Even had he felt it proper to discuss the outcome of the trial, he would have been too busy. His long wait for news from Rhode Island was ending in a confusion of reports and of events worse, if possible, than the silence and the fog of the sea. Washington had received word on August 4 that d’Estaing had anchored safely off Rhode Island July 29 and that the promise of high achievement still held. Then the Commander-in-Chief heard little for days, either because Sullivan was preoccupied or because he ambitiously had resolved to conduct the campaign in his own way. Almost the only intelligence of importance developing in New York was that on August 7 Lord Howe’s men-of-war had sailed from Sandy Hook—a voyage that Washington considered to have no other purpose than that of a demonstration against Sullivan and d’Estaing, unless, the British Admiral expected reenforcement while at sea. This news was followed, on the eighth, by a dispatch in which Sullivan announced that the British at Rhode Island had destroyed the whole of their naval vessels, four frigates and a tender, a little squadron that Washington had hoped d’Estaing could compel the enemy to surrender intact.
By August 13, Washington had an extraordinary dispatch of the tenth from Sullivan. Few details were given in Sullivan’s letter, as he proceeded immediately to this disconcerting review: The French had on the eighth passed up the Middle Channel, and silenced two batteries. Early on the morning of the ninth, hearing that the British had evacuated the northern end of Rhode Island, Sullivan had begun landing troops in order “to prevent their reoccupying the works.” This was an advance in the schedule of the operations about which d’Estaing was unaware, and he had not put his troops ashore on the opposite side of the island. Sullivan consequently threw his line across to the Middle Channel, facing south, and sent a request to the Admiral to disembark the French contingent.
Before this message reached d’Estaing or Sullivan even had completed his transfer of force to the island, some of the lookouts, nearer the open sea, had a sight that made every man gasp and wonder: the morning fog suddenly lifted; to the south were ten white dots on the gray ocean, the sails of large ships. Minute by minute the number increased until about thirty could be counted. At one o’clock steady eyes and good telescopes made out the colors. They were British. By 1:30, no less than thirty-five vessels were in sight. Lord Howe’s fleet had arrived at the worst conceivable time—when the French warships were high up the Middle Channel and Sullivan’s troops landed where they might be cut off and destroyed.
After Sullivan’s report explained that a “small and unfavorable” wind compelled the French to keep their position for the remaining hours of the ninth, the paper before Washington’s eyes ran to a climax:
. . . this morning [the Admiral] got underway with a fine breeze, passed the batteries at Newport and those which are below, with all his ships of the line and went in chase of the English fleet. At 11 o’clock I had the pleasure of seeing them fly before him. The Count has left three frigates in the East Passage. It is out of my power to inform you when we shall make the attack on the enemy as it is uncertain when the French fleet will return, and I think it necessary to wait their arrival as their troops are on board.
Washington knew that Sullivan’s force soon would reach a total of approximately nine thousand, and he continued of opinion that Howe’s appearance at Newport was no more than a demonstration, but anxiety was deepened by a violent storm from the northwest on August 12-13. D’Estaing had promised he would return, a guarantee Washington accepted. Until it could be fulfilled, Sullivan must make the best of the situation. Reports that reached White Plains during the next few days did not strengthen Washington’s optimism. Nothing had been heard of d’Estaing, and the American commander felt uneasiness that a fleet short of water should be compelled to remain so long at sea, but he renewed his hopes of success when he found that Sullivan was recovering confidence.
Had the commander at White Plains been informed of happenings around Newport prior to the departure of the French fleet, he would have been alarmed no less for the outcome of the experiment in cooperation than for the safety of d’Estaing’s ships. Sullivan’s ambition to win a shining triumph combined with his inexperience as a military diplomat had produced discord from the first. Where Washington or Greene would deferentially have suggested cooperation, Sullivan had written in plain, direct words: “I wish . . . your Excellency would make a show of landing your troops. . . .” And again, “you will move your ships. . . .” Sullivan thus aroused a measure of resentment in d’Estaing’s heart. D’Estaing was disappointed in the more serious matter of American preparations. “Creator of what was called an army by the General,” the French commander wrote later of Sullivan, “we found that the troops were still at home.” When Lafayette approached, “he announced that he had soldiers; he appeared with nothing but militia,” though he soon won d’Estaing’s admiration for the rapid disciplinary improvement of his force. The French were dissatisfied also with the arrangements for supplying water and provisions. When Sullivan had changed his plan, d’Estaing had been surprised but had resolved to do his full part. Later the arrival of the British without any previous warning from American Headquarters made the French marvel, half in disgust, at the incompetence of Continental espionage.
