of some sudden and ludicrous
surprise. His general habit was a calm seriousness, easily softening
into a benevolent smile.
In some few of his familiar letters, yet preserved, and not relating to
business, there is occasionally a vein of pleasantry and even of humor;
but almost invariably, they treat of matters of too grave import to
admit of anything of the kind. It is to be deeply regretted that most of
his family letters have been purposely destroyed.
The passion for hunting had revived with Washington on returning to his
old hunting-grounds; but he had no hounds. His kennel had been broken up
when he went to the wars, and the dogs given away, and it was not easy
to replace them. After a time he received several hounds from France,
sent out by Lafayette and other of the French officers, and once more
sallied forth to renew his ancient sport. The French hounds, however,
proved indifferent; he was out with them repeatedly, putting other
hounds with them borrowed from gentlemen of the neighborhood. They
improved after a while, but were never stanch, and caused him frequent
disappointments. Probably he was not as stanch himself as formerly; an
interval of several years may have blunted his keenness, if we may judge
from the following entry in his diary:—
“Out after breakfast with my hounds, found a fox and ran him sometimes
hard, and sometimes at cold hunting from 11 till near 2—when I came home
and left the huntsmen with them, who followed in the same manner two
hours or more, and then took the dogs off without killing.”
He appears at one time to have had an idea of stocking part of his
estate with deer. In a letter to his friend, George William Fairfax, in
England, a letter expressive of kind recollections of former
companionship, he says: “Though envy is no part of my composition, yet
the picture you have drawn of your present habitation and mode of
living, is enough to create a strong desire in me to be a participator
of the tranquillity and rural amusements you have described. I am
getting into the latter as fast as I can, being determined to make the
remainder of my life easy, let the world or the affairs of it go as they
may. I am not a little obliged to you for contributing to this, by
procuring me a buck and doe of the best English deer; but if you have
not already been at this trouble, I would, my good sir, now wish to
relieve you from it, as Mr. Ogle of Maryland has been so obliging as to
present me six fawns from his park of English deer at Bellair. With
these, and tolerable care, I shall soon have a full stock for my small
paddock.”[111]
While Washington was thus calmly enjoying himself, came a letter from
Henry Lee, who was now in Congress, conveying a mournful piece of
intelligence: “Your friend and second, the patriot and noble Greene, is
no more. Universal grief reigns here.” Greene died on the 18th of June,
at his estate of Mulberry Grove, on Savannah River, presented to him by
the State of Georgia. His last illness was brief; caused by a stroke of
the sun; he was but forty-four years of age.
The news of his death struck heavily on Washington’s heart, to whom, in
the most arduous trials of the Revolution, he had been a second self. He
had taken Washington as his model, and possessed naturally many of his
great qualities. Like him, he was sound in judgment; persevering in the
midst of discouragements; calm and self-possessed in time of danger;
heedful of the safety of others; heedless of his own. Like him, he was
modest and unpretending, and like him he had a perfect command of
temper.
He had Washington’s habits of early rising, and close and methodical
dispatch of business, “never suffering the day to crowd upon the
morrow.” In private intercourse he was frank, noble, candid, and
intelligent; in the hurry of business he was free from petulance, and
had, we are told, “a winning blandness of manner that won the affections
of his officers.”
His campaigns in the Carolinas showed him to be a worthy disciple of
Washington, keeping the war alive by his own persevering hope and
inexhaustible energy, and, as it were, fighting almost without weapons.
His great contest of generalship with the veteran Cornwallis, has
insured for him a lasting renown.
“He was a great and good man!” was Washington’s comprehensive eulogy on
him; and in a letter to Lafayette he writes: “Greene’s death is an event
which has given such general concern, and is so much regretted by his
numerous friends, that I can scarce persuade myself to touch upon it,
even so far as to say that in him you lost a man who affectionately
regarded, and was a sincere admirer of you.”[112]
Other deaths pressed upon Washington’s sensibility about the same time.
That of General McDougall, who had served his country faithfully through
the war, and since with equal fidelity in Congress. That, too, of
Colonel Tench Tilghman, for a long time one of Washington’s
aides-de-camp, and “who left,” writes he, “as fair a reputation as ever
belonged to a human character.” “Thus,” adds he, “some of the pillars of
the Revolution fall. Others are mouldering by insensible degrees. May
our country never want props to support the glorious fabric!”
In his correspondence about this time with several of the French
noblemen who had been his associates in arms, his letters breathe the
spirit of peace which was natural to him; for war with him had only been
a matter of patriotism and public duty.
To the Marquis de la Rouerie, who had so bravely but modestly fought
under the title of Colonel Armand, he writes: “I never expect to draw my
sword again. I can scarcely conceive the cause that would induce me to
do it. My time is now occupied by rural amusements, in which I have
great satisfaction; and my first wish is (although it is against the
profession of arms, and would clip the wings of some of our young
soldiers who are soaring after glory) to see the whole world in peace,
and the inhabitants of it as one band of brothers, striving who should
contribute most to the happiness of mankind.”
So, also, in a letter to Count Rochambeau, dated July 31st, 1786: “It
must give pleasure,” writes he, “to the friends of humanity, even in
this distant section of the globe, to find that the clouds which
threatened to burst in a storm of war on Europe, have dissipated, and
left a still brighter horizon.... As the rage of conquest, which in
times of barbarity stimulated nations to blood, has in a great measure
ceased; as the objects which formerly gave birth to wars are daily
diminishing; and as mankind are becoming more enlightened and humanized,
I cannot but flatter myself with the pleasing prospect, that a more
liberal policy and more pacific systems will take place amongst them. To
indulge this idea affords a soothing consolation to a philanthropic
mind; insomuch that, although it should be found an illusion, one would
hardly wish to be divested of an error so grateful in itself and so
innocent in its consequences.”
And in another letter, “It is thus, you see, my dear Count, in
retirement upon my farm I speculate upon the fate of nations, amusing
myself with innocent reveries that mankind will one day grow happier and
better.”
How easily may the wisest of men be deceived in their speculations as to
the future, especially when founded on the idea of the perfectibility of
human nature. These halcyon dreams of universal peace were indulged on
the very eve, as it were, of the French Revolution, which was to deluge
the world in blood, and when the rage for conquest was to have unbounded
scope under the belligerent sway of Napoleon.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXXVI.
Washington doubts the Solidity of the Confederation.—Correspondence
with John Jay on the Subject.—Plan of a Convention of all the States
to revise the Federal System.—Washington heads the Virginia
Delegation.—Insurrection in Massachusetts.—The Convention.—A Federal
Constitution organized.—Ratified.
From his quiet retreat at Mount Vernon, Washington, though ostensibly
withdrawn from public affairs, was watching with intense solicitude the
working together of the several parts in the great political
confederacy; anxious to know whether the thirteen distinct States, under
the present organization, could form a sufficiently efficient general
government. He was daily becoming more and more doubtful of the solidity
of the fabric he had assisted to raise. The form of confederation which
had bound the States together and met the public exigencies during the
Revolution, when there was a pressure of external danger, was daily
proving more and more incompetent to the purposes of a national
government. Congress had devised a system of credit to provide for the
national expenditure and the extinction of the national debts, which
amounted to something more than forty millions of dollars. The system
experienced neglect from some States and opposition from others each
consulting its local interests and prejudices, instead of the interests
and obligations of the whole. In like manner treaty stipulations, which
bound the good faith of the whole, were slighted, if not violated by
individual States, apparently unconscious that they must each share in
the discredit thus brought upon the national name.
In a letter to James Warren, who had formerly been president of the
Massachusetts Provincial Congress, Washington writes: “The confederation
appears to me to be little more than a shadow without the substance, and
Congress a nugatory body, their ordinances being little attended to. To
me it is a solecism in politics; indeed it is one of the most
extraordinary things in nature, that we should confederate as a nation,
and yet be afraid to give the rulers of that nation (who are creatures
of our own making, appointed for a limited and short duration, and who
are amenable for every action and may be recalled at any moment, and are
subject to all the evils which they may be instrumental in producing)
sufficient powers to order and direct the affairs of the same. By such
policy as this the wheels of government are clogged, and our brightest
prospects, and that high expectation which was entertained of us by the
wondering world, are turned into astonishment; and from the high ground
on which we stood, we are descending into the vale of confusion and
darkness.”[113]
Not long previous to the writing of this letter, Washington had been
visited at Mount Vernon by commissioners, who had been appointed by the
legislatures of Virginia and Maryland to form a compact relative to the
navigation of the rivers Potomac and Pocomoke, and of part of the
Chesapeake Bay, and who had met at Alexandria for the purpose. During
their visit at Mount Vernon, the policy of maintaining a naval force on
the Chesapeake, and of establishing a tariff of duties on imports to
which the laws of both States should conform, was discussed, and it was
agreed that the commissioners should propose to the governments of their
respective States the appointment of other commissioners, with powers to
make conjoint arrangements for the above purposes; to which the assent
of Congress was to be solicited.
The idea of conjoint arrangements between States, thus suggested in the
quiet councils of Mount Vernon, was a step in the right direction, and
will be found to lead to important results.
From a letter, written two or three months subsequently, we gather some
of the ideas on national policy which were occupying Washington’s mind.
“I have ever been a friend to adequate powers in Congress, without which
it is evident to me, we never shall establish a national character, or
be considered as on a respectable footing by the powers of Europe.—We
are either a united people under one head and for federal purposes, or
we are thirteen independent sovereignties, eternally counteracting each
other—If the former, whatever such a majority of the States as the
constitution points out, conceives to be for the benefit of the whole,
should in my humble opinion, be submitted to by the minority.—I can
foresee no evil greater than disunion; than those _unreasonable_
jealousies (I say unreasonable, because I would have a _proper_ jealousy
always awake, and the United States on the watch to prevent individual
States from infracting the constitution with impunity) which are
continually poisoning our minds and filling them with imaginary evils
for the prevention of real ones.”[114]
An earnest correspondence took place some months subsequently between
Washington and the illustrious patriot, John Jay, at that time Secretary
of Foreign Affairs, wherein the signs of the times were feelingly
discussed.
“Our affairs,” writes Jay, “seem to lead to some crisis, something that
I cannot foresee or conjecture. I am uneasy and apprehensive, more so
than during the war. Then we had a fixed object, and though the means
and time of obtaining it were problematical, yet I did firmly believe
that we should ultimately succeed, because I did firmly believe that
justice was with us. The case is now altered. We are going and doing
wrong, and therefore I look forward to evils and calamities, but without
being able to guess at the instrument, nature, or measure of them....
What I most fear is, that the better kind of people, by which I mean the
people who are orderly and industrious, who are content with their
situations, and not uneasy in their circumstances, will be led by the
insecurity of property, the loss of public faith and rectitude, to
consider the charms of liberty as imaginary and delusive. A state of
uncertainty and fluctuation must disgust and alarm.” Washington, in
reply, coincided in opinion that public affairs were drawing rapidly to
a crisis, and he acknowledged the event to be equally beyond his
foresight. “We have errors,” said he, “to correct. We have probably had
too good an opinion of human nature in forming our confederation.
Experience has taught us that men will not adopt and carry into
execution measures the best calculated for their own good, without the
intervention of coercive power. I do not conceive we can exist long as a
nation, without lodging, somewhere, a power which will pervade the whole
Union in as energetic a manner, as the authority of the State
governments extends over the several States. To be fearful of investing
Congress, constituted as that body is, with ample authorities for
national purposes, appears to me the very climax of popular absurdity
and madness. Could Congress exert them for the detriment of the people,
without injuring themselves in an equal or greater proportion? Are not
their interests inseparably connected with those of their constituents?
By the rotation of appointments must they not mingle frequently with the
mass of the citizens? Is it not rather to be apprehended, if they were
not possessed of the powers before described, that the individual
members would be induced to use them, on many occasions, very timidly
and inefficaciously, for fear of losing their popularity and future
election? We must take human nature as we find it; perfection falls not
to the share of mortals.
“What then is to be done? things cannot go on in the same strain
forever. It is much to be feared, as you observe, that the better kind
of people, being disgusted with these circumstances, will have their
minds prepared for any revolution whatever. We are apt to run from one
extreme to another.... I am told that even respectable characters speak
of a monarchical form of government without horror. From thinking
proceeds speaking, thence acting is often but a single step. But how
irrevocable and tremendous! What a triumph for our enemies to verify
their predictions! What a triumph for the advocates of despotism to find
that we are incapable of governing ourselves, and that systems, founded
on the basis of equal liberty, are merely ideal and fallacious! Would to
God that wise measures may be taken in time to avert the consequences we
have but too much reason to apprehend.
“Retired as I am from the world, I frankly acknowledge I cannot feel
myself an unconcerned spectator. Yet, having happily assisted in
bringing the ship into port, and having been fairly discharged, it is
not my business to embark again on the sea of troubles.
“Nor could it be expected that my sentiments and opinions would have
much weight in the minds of my countrymen. They have been neglected,
though given as a last legacy, in a most solemn manner. I then perhaps
had some claims to public attention. I consider myself as having none at
present.”
His anxiety on this subject was quickened by accounts of discontents and
commotions in the Eastern States produced by the pressure of the times,
the public and private indebtedness, and the imposition of heavy taxes,
at a moment of financial embarrassment.
General Knox, now Secretary at War, who had been sent by Congress to
Massachusetts to inquire into these troubles, thus writes about the
insurgents: “Their creed is, that the property of the United States has
been protected from the confiscation of Britain by the joint exertions
of _all_, and therefore ought to be _the common property of all_, and he
that attempts opposition to this creed, is an enemy to equity and
justice, and ought to be swept from off the face of the earth.” Again,
“They are determined to annihilate all debts, public and private, and
have agrarian laws, which are easily effected by the means of unfunded
paper, which shall be a tender in all cases whatever.”
In reply to Colonel Henry Lee in Congress, who had addressed several
letters to him on the subject, Washington writes: “You talk, my good
sir, of employing influence to appease the present tumults in
Massachusetts. I know not where that influence is to be found, or, if
attainable, that it would be a proper remedy for the disorders.
_Influence_ is not _government_. Let us have a government by which our
lives, liberties, and properties will be secured, or let us know the
worst at once. There is a call for decision. Know precisely what the
insurgents aim at. If they have _real_ grievances, redress them, if
possible; or acknowledge the justice of them, and your inability to do
it at the moment. If they have not, employ the force of government
against them at once. If this is inadequate, _all_ will be convinced
that the superstructure is bad and wants support. To delay one or other
of these expedients, is to exasperate on the one hand, or to give
confidence on the other.... Let the reins of government, then, be braced
and held with a steady hand, and every violation of the constitution be
reprehended. If defective let it be amended; but not suffered to be
trampled upon whilst it has an existence.”
A letter to him from his former aide-de-camp, Colonel Humphreys, dated
New Haven, November 1st, says: “The troubles in Massachusetts still
continue. Government is prostrated in the dust, and it is much to be
feared that there is not energy enough in that State to reëstablish the
civil powers. The leaders of the mob, whose fortunes and measures are
desperate, are strengthening themselves daily; and it is expected that
they will soon take possession of the continental magazine at
Springfield, in which there are from ten to fifteen thousand stand of
arms in excellent order.
“A general want of compliance with the requisitions of Congress for
money seems to prognosticate that we are rapidly advancing to a crisis.
Congress, I am told, are seriously alarmed, and hardly know which way to
turn or what to expect. Indeed, my dear General, nothing but a good
Providence can extricate us from the present convulsion.
“In case of civil discord, I have already told you it was seriously my
opinion that you could not remain neuter, and that you would be obliged,
in self-defense, to take one part or the other, or withdraw from the
continent. Your friends are of the same opinion.”
Close upon the receipt of this letter, came intelligence that the
insurgents of Massachusetts, far from being satisfied with the redress
which had been offered by their General Court, were still acting in open
violation of law and government; and that the chief magistrate had been
obliged to call upon the militia of the State to support the
constitution.
“What, gracious God? is man,” writes Washington, “that there should be
such inconsistency and perfidiousness in his conduct. It was but the
other day, that we were shedding our blood to obtain the constitutions
under which we now live; constitutions of our own choice and making; and
now we are unsheathing the sword to overturn them. The thing is so
unaccountable, that I hardly know how to realize it, or to persuade
myself that I am not under the illusion of a dream.”
His letters to Knox show the trouble of his mind, “I feel, my dear
General Knox, infinitely more than I can express to you, for the
disorders which have arisen in these States. Good God! who, besides a
tory, could have foreseen, or a Briton predicted them? I do assure you
that, even at this moment, when I reflect upon the present prospect of
our affairs, it seems to me to be like the vision of a dream.... After
what I have seen, or rather what I have heard, I shall be surprised at
nothing; for, if three years since, any person had told me that there
would have been such a formidable rebellion as exists at this day
against the laws and constitution of our own making, I should have
thought him a bedlamite, a fit subject for a mad-house.... In
regretting, which I have often done with the keenest sorrow, the death
of our much lamented friend, General Greene, I have accompanied it of
late with a query, whether he would not have preferred such an exit, to
the scenes which, it is more than probable, many of his compatriots may
live to bemoan.”