By August 21 Washington heard that some of Lord Howe’s ships had returned to Sandy Hook on the seventeenth. Rumors were circulating, also, of a naval battle and of the approach of a British squadron under Vice Admiral John Byron. Reports told of a large concentration of transports at the southwestern end of Long Island Sound. On the twenty-fourth Washington received an alarming letter that Sullvian had written August 21. The commander on Rhode Island spoke of the “situation of Languedoc and another ship of the line” which evidently had been dismasted in the recent violent storm at sea. One other man-of-war was missing. With his damaged fleet, d’Estaing had returned to the vicinity of Newport but had almost determined to go to Boston for the repair of the crippled vessels. This would leave the American troops stranded where they might be over-whelmed by Pigot’s force with a little help from any British squadron that might arrive. A later dispatch from Sullivan came before daylight on August 25 with a diversity of papers that had passed between French and Americans. As Washington put the facts together from these exchanges he acquired this better understanding of what had happened in Rhode Island: After the departure of d’Estaing’s fleet, Sullivan had made his dispositions for attack, and under the cover of a protective fog he had established his batteries. During the progress of this work, Sullivan heard not a word from the French, with the result that by the sixteenth he became alarmed that he might not have the promised support of d’Estaing. When Sullivan at length received dispatches, the French fleet was again off Newport but d’Estaing proposed a change of base on the ground that Boston had better facilities for repairing ships. In giving notice of his proposed move, the Admiral requested that three frigates and a corvette which had remained when the ships of the line had put to sea should rejoin the fleet at Boston. Sullivan was outraged. The general officers joined in a protest that summarized the arguments for the retention of Newport as the French base. Departure, said the officers, was “highly injurious to the alliance formed between the two nations,” but d’Estaing with all the war-vessels sailed away on the night of August 21/22.
Had the affair ended here, it would have been militarily disappointing but it would not have threatened danger to the alliance. D’Estaing probably could have reported nothing worse to his government than that the Americans were not sufficiently adept in war to conduct offensive operations, and the Americans could have said that they had done their utmost but had encountered delay, British good luck and an adverse act of God in the storm that scattered the French fleet. But the temperament of Sullivan and the plight of his forces prevented this easy and amicable termination of an unpleasant episode. His ambition balked and his utter defeat not improbable, Sullivan lost his head. Through General Orders of August 24 he made references to the French in these words: “T
he General cannot help lamenting the sudden and unexpected departure of the French fleet, as he finds it has a tendency to discourage some who placed great dependence on the assistance of it. . . . He yet hopes the event will prove America is able to procure with her own arms that her allies refused to assist her in obtaining.”
This inexcusable slur prompted Sullivan’s advisers, Lafayette in particular, most earnestly to urge a retraction that might reduce the ill will Sullivan’s language was certain to create. The General did not change his mind but he undertook in General Orders of August 26 to erase his mistake. Whether he concealed his anger by his words might be doubted, but he probably went as far as his embittered feelings permitted.
Lafayette, according to Greene, “did everything to prevail upon the Admiral to cooperate with us that man could do,” but the Marquis’s “great thirst for glory and national attachment,” the same witness had to confess, “often [ran] him into errors.” Naturally, too, when d’Estaing was accused in officers’ conversation of “deserting” the Americans, Lafayette’s French blood rose and he defended d’Estaing with so much vigor that he provoked heated answers. “I am,” he protested to the Commander-in-Chief, “more upon a warlike footing in the American lines than when I came near the British lines at Newport.”
News of these unhappy developments came, item by item, to Washington. He concluded that further offensive attempts at Newport were impossible and that the sole strategical question was the manner in which Rhode Island could be evacuated without undue loss. What could be done for the exposed troops on Rhode Island depended both on what they could do for themselves and on the naval force that might be employed against them. When Sullivan at length reported a successful withdrawal to the northern end of Rhode Island, Washington called a council of war on his next maneuver but he did not find himself content with the advice of his Generals to stay where he was. Especially was he made uneasy by a report on September 2 of the arrival at Sandy Hook of six seventy-fours under Rear Admiral Hyde Parker. Fortunately, fear for the safety of Sullivan was relieved September 4 by a dispatch in which the General announced the uncontested withdrawal of his force on the night of August 30/31.