To James Madison, also, he writes in the same strain. “How melancholy is
the reflection, that in so short a time we should have made such large
strides towards fulfilling the predictions of our transatlantic foes!
‘Leave them to themselves, and their government will soon dissolve.’
Will not the wise and good strive hard to avert this evil? Or will their
supineness suffer ignorance and the fine arts of self-interested and
designing, disaffected, and desperate characters, to involve this great
country in wretchedness and contempt? What stronger evidence can be
given of the want of energy in our government than these disorders? If
there is not power in it to check them, what security has a man for
life, liberty, or property? To you, I am sure I need not add aught on
the subject. The consequences of a lax or inefficient government are too
obvious to be dwelt upon. Thirteen sovereignties pulling against each
other, and all tugging at the federal head, will soon bring ruin on the
whole; whereas, a liberal and energetic constitution, well checked and
well watched, to prevent encroachments, might restore us to that degree
of respectability and consequence to which we had the fairest prospect
of attaining.”
Thus Washington, even though in retirement, was almost unconsciously
exercising a powerful influence on national affairs; no longer the
soldier, he was now becoming the statesman. The opinions and counsels
given in his letters were widely effective. The leading expedient for
federate organization, mooted in his conferences with the commissioners
of Maryland and Virginia, during their visit to Mount Vernon in the
previous year, had been extended and ripened in legislative Assemblies,
and ended in a plan of a convention composed of delegates from all the
States, to meet in Philadelphia for the sole and express purpose of
revising the federal system, and correcting its defects; the proceedings
of the convention to be subsequently reported to Congress, and the
several Legislatures, for approval and confirmation.
Washington was unanimously put at the head of the Virginia delegation;
but for some time objected to accept the nomination. He feared to be
charged with inconsistency in again appearing in a public situation,
after his declared resolution to the contrary. “It will have also,” said
he, “a tendency to sweep me back into the tide of public affairs, when
retirement and ease are so much desired by me, and so essentially
necessary.”[115] Beside, he had just avowed his intention of resigning
the presidency of the Cincinnati Society which was to hold its triennial
meeting in May in Philadelphia, and he could not appear at the same time
and place on any other occasion, without giving offense to his worthy
companions in arms, the late officers in the American army.
These considerations were strenuously combated, for the weight and
influence of his name and counsel were felt to be all-important in
giving dignity to the delegation. Two things contributed to bring him to
a favorable decision: First, an insinuation that the opponents of the
convention were monarchists, who wished the distractions of the country
should continue, until a monarchical government might be resorted to as
an ark of safety. The other was the insurrection in Massachusetts.
Having made up his mind to serve as a delegate to the convention, he
went into a course of preparatory reading on the history and principles
of ancient and modern confederacies. An abstract of the general
principles of each, with notes of their vices or defects, exists in his
own handwriting, among his papers; though it is doubted by a judicious
commentator[116] whether it was originally drawn up by him, as several
works are cited, which are written in languages that he did not
understand.
Before the time arrived for the meeting of the convention, which was the
second Monday in May, his mind was relieved from one source of poignant
solicitude, by learning that the insurrection in Massachusetts had been
suppressed with but little bloodshed, and that the principals had fled
to Canada. He doubted, however, the policy of the legislature of that
State in disfranchising a large number of its citizens for their
rebellious conduct; thinking more lenient measures might have produced
as good an effect, without entirely alienating the affections of the
people from the government; beside depriving some of them of the means
of gaining a livelihood.
On the 9th of May, Washington set out in his carriage from Mount Vernon
to attend the convention. At Chester, where he arrived on the 13th, he
was met by General Mifflin, now speaker of the Pennsylvania Assembly,
generals Knox and Varnum, Colonel Humphreys, and other personages of
note. At Gray’s Ferry the city light horse were in attendance, by whom
he was escorted into Philadelphia.
It was not until the 25th of May that a sufficient number of delegates
were assembled to form a quorum; when they proceeded to organize the
body, and by a unanimous vote Washington was called up to the chair as
president.
The following anecdote is recorded by Mr. Leigh Pierce, who was a
delegate from Georgia. When the Convention first opened, there were a
number of propositions brought forward as great leading principles of
the new government to be established. A copy of them was given to each
member with an injunction of profound secrecy. One morning a member, by
accident, dropped his copy of the propositions. It was luckily picked up
by General Mifflin, and handed to General Washington, who put it in his
pocket. After the debates of the day were over, and the question for
adjournment was called for, Washington rose, and previous to putting the
question, addressed the committee as follows: “Gentlemen, I am sorry to
find that some one member of this body has been so neglectful of the
secrets of the convention, as to drop in the State House a copy of their
proceedings; which, by accident, was picked up and delivered to me this
morning. I must entreat gentlemen to be more careful, lest our
transactions get into the newspapers, and disturb the public repose by
premature speculations. I know not whose paper it is, but there it is
(throwing it down on the table); let him who owns it take it.” At the
same time he bowed, took his hat, and left the room with a dignity so
severe that every person seemed alarmed. “For my part, I was extremely
so,” adds Mr. Pierce, “for, putting my hand in my pocket, I missed my
copy of the same paper; but advancing to the table, my fears soon
dissipated. I found it to be in the handwriting of another person.”
Mr. Pierce found his copy at his lodgings, in the pocket of a coat which
he had changed that morning. No person ever ventured to claim the
anonymous paper.
We forbear to go into the voluminous proceedings of this memorable
convention, which occupied from four to seven hours each day for four
months; and in which every point was the subject of able and scrupulous
discussion by the best talent and noblest spirits of the country.
Washington felt restrained by his situation as president, from taking a
part in the debates, but his well-known opinions influenced the whole.
The result was the formation of the constitution of the United States,
which (with some amendments made in after years) still exists.
As the members on the last day of the session were signing the engrossed
constitution, Dr. Franklin, looking towards the president’s chair, at
the back of which a sun was painted, observed to those persons next to
him, “I have often and often, in the course of the session, and the
vicissitudes of my hopes and fears as to its issue, looked at that sun
behind the president, without being able to tell whether it was rising
or setting; at length I have the happiness to know it is a rising and
not a setting sun.”[117]
“The business being closed,” says Washington in his diary (Sept. 17th),
“the members adjourned to the city tavern, dined together, and took a
cordial leave of each other. After which I returned to my lodgings, did
some business with and received the papers from, the secretary of the
convention, and retired to meditate on the momentous work which had been
executed.”
“It appears to me little short of miracle,” writes he to Lafayette,
“that the delegates from so many States, different from each other, as
you know, in their manners, circumstances, and prejudices, should unite
in forming a system of national government so little liable to
well-founded objections. Nor am I such an enthusiastic, partial, or
undiscriminating admirer of it, as not to perceive it is tinctured with
some real, though not radical defects. With regard to the two great
points, the pivots upon which the whole machine must move, my creed is
simply, First, that the general government is not invested with more
powers than are indispensably necessary to perform the functions of a
good government; and consequently, that no objection ought to be made
against the quantity of power delegated to it.
“Secondly, that these powers, as the appointment of all rulers will for
ever arise from, and at short, stated intervals recur to, the free
suffrages of the people, are so distributed among the legislative,
executive, and judicial branches into which the general government is
arranged, that it can never be in danger of degenerating into a
monarchy, an oligarchy, an aristocracy, or any other despotic or
oppressive form, so long as there shall remain any virtue in the body of
the people.
“It will at least be a recommendation to the proposed constitution, that
it is provided with more checks and barriers against the introduction of
tyranny, and those of a nature less liable to be surmounted, than any
government hitherto instituted among mortals.”
“We are not to expect perfection in this world; but mankind, in modern
times, have apparently made some progress in the science of government.
Should that which is now offered to the people of America, be found on
experiment less perfect than it can be made, a constitutional door is
left open for its amelioration.”
The constitution thus formed, was forwarded to Congress, and thence
transmitted to the State legislatures, each of which submitted it to a
State convention composed of delegates chosen for that express purpose
by the people. The ratification of the instrument by nine States was
necessary to carry it into effect; and as the several State conventions
would assemble at different times, nearly a year must elapse before the
decisions of the requisite number could be obtained.
During this time, Washington resumed his retired life at Mount Vernon,
seldom riding, as he says, beyond the limits of his own farms, but kept
informed by his numerous correspondents, such as James Madison, John
Jay, and generals Knox, Lincoln, and Armstrong, of the progress of the
constitution through its various ordeals, and of the strenuous
opposition which it met with in different quarters, both in debate and
through the press. A diversity of opinions and inclinations on the
subject had been expected by him. “The various passions and motives by
which men are influenced,” said he, “are concomitants of fallibility,
and ingrafted into our nature.” Still he never had a doubt that it would
ultimately be adopted; and, in fact, the national decision in its favor
was more fully and strongly pronounced than even he had anticipated.
His feelings on learning the result were expressed with that solemn and
religious faith in the protection of heaven, manifested by him in all
the trials and vicissitudes through which his country had passed. “We
may,” said he, “with a kind of pious and grateful exultation, trace the
finger of Providence through those dark and mysterious events, which
first induced the States to appoint a general convention, and then led
them, one after another, by such steps as were best calculated to effect
the object, into an adoption of the system recommended by the General
Convention; thereby, in all human probability, laying a lasting
foundation for tranquillity and happiness, when we had but too much
reason to fear, that confusion and misery were coming rapidly upon
us.”[118]
The testimonials of ratification having been received by Congress from a
sufficient number of States, an act was passed by that body on the 13th
of September, appointing the first Wednesday in January, 1789, for the
people of the United States to choose electors of a President according
to the constitution, and the first Wednesday in the month of February
following for the electors to meet and make a choice. The meeting of the
government was to be on the first Wednesday in March, and in the city of
New York.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXXVII.
Washington talked of for the Presidency.—His Letters on the Subject
expressing his Reluctance.—His Election.—His Progress to the Seat of
Government.—His Reception at New York.—The Inauguration.
The adoption of the Federal Constitution was another epoch in the life
of Washington. Before the official forms of an election could be carried
into operation, a unanimous sentiment throughout the Union pronounced
him the nation’s choice to fill the presidential chair. He looked
forward to the possibility of his election with characteristic modesty
and unfeigned reluctance; as his letters to his confidential friends
bear witness. “It has no fascinating allurements for me,” writes he to
Lafayette. “At my time of life and under my circumstances, the
increasing infirmities of nature and the growing love of retirement do
not permit me to entertain a wish beyond that of living and dying an
honest man on my own farm. Let those follow the pursuits of ambition and
fame who have a keener relish for them, or who may have more years in
store for the enjoyment.”
Colonel Henry Lee had written to him warmly and eloquently on the
subject. “My anxiety is extreme that the new government may have an
auspicious beginning. To effect this and to perpetuate a nation formed
under your auspices, it is certain that again you will be called forth.
The same principles of devotion to the good of mankind which have
invariably governed your conduct, will no doubt continue to rule your
mind, however opposite their consequences may be to your repose and
happiness. If the same success should attend your efforts on this
important occasion which has distinguished you hitherto, then to be sure
you will have spent a life which Providence rarely, if ever, gave to the
lot of one man. It is my belief, it is my anxious hope, that this will
be the case.”
“The event to which you allude may never happen,” replies Washington.
“This consideration alone would supersede the expediency of announcing
any definitive and irrevocable resolution. You are among the small
number of those who know my invincible attachment to domestic life, and
that my sincerest wish is to continue in the enjoyment of it solely
until my final hour. But the world would be neither so well instructed,
nor so candidly disposed as to believe me uninfluenced by sinister
motives, in case any circumstance should render a deviation from the
line of conduct I had prescribed to myself indispensable.
“Should my unfeigned reluctance to accept the office be overcome by a
deference for the reasons And opinions of my friends; might I not, after
the declarations I have made (and Heaven knows they were made in the
sincerity of my heart), in the judgment of the impartial world and of
posterity, be chargeable with levity and inconsistency, if not with
rashness and ambition? Nay, farther, would there not be some apparent
foundation for the two former charges? Now justice to myself, and
tranquillity of conscience require, that I should act a part, if not
above imputation, at least capable of vindication. Nor will you conceive
me to be too solicitous for reputation. Though I prize as I ought the
good opinion of my fellow-citizens, yet, if I know myself, I would not
seek popularity at the expense of one social duty or moral virtue.
“While doing what my conscience informed me was right, as it respected
my God, my country and myself, I should despise all the party clamor and
unjust censure, which must be expected from some, whose personal enmity
might be occasioned by their hostility to the government. I am
conscious, that I fear alone to give any real occasion for obloquy, and
that I do not dread to meet with unmerited reproach. And certain I am,
whensoever I shall be convinced the good of my country requires my
reputation to be put in risk, regard for my own fame will not come in
competition with an object of so much magnitude.
“If I declined the task, it would lie upon quite another principle.
Notwithstanding my advanced season of life, my increasing fondness for
agricultural amusements, and my growing love of retirement, augment and
confirm my decided predilection for the character of a private citizen,
yet it would be no one of these motives, nor the hazard to which my
former reputation might be exposed, nor the terror of encountering new
fatigues and troubles, that would deter me from an acceptance; but a
belief, that some other person, who had less pretense and less
inclination to be excused, could execute all the duties full as
satisfactorily as myself.”
In a letter to Colonel Alexander Hamilton he writes: “In taking a survey
of the subject, in whatever point of light I have been able to place it,
I have always felt a kind of gloom upon my mind, as often as I have been
taught to expect I might, and perhaps must, ere long, be called upon to
make a decision. You will, I am well assured believe the assertion,
though I have little expectation it would gain credit from those who are
less acquainted with me, that, if I should receive the appointment, and
if I should be prevailed upon to accept it, the acceptance would be
attended with more diffidence and reluctance than ever I experienced
before in my life. It would be, however, with a fixed and sole
determination of lending whatever assistance might be in my power to
promote the public weal, in hopes that, at a convenient and early
period, my services might be dispensed with, and that I might be
permitted once more to retire, to pass an unclouded evening, after the
stormy day of life, in the bosom of domestic tranquillity.”
To Lafayette he declares that his difficulties increase and multiply as
he draws toward the period when, according to common belief, it will be
necessary for him to give a definitive answer as to the office in
question.
“Should circumstances render it in a manner inevitably necessary to be
in the affirmative,” writes he, “I shall assume the task with the most
unfeigned reluctance, and with a real diffidence, for which I shall
probably receive no credit from the world. If I know my own heart,
nothing short of a conviction of duty will induce me again to take an
active part in public affairs; and in that case, if I can form a plan
for my own conduct, my endeavors shall be unremittingly exerted, even at
the hazard of former fame or present popularity, to extricate my country
from the embarrassments in which it is entangled through want of credit;
and to establish a general system of policy, which if pursued will
insure permanent felicity to the commonwealth. I think I see a path
clear and direct as a ray of light, which leads to the attainment of
that object. Nothing but harmony, honesty, industry, and frugality, are
necessary to make us a great and happy people. Happily the present
posture of affairs, and the prevailing disposition of my countrymen,
promise to coöperate in establishing those four great and essential
pillars of public felicity.”
The election took place at the appointed time, and it was soon
ascertained that Washington was chosen President for the term of four
years from the 4th of March. By this time the arguments and entreaties
of his friends, and his own convictions of public expediency, had
determined him to accept; and he made preparations to depart for the
seat of government, as soon as he should receive official notice of his
election. Among other duties, he paid a visit to his mother at
Fredericksburg; it was a painful, because likely to be a final one, for
she was afflicted with a malady which, it was evident, must soon
terminate her life. Their parting was affectionate, but solemn, she had
always been reserved and moderate in expressing herself in regard to the
successes of her son; but it must have been a serene satisfaction at the
close of her life to see him elevated by his virtues to the highest
honor of his country.
From a delay in forming a quorum of Congress, the votes of the electoral
college were not counted until early in April, when they were found to
be unanimous in favor of Washington. “The delay,” said he, in a letter
to General Knox, “may be compared to a reprieve; for in confidence I
tell you (with the _world_ it would obtain little credit), that my
movements to the chair of government will be accompanied by feelings not
unlike those of a culprit, who is going to the place of his execution;
so unwilling am I, in the evening of a life nearly consumed in public
cares, to quit a peaceful abode for an ocean of difficulties, without
that competency of political skill, abilities, and inclination, which
are necessary to manage the helm. I am sensible that I am embarking the
voice of the people, and a good name of my own, on this voyage; but what
returns will be made for them, heaven alone can foretell. Integrity and
firmness are all I can promise. These, be the voyage long or short,
shall never forsake me, although I may be deserted by all men; for of
the consolations, which are to be derived from these, under any
circumstances, the world cannot deprive me.”
At length, on the 14th of April, he received a letter from the President
of Congress, duly notifying him of his election; and he prepared to set
out immediately for New York, the seat of government. An entry in his
diary, dated the 16th, says, “About ten o’clock I bade adieu to Mount
Vernon, to private life, and to domestic felicity; and with a mind
oppressed with more anxious and painful sensations than I have words to
express, set out for New York with the best disposition to render
service to my country in obedience to its call, but with less hope of
answering its expectations.”
At the first stage of his journey a trial of his tenderest feelings
awaited him in a public dinner given him at Alexandria, by his neighbors
and personal friends, among whom he had lived in the constant
interchange of kind offices, and who were so aware of the practical
beneficence of his private character. A deep feeling of regret mingled
with their festivity. The mayor, who presided, and spoke the sentiments
of the people of Alexandria, deplored in his departure the loss of the
first and best of their citizens, the ornament of the aged, the model of
the young, the improver of their agriculture, the friend of their
commerce, the protector of their infant academy, the benefactor of their
poor,—but “go,” added he, “and make a grateful people happy, who will be
doubly grateful when they contemplate this new sacrifice for their
interests.”
Washington was too deeply affected for many words in reply. “Just after
having bade adieu to my domestic connections,” said he, “this tender
proof of your friendship is but too well calculated to awaken still
further my sensibility, and increase my regret at parting from the
enjoyments of private life. All that now remains for me is to commit
myself and you to the care of that beneficent Being, who, on a former
occasion, happily brought us together after a long and distressing
separation. Perhaps the same gracious Providence will again indulge me.
But words fail me. Unutterable sensations must, then, be left to more
expressive silence, while from an aching heart I bid all my affectionate
friends and kind neighbors farewell!”
His progress to the seat of government was a continual ovation. The
ringing of bells and roaring of cannonry proclaimed his course through
the country. The old and young, women and children, thronged the
highways to bless and welcome him. Deputations of the most respectable
inhabitants from the principal places came forth to meet and escort him.
At Baltimore, on his arrival and departure, his carriage was attended by
a numerous cavalcade of citizens, and he was saluted by the thunder of
artillery.
At the frontier of Pennsylvania he was met by his former companion in
arms, Mifflin, now governor of the State, who with Judge Peters and a
civil and military escort, was waiting to receive him. Washington had
hoped to be spared all military parade, but found it was not to be
evaded. At Chester, where he stopped to breakfast, there were
preparations for a public entrance into Philadelphia. Cavalry had
assembled from the surrounding country; a superb white horse was led out
for Washington to mount, and a grand procession set forward, with
General St. Clair of Revolutionary notoriety at its head. It gathered
numbers as it advanced; passed under triumphal arches entwined with
laurel, and entered Philadelphia amid the shouts of the multitude.
A day of public festivity succeeded, ended by a display of fire-works.
Washington’s reply to the congratulations of the mayor at a great civic
banquet, spoke the genuine feelings of his modest nature, amid these
testimonials of a world’s applause. “When I contemplate the
interposition of Providence, as it was visibly manifested in guiding us
through the Revolution, in preparing us for the reception of the general
government, and in conciliating the good-will of the people of America
toward one another after its adoption, I feel myself oppressed and
almost overwhelmed with a sense of divine munificence. I feel that
nothing is due to my personal agency in all those wonderful and
complicated events, except what can be attributed to an honest zeal for
the good of my country.”
We question whether any of these testimonials of a nation’s gratitude
affected Washington more sensibly than those he received at Trenton. It
was on a sunny afternoon when he arrived on the banks of the Delaware,
where, twelve years before he had crossed in darkness and storm, through
clouds of snow and drifts of floating ice, on his daring attempt to
strike a blow at a triumphant enemy.
Here at present all was peace and sunshine, the broad river flowed
placidly along, and crowds awaited him on the opposite bank, to hail him
with love and transport.
We will not dwell on the joyous ceremonials with which he was welcomed,
but there was one too peculiar to be omitted. The reader may remember
Washington’s gloomy night on the banks of the Assunpink, which flows
through Trenton; the camp fires of Cornwallis in front of him; the
Delaware full of floating ice in the rear; and his sudden resolve on
that midnight retreat which turned the fortunes of the campaign. On the
bridge crossing that eventful stream, the ladies of Trenton had caused a
triumphal arch to be erected. It was entwined with evergreens and
laurels, and bore the inscription, “The defender of the mothers will be
the protector of the daughters.” At this bridge the matrons of the city
were assembled to pay him reverence; and as he passed under the arch, a
number of young girls, dressed in white and crowned with garlands,
strewed flowers before him, singing an ode expressive of their love and
gratitude. Never was ovation more graceful, touching, and sincere: and
Washington, tenderly affected, declared that the impression of it on his
heart could never be effaced.
His whole progress through New Jersey must have afforded a similar
contrast to his weary marchings to and fro, harassed by doubts and
perplexities, with bale fires blazing on its hills, instead of festive
illuminations, and when the ringing of bells and booming of cannon, now
so joyous, were the signals of invasion and maraud.
In respect to his reception at New York, Washington had signified in a
letter to Governor Clinton, that none could be so congenial to his
feelings as a quiet entry devoid of ceremony; but his modest wishes were
not complied with. At Elizabethtown Point, a committee of both Houses of
Congress, with various civic functionaries, waited by appointment to
receive him. He embarked on board of a splendid barge, constructed for
the occasion. It was manned by thirteen branch pilots, masters of
vessels, in white uniforms, and commanded by Commodore Nicholson. Other
barges, fancifully decorated, followed, having on board the heads of
departments and other public officers, and several distinguished
citizens. As they passed through the strait between the Jerseys and
Staten Island, called the Kills, other boats decorated with flags fell
in their wake, until the whole, forming a nautical procession, swept up
the broad and beautiful bay of New York, to the sound of instrumental
music. On board of two vessels were parties of ladies and gentlemen who
sang congratulatory odes as Washington’s barge approached. The ships at
anchor in the harbor, dressed in colors, fired salutes as it passed. One
alone, the _Galveston_, a Spanish man-of-war, displayed no signs of
gratulation, until the barge of the general was nearly abreast; when
suddenly, as if by magic, the yards were manned, the ship burst forth,
as it were, into a full array of flags and signals, and thundered a
salute of thirteen guns.
He approached the landing-place of Murray’s Wharf, amid the ringing of
bells, the roaring of cannonry, and the shouting of multitudes collected
on every pier-head. On landing, he was received by Governor Clinton.
General Knox, too, who had taken such affectionate leave of him on his
retirement from military life, was there to welcome him in his civil
capacity. Other of his fellow-soldiers of the Revolution were likewise
there, mingled with the civic dignitaries. At this juncture, an officer
stepped up and requested Washington’s orders, announcing himself as
commanding his guard. Washington desired him to proceed according to the
directions he might have received in the present arrangements, but that
for the future the affection of his fellow-citizens was all the guard he
wanted.
Carpets had been spread to a carriage prepared to convey him to his
destined residence, but he preferred to walk. He was attended by a long
civil and military train. In the streets through which he passed the
houses were decorated with flags, silken banners, garlands of flowers
and evergreens, and bore his name in every form of ornament. The streets
were crowded with people, so that it was with difficulty a passage could
be made by the city officers. Washington frequently bowed to the
multitude as he passed, taking off his hat to the ladies, who thronged
every window, waving their handkerchiefs, throwing flowers before him,
and many of them shedding tears of enthusiasm.
That day he dined with his old friend Governor Clinton, who had invited
a numerous company of public functionaries and foreign diplomatists to
meet him, and in the evening the city was brilliantly illuminated.
Would the reader know the effect upon Washington’s mind of this
triumphant entry into New York? It was to depress rather than to excite
him. Modestly diffident of his abilities to cope with the new duties on
which he was entering, he was overwhelmed by what he regarded as proofs
of public expectation. Noting in his diary the events of the day, he
writes: “The display of boats which attended and joined us on this
occasion, some with vocal and some with instrumental music on board; the
decorations of the ships, the roar of cannon, and the loud acclamations
of the people which rent the skies, as I passed along the wharves,
filled my mind with sensations as painful (considering the reverse of
this scene, which may be the case after all my labors to do good) as
they are pleasing.”
The inauguration was delayed for several days, in which a question arose
as to the form or title by which the President elect was to be
addressed; and a committee in both Houses was appointed to report upon
the subject. The question was stated without Washington’s privity, and
contrary to his desire; as he feared that any title might awaken the
sensitive jealousy of republicans, at a moment when it was all-important
to conciliate public good-will to the new form of government. It was a
relief to him, therefore, when it was finally resolved that the address
should be simply “the President of the United States,” without any
addition of title; a judicious form, which has remained to the present
day.
The inauguration took place on the 30th of April. At nine o’clock in the
morning, there were religious services in all the churches, and prayers
put up for the blessing of Heaven on the new government. At twelve
o’clock the city troops paraded before Washington’s door, and soon after
the committees of Congress and heads of departments came in their
carriages. At half-past twelve the procession moved forward, preceded by
the troops; next came the committees and heads of departments in their
carriages; then Washington in a coach of state, his aide-de-camp,
Colonel Humphreys, and his secretary, Mr. Lear, in his own carriage. The
foreign ministers and a long train of citizens brought up the rear.
About two hundred yards before reaching the hall, Washington and his
suite alighted from their carriages, and passed through the troops, who
were drawn up on each side, into the hall and senate chamber, where the
Vice President, the Senate and House of Representatives were assembled.
The Vice President, John Adams, recently inaugurated, advanced and
conducted Washington to a chair of state at the upper end of the room. A
solemn silence prevailed; when the Vice President rose, and informed him
that all things were prepared for him to take the oath of office
required by the Constitution.
The oath was to be administered by the Chancellor of the State of New
York, in a balcony in front of the senate chamber, and in full view of
an immense multitude occupying the street, the windows, and even roofs
of the adjacent houses. The balcony formed a kind of open recess, with
lofty columns supporting the roof. In the centre was a table with a
covering of crimson velvet, upon which lay a superbly bound Bible on a
crimson velvet cushion. This was all the paraphernalia for the august
scene.
All eyes were fixed upon the balcony, when, at the appointed hour,
Washington made his appearance, accompanied by various public
functionaries, and members of the Senate and House of Representatives.
He was clad in a full suit of dark-brown cloth, of American manufacture,
with a steel-hilted dress sword, white silk stockings, and silver
shoe-buckles. His hair was dressed and powdered in the fashion of the
day, and worn in a bag and solitaire.
His entrance on the balcony was hailed by universal shouts. He was
evidently moved by this demonstration of public affection. Advancing to
the front of the balcony, he laid his hand upon his heart, bowed several
times, and then retreated to an arm-chair near the table.
The populace appeared to understand that the scene had overcome him; and
were hushed at once into profound silence.
After a few moments Washington rose and again came forward. John Adams,
the Vice President, stood on his right; on his left the chancellor of
the State, Robert R. Livingston; somewhat in the rear were Roger
Sherman, Alexander Hamilton, generals Knox, St. Clair, the Baron Steuben
and others.
The chancellor advanced to administer the oath prescribed by the
Constitution, and Mr. Otis, the secretary of the Senate, held up the
Bible on its crimson cushion. The oath was read slowly and distinctly;
Washington at the same time laying his hand on the open Bible. When it
was concluded, he replied solemnly, “I swear—so help me God!” Mr. Otis
would have raised the Bible to his lips, but he bowed down reverently
and kissed it.
The chancellor now stepped forward, waved his hand and exclaimed, “Long
live George Washington, President of the United States!” At this moment
a flag was displayed on the cupola of the hall, on which signal there
was a general discharge of artillery on the Battery. All the bells of
the city rang out a joyful peal, and the multitude rent the air with
acclamations.
Washington again bowed to the people and returned into the senate
chamber, where he delivered, to both houses of Congress, his inaugural
address, characterized by his usual modesty, moderation, and good sense,
but uttered with a voice deep, slightly tremulous, and so low as to
demand close attention in the listeners. After this he proceeded with
the whole assemblage on foot to St. Paul’s church, where prayers suited
to the occasion were read by Dr. Prevost, Bishop of the Protestant
Episcopal Church in New York, who had been appointed by the Senate one
of the chaplains of Congress. So closed the ceremonies of the
inauguration.
The whole day was one of sincere rejoicing, and in the evening there
were brilliant illuminations and fire-works.
We have been accustomed to look to Washington’s private letters for the
sentiments of his heart. Those written to several of his friends
immediately after his inauguration, show how little he was excited by
his official elevation. “I greatly fear,” writes he, “that my countrymen
will expect too much from me. I fear, if the issue of public measures
should not correspond with their sanguine expectations, they will turn
the extravagant, and I might almost say undue praises, which they are
heaping upon me at this moment, into equally extravagant, though I will
fondly hope, unmerited censures.”
Little was his modest spirit aware that the praises so dubiously
received were but the opening notes of a theme that was to increase from
age to age, to pervade all lands and endure throughout all generations.
* * * * *
In the volumes here concluded, we have endeavored to narrate faithfully
the career of Washington from childhood, through his early surveying
expeditions in the wilderness, his diplomatic mission to the French
posts on the frontier, his campaigns in the French war, his arduous
trials as commander-in-chief, throughout the Revolution, the noble
simplicity of his life in retirement, until we have shown him elevated
to the presidential chair, by no effort of his own, in a manner against
his wishes, by the unanimous vote of a grateful country.
The plan of our work has necessarily carried us widely into the
campaigns of the Revolution, even where Washington was not present in
person; for his spirit pervaded and directed the whole, and a general
knowledge of the whole is necessary to appreciate the sagacity,
forecast, enduring fortitude, and comprehensive wisdom with which he
conducted it. He himself has signified to one who aspired to write his
biography, that any memoirs of his life, distinct and unconnected with
the history of the war, would be unsatisfactory. In treating of the
Revolution, we have endeavored to do justice to what we consider its
most striking characteristic; the greatness of the object and the
scantiness of the means. We have endeavored to keep in view the
prevailing poverty of resources, the scandalous neglects, the squalid
miseries of all kinds, with which its champions had to contend in their
expeditions through trackless wildernesses, or thinly peopled regions;
beneath scorching suns or inclement skies; their wintry marches to be
traced by bloody footprints on snow and ice; their desolate wintry
encampments, rendered still more desolate by nakedness and famine. It
was in the patience and fortitude with which these ills were sustained
by a half-disciplined yeomanry, voluntary exiles from their homes,
destitute of all the “pomp and circumstance” of war to excite them, and,
animated solely by their patriotism, that we read the noblest and most
affecting characteristics of that great struggle for human rights. They
do wrong to its moral grandeur, who seek by commonplace exaggeration, to
give a melodramatic effect and false glare to its military operations,
and to place its greatest triumphs in the conflicts of the field.
Lafayette showed a true sense of the nature of the struggle, when
Napoleon, accustomed to effect ambitious purposes by hundreds of
thousands of troops, and tens of thousands of slain, sneered at the
scanty armies of the American Revolution and its “boasted allies.”
“Sire,” was the admirable and comprehensive reply, “it was the grandest
of causes won by skirmishes of sentinels and outposts.”
In regard to the character and conduct of Washington, we have endeavored
to place his deeds in the clearest light, and left them to speak for
themselves, generally avoiding comment or eulogium. We have quoted his
own words and writings largely, to explain his feelings and motives, and
give the true key to his policy; for never did man leave a more truthful
mirror of his heart and mind, and a more thorough exponent of his
conduct, than he has left in his copious correspondence. There his
character is to be found in all its majestic simplicity, its massive
grandeur, and quiet colossal strength. He was no hero of romance; there
was nothing of romantic heroism in his nature. As a warrior, he was
incapable of fear, but made no merit of defying danger. He fought for a
cause, but not for personal renown. Gladly, when he had won the cause,
he hung up his sword, never again to take it down. Glory, that blatant
word, which haunts some military minds like the bray of the trumpet,
formed no part of his aspirations. To act justly was his instinct, to
promote the public weal his constant effort, to deserve the “affections
of good men” his ambition. With such qualifications for the pure
exercise of sound judgment and comprehensive wisdom, he ascended the
presidential chair.
There for the present we leave him. So far our work is complete,
comprehending the whole military life of Washington, and his agency in
public affairs, up to the formation of our Constitution. How well we
have executed it, we leave to the public to determine; hoping to find
it, as heretofore, far more easily satisfied with the result of our
labors than we are ourselves. Should the measure of health and good
spirits, with which a kind Providence has blessed us beyond the usual
term of literary labor, be still continued, we may go on, and in another
volume, give the presidential career and closing life of Washington. In
the mean time, having found a resting-place in our task, we stay our
hands, lay by our pen, and seek that relaxation and repose which
gathering years require.
_Sunnyside_, 1857. W. I.
END OF VOL. IV.
-----
Footnote 1:
_Life of Reed_, ii. 189.
Footnote 2:
From manuscript notes by the Rev. Joseph Tuttle. This worthy clergyman
gives many anecdotes illustrative of the active patriotism of the
Jersey women. Anna Kitchel wife of a farmer of Whippany, is repeatedly
his theme of well-merited eulogium. Her potato bin, meal bag, and
granary, writes he, had always some comfort for the patriot soldiers.
When unable to billet them in her house, a huge kettle filled with
meat and vegetables was hung over the fire, that they might not go
away hungry.
Footnote 3:
_Ann. Register_ 1780, p. 217.
Footnote 4:
Letter to the President, April 2d.
Footnote 5:
_Washington’s Writings_, vii. 10.
Footnote 6:
_Washington’s Writings_, Sparks, vol. vii. p. ii.
Footnote 7:
_Washington’s Writings_, Sparks, vol. vii. p. 15.
Footnote 8:
Washington to James Duane, Sparks, vii. 34.
Footnote 9:
Gen. William Laine to Joseph Reed. Reed’s _Memoirs_ vol. d. p. 201.
Footnote 10:
Letter to the President of Cong., May 27. Sparks, vii. 54.
Footnote 11:
Sparks, _Corr. of the Rev._, vol. ii. p. 466.
Footnote 12:
Letter to Joseph Jones. Sparks, vii. 67.
Footnote 13:
_Correspondence of the Rev._ vol. ii. p. 419.
Footnote 14:
Gordon, vol. iii. p. 352; see also Tarleton, _Hist. Campaign_, p. 8.
Footnote 15:
Pronounced Hugee—of French Huguenot descent.
Footnote 16:
_Annual Register_, 1781, p. 52.
Footnote 17:
Stedman, ii. 183.
Footnote 18:
So called in early times from being ninety six miles from the
principal town of the Cherokee nation.
Footnote 19:
Tarleton’s _Hist. of Campaign_, p. 89.
Footnote 20:
Passages in the History of Elizabethtown, Capt. W. C. De Hart.
Footnote 21:
Letter to Governor Trumbull. Sparks, vii. 93.
Footnote 22:
Jean Baptiste Donatien de Vimeur, Comte de Rochambeau, was born at
Vendome, in France, 1725.
Footnote 23:
Sparks. _Writings of Washington_, vii. 504.
Footnote 24:
A branch of Cape Fear River. The aboriginal name, Supporah.
Footnote 25:
Narrative of Adjutant-general Williams.
Footnote 26:
Ibid.
Footnote 27:
Williams’ Narrative.
Footnote 28:
Father, by his first marriage, of the celebrated Maria Edgeworth.
Footnote 29:
Composed at the request of Miss Rebecca Redman.
Footnote 30:
Simcoe’s _Military Journal_, p. 153–54.
Footnote 31:
See Dwight’s _Travels_, vol. iii.
Footnote 32:
Stated on the authority of Commodore Hiram Paulding, a son of the
captor, who heard it repeatedly from the lips of his father.
Footnote 33:
Testimony of David Williams.
Footnote 34:
Sparks’ _Arnold_. We would note generally, that we are indebted to Mr.
Sparks’ work for many particulars given by us of this tale of treason.
Footnote 35:
_Memoirs of Lafayette_, vol. i. p. 264.
Footnote 36:
The fate of the heroic youth here alluded to, deserves a more ample
notice. Born in Coventry, Connecticut, June 6th, 1755, he entered Yale
College in 1770, and graduated with some distinction in September,
1773, having previously contracted an engagement of marriage; not
unlike André in this respect, who wooed his “Honora,” at eighteen. On
quitting college he engaged as a teacher, as is common with young men
in New England, while studying for a profession. His half-formed
purpose was to devote himself to the ministry. As a teacher of youth,
he was eminently skillful, and equally appreciated by parents and
pupils. He became universally popular. “Everybody loved him,” said a
lady of his acquaintance, “he was so sprightly, intelligent and kind,
and so handsome.”
He was teaching at New London, when an express arrived bringing
tidings of the outbreak at Lexington. A town meeting was called, and
Hale was among the most ardent of the speakers, proposing an instant
march to the scene of hostilities, and offering to volunteer. “A sense
of duty,” writes he to his father, “urges me to sacrifice everything
for my country.”
He served in the army before Boston as lieutenant; prevailed on his
company to extend their term of service by offering them his own pay,
and for his good conduct received from Congress the commission of
captain. He commanded L company in Colonel Knowlton’s regiment in the
following year. After the disastrous battle of Long Island, Washington
applied to that officer for a competent person to penetrate the
enemy’s camp, and procure intelligence of their designs; a service
deemed vital in that dispiriting crisis. Hale, in the ardor of
patriotism, volunteered for the unenviable enterprise, though fully
aware of its peril, and the consequences of capture.
Assuming his old character as schoolmaster, he crossed the Sound at
night from Norwalk to Huntington on Long Island. visited the British
encampments unsuspected, made drawings of the enemy’s works, and noted
down memoranda in Latin of the information he gathered, and then
retraced his steps to Huntington, where a boat was to meet him and
convey him back to the Connecticut shore. Unfortunately a British
guard ship was at that time anchored out of view in the Sound, and had
sent a boat on shore for water. Hale mistook it for the expected boat,
and did not discover his mistake until he found himself in the hands
of enemies. He was stripped and searched, the plans and memoranda were
found concealed in the soles of his shoes, and proved him to be a spy.
He was conveyed to the guard ship, and thence to New York, where he
was landed on the 21st of September, the day of the great fire. He was
taken to General Howe’s head-quarters, and, after brief parley with
his judge, ordered for execution the next morning at daybreak—a
sentence carried out by the provost marshal, the brutal and infamous
Cunningham, who refused his request for a Bible, and destroyed a
letter he had addressed to his mother, for the reason after wards
given by himself, “that the rebels should never know they had a man
who could die with such firmness.” His patriot spirit shone forth in
his dying words,—“I only regret that I have but one life to lose for
my country.”
Footnote 37:
From a copy among the papers of General Hand.
Footnote 38:
The commission was sold by Sir Henry Clinton, for the benefit of
André’s mother and sisters. The king, also, settled a pension on the
mother, and offered to confer the honor of knighthood on André’s
brother, in order to wipe away all stain from the family, that the
circumstance of his fate might be thought to occasion.
Footnote 39:
Speech of the Hon. Henry J. Raymond, at the dedication of the André
monument.
Footnote 40:
See letter of Gustavus to John Anderson. “My partner of whom I hinted
in a former letter, has about ten thousand pounds cash in hand, ready
for a speculation, if any should offer; I have also one thousand
pounds in hand, and can collect fifteen hundred more in two or three
days. Add to this I have some credit. From these hints you can judge
of the purchase that can be made.”
Footnote 41:
We subjoin a British officer’s view of André’s case. “He was tried by
a board of general officers as a spy, and condemned to be hanged. The
American general has been censured for directing this ignominious
sentence to be carried into execution; but doubtless Major André was
well aware when he undertook the negotiation, of the fate that awaited
him should he fall into the hands of the enemy. The laws of war award
to spies the punishment of death. It would, therefore, be difficult to
assign a reason why Major André should have been exempted from that
fate to which all others are doomed under similar circumstances,
although the amiable qualities of the man rendered the individual case
a subject of peculiar commiseration.”—_Origin and Services of the
Coldstream Guards_; by Col. MacKinnon, vol. ii. p. 9.
Footnote 42:
MSS. of Col. B. Tallmadge in possession of his daughter Mrs. J. P.
Cushman of Troy, N. Y.
Footnote 43:
Thatcher’s _Military Journal_, p. 275.
Footnote 44:
The following passages of a letter written by Sir Thomas Romilly in
London, Dec. 12, 1780, to the Rev. John Roget, are worthy of
citation:—
“What do you think of Arnold’s conduct? You may well suppose he does
not want advocates here. I cannot join with them. If he thought the
Americans not justified in continuing the war, after the offer of such
favorable terms as the commissioners held out to them, why did he keep
his command for two years afterwards?...
“The arguments used by Clinton and Arnold in their letters to
Washington, to prove that André could not be considered as a spy, are,
first, that he had with him, when he was taken, a protection of
Arnold, who was at that time acting under a commission of the
Congress, and, therefore, competent to give protections. Certainly he
was, to all strangers to his negotiations with Clinton, but not to
André, who knew him to be at that time a traitor to the Congress—nay,
more, whose protection was granted for no other purpose but to promote
and give effect to his treachery. In the second place, they say that
at the time he was taken he was upon neutral ground; but they do not
deny that he had been within the American lines in disguise. The
letters written by André himself, show a firm, cool intrepidity worthy
a more glorious end....
“The fate of this unfortunate young man, and the manly style of his
letters, have raised more compassion here than the loss of thousands
in battle, and have excited a warmer indignation against the
Americans, than any former act of the Congress. When the passions of
men are so deeply affected, you will not expect to find them keep
within the bounds of reason. Panegyrics of the gallant André are
unbounded; they call him the English Mutius, and talk of erecting
monuments to his memory. Certainly, no man in his situation could have
behaved with more determined courage; but his situation was by no
means such as to admit of these exaggerated praises.”
Footnote 45:
_Letters and Papers relating to the Provincial Hist. of Pennsylvania_,
p. lxiv.
Footnote 46:
_Letters and Papers of Prov. Hist. Pennsylvania_, p. lxvi.
Footnote 47:
_Writings of Washington_, vii. 228.
Footnote 48:
_Memoires de Lafayette_, tom. i. p. 337.
Footnote 49:
_Annual Register_, 1781, p. 52.
Footnote 50:
Related by Dr. Wm. Reed, at that time superintendent of the hospital
department at Hillsborough, to Alex. Garden aide-de-camp to
Greene.—Garden’s _Anecdotes_, p. 350.
Footnote 51:
Williams’ Narrative.
Footnote 52:
_Correspondence of the Revolution_, iii. 188.
Footnote 53:
Quincy’s _Memoir of Major Shaw_, p. 85.
Footnote 54:
Letter to the Executive Council.
Footnote 55:
_Memoir of Major Shaw_, by Hon. Josiah Quincy, p. 89.
Footnote 56:
His last letter to Hamilton, in which he assures him of “his very
great esteem and regard,” was written by Washington but two days
before his death. Sparks, xi. 409.
Footnote 57:
Cornwallis to Lord George Germain, March 17.
Footnote 58:
_Annual Register_, 1781, p. 56.
Footnote 59:
Stedman, ii. p. 324.
Footnote 60:
Stedman, ii. 326. Cornwallis to Sir H. Clinton, see also
_Remembrancer_ 1781, part 1, 303.
Footnote 61:
This sudden swelling of the river has been stated by some writers, as
having taken place on the 29th, on the approach of Cornwallis’s main
force, whereas it took place on the 23d, on the approach of the
_detachment_ sent by his lordship in advance in pursuit of Morgan. The
inaccuracy as to date has given rise to disputes among historians.
Footnote 62:
_Annual Register_, 1781, p. 53.
Footnote 63:
_Annual Register_, 1781.
Footnote 64:
Lee’s _Memories of the War_, i. 319.
Footnote 65:
Letter to Governor Jefferson, March 10.
Footnote 66:
Stedman, vol. ii. p. 346.
Footnote 67:
Sparks. _Correspondence of the Revolution_, iii. 267.
Footnote 68:
Greene to Washington. _Cor. Rev._ iii. 278.
Footnote 69:
See Letter of Cornwallis to Lord G. Germain, April 18 Also _Annual
Register_, 1781, p. 72.
Footnote 70:
_Answer to Clinton Narrative_, Introduction, p. vi.
Footnote 71:
Letter to Major-general Phillips.
Footnote 72:
_Annual Register_, 1781, p. 90.
Footnote 73:
Tarleton. _History of the Campaign_, p. 291.
Footnote 74:
Letter of Paymaster Hughes. See Bolton’s _Westchester Co._, vol. ii.
p. 94.
Footnote 75:
Lee’s _Memoirs of the War_, vol. I. p. 457.
Footnote 76:
Bolton’s _Hist. of Westchester Co._, vol. i. p. 243.
Footnote 77:
_Correspondence relative to Operations in Virginia_, p. 153.
Footnote 78:
Letter to Hamilton, May 23d.
Footnote 79:
Letter to Col. Alex. Hamilton, May 23, 1780.
Footnote 80:
_Memoires de Lafayette_, t. i. p. 445.
Footnote 81:
See Thacher’s _Military Journal_, p. 322.
Footnote 82:
Thacher’s _Military Journal_, p. 323.
Footnote 83:
Washington several years afterwards, speaking of this important march
in a letter to Noah Webster, writes: “That much trouble was taken, and
finesse used, to misguide and bewilder Sir Henry Clinton in regard to
the real object, by fictitious communications, as well as by making a
deceptive provision of ovens, forage, and boats in his neighborhood,
is certain. Nor were less pains taken to deceive our own army, for I
had always conceived where the imposition does not completely take
place at home, it would never sufficiently succeed abroad.”—Sparks,
ix. 404.
Footnote 84:
_Memoirs of Lafayette_, tom. i. p. 467.
Footnote 85:
_Correspondence relative to Defense of York_, p. 199.
Footnote 86:
Thacher’s _Military Journal_, p. 336.
Footnote 87:
Thacher’s _Military Journal_.
Footnote 88:
Given on the authority of Lafayette. Sparks, viii. 201.
Footnote 89:
Chastellux, vol. ii. pp. 19–83.
Footnote 90:
Thacher.
Footnote 91:
Lee’s _Memoirs of the War_, ii. 342.
Footnote 92:
Lafayette to Washington. _Correspondence of the Rev._, iii. 426.
Footnote 93:
Leake’s _Life of John Lamb_, p. 259.
Footnote 94:
Thacher, p. 341.
N. B.—Gordon, in his history of the war, asserts that Lafayette, with
the consent of Washington, ordered that, in capturing the redoubt, no
quarter should be shown; in retaliation of a massacre perpetrated at
Fort Griswold. It is needless to contradict a statement so opposed to
the characters of both. It has been denied by both Lafayette and
Hamilton. Not one of the enemy was killed unless in action.
Footnote 95:
Lafayette to Washington. _Cor. of the Rev._ iii. 426.
Footnote 96:
Thacher, p. 346.
Footnote 97:
Wraxall’s _Historical Memoirs_, vol. ii. p. 99.
Footnote 98:
Afterwards William IV.
Footnote 99:
Quincy’s _Memoir of Major Shaw_, p. 104.
Footnote 100:
Thacher, p. 421.
Footnote 101:
Marshall’s _Life of Washington_.
Footnote 102:
Editor of the _Maryland Gazette_.
Footnote 103:
So, at least, records in homely prose and verse a reverend
historiographer of Mount Vernon. “When old Lord Fairfax heard that
Washington had captured Lord Cornwallis and all his army, he called to
his black waiter, ‘Come, Joe! carry me to bed, for it is high time for
me to die!’”
“Then up rose Joe, all at the word,
And took his master’s arm,
And thus to bed he softly led
The lord of Greenway farm.
“There oft he called on Britain’s name,
And oft he wept full sore,
Then sighed—thy will, O Lord, be done—
And word spake never more.”
See Weems’ _Life of Washington_.
Footnote 104:
Letter of Washington to the Marchioness de Lafayette.
Footnote 105:
Letter to Richard Henry Lee.
Footnote 106:
MS. notes of the Rev. Joseph F. Tuttle.
Footnote 107:
Greene to Col. Wadsworth. MS.
Footnote 108:
This sportive occurrence gave rise to a piece of camp scandal. It was
reported at a distance that Mrs. Olney had been in a violent rage, and
had told Washington that, “if he did not let go her hand she would
tear his eyes out, and that though he was a general, he was but a
man.”
Mr. Olney wrote to Colonel Tilghman, begging him to refute the
scandal. The latter gave a true statement of the affair, declaring
that the whole was done in jest, and that in the mock contest Mrs.
Olney had made use of no expressions unbecoming a lady of her good
breeding, or such as were taken the least amiss by the general.
Footnote 109:
Notes of the Rev. Mr. Tuttle. MS.
Footnote 110:
Communicated to us in a letter from a son of Colonel Lee.
Footnote 111:
George William Fairfax resided in Bath, where he died on the 3d of
April, 1787, in the sixty-third year of his age. Though his income was
greatly reduced by the confiscation of his property in Virginia, he
contributed generously during the Revolutionary War to the relief of
American prisoners.—Sparks’ _Washington’s Writings_, vol. ii. p. 53.
Footnote 112:
We are happy to learn that a complete collection of the correspondence
of General Greene is about to be published by his worthy and highly
cultivated grandson, George Washington Greene. It is a work that, like
Sparks’ _Writings of Washington_, should form a part of every American
library.
Footnote 113:
Sparks, ix. 139.
Footnote 114:
See Letter to James McHenry. Sparks, ix. 121.
Footnote 115:
Letter to Edmund Randolph, governor of Virginia.
Footnote 116:
Mr. Sparks. For this interesting document see _Writings of
Washington_, vol. ix. Appendix, No. iv.
Footnote 117:
_The Madison Papers_, iii. 1624.
Footnote 118:
Letter to Jonathan Trumbull, 20th July, 1788.
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