By September 4, d’Estaing had been for a week at Nantasket, though Sullivan and some even of his own officers had doubted whether he could complete the voyage with his crippled ships. Once there, he received a hurried visit from Lafayette, who wanted to know his plans and, particularly, whether he could not return to Newport; but the chance of this was past, and—what was more important—the passions aroused by the Admiral’s departure and Sullivan’s offensive order were less fiery. As soon as Washington had ascertained the heat of the feeling on both sides, he had decided that all attempts at conciliation should be deferred until tempers had cooled.
The first foreign officer whom Washington undertook to bring back to normal friendly relations was, of course, Lafayette. Washington did not run great risk that Lafayette would put salt into the wounds of expectation. D’Estaing, from the first, showed less resentment than he felt towards Sullivan. In replying to a letter Sullivan wrote after the fleet left Newport, the Admiral declined further argument. He went on: “If during the coming centuries, we of America and France are to live in amity and confidence, we must banish recriminations and prevent complaints. I trust the two nations will not be forced to depart from moderation in their conduct but that they will reflect in all their public affairs that firmness and consideration for public interests necessary to unity between two great nations.” Washington, Hancock, Gates, Greene and other leaders did all they could to assuage the feelings of d’Estaing and allay the wrath of those who thought the Admiral had run from a fight. Congress did its utmost, too, in preventing a fracture of the strained alliance.
From careful observation of incidents reported to him at White Plains, Washington sensed that amity was not restored as completely as Sullivan thought and he continued to labor for fullest cooperation and quick repair of the damaged French men-of-war. He was prompted by mysterious British ship movements to start Gates’s Division on September 10 for Danbury, Connecticut, in event reenforcements were needed on the coast of Massachusetts; but Washington could do nothing to prevent such outrages as developed from this British raid, which involved the burning of Bedford and Fair Haven in southeastern Massachusetts and the forced requisition of sheep and cattle on Martha’s Vineyard.
This was followed by a succession of land maneuvers on the part of Sir Henry Clinton’s New York forces. One or two transfers of men appeared to threaten serious consequences; other marches seemed designed to tease the Americans and keep them uneasy. Washington shifted some of his troops to deal with anything that might be involved in the landing on September 24 of strong British reenforcements at Powles Hook, but force without vigilance was vain. On the night of September 27/28, Col. George Baylor and the troopers of his small regiment were surprised at Old Tappan and were destroyed as a fighting force. A simultaneous demonstration at Dobbs Ferry necessitated a general alert, dictated the opening of Field Headquarters at Fishkill, and gave Washington an uncomfortable two weeks before the Redcoats withdrew. Washington had to face an organized protest by no less than 213 officers who felt that Congress was denying them a decent life and was stingy to the men who had led regiments that had been disbanded or consolidated. Attempted adjustment of disputed seniority in the artillery led to violent protests by two of the best-known artillerists of the Army, Lieut. Col. Eleazer Oswald, who resigned, and Col. John Lamb of New York, who fumed but stuck to his guns.
Other soreness and heartburning was connected either with the old bickering over rank and seniority or with the peculiarities of ambitious men. Mifflin had tendered his resignation; Charles Scott, a useful Brigadier, was talking of retirement. Lafayette created a sensation and made himself ridiculous by sending a challenge to the Earl of Carlisle, head of the British Peace Commissioners who still lingered vainly in America. The Marquis accompanied his theatrical gesture with a request for a furlough in order that he might return to France and survey the opportunities of service there and in Canada. Congress poured on the unction of formal thanks and yielded to his persistent application for the reward and compensation of his aides. Kalb was irritatingly maladroit in asking promotion for French officers; Thaddeus Kosciuszko was anxious to serve with Gates, was jealous of Duportail’s control and was retained with difficulty in his assignment at West Point. Count Pulaski several times showed himself defiantly undisciplined, but because he was stationed in or near Philadelphia, his behavior exasperated the Delegates more than it troubled Washington.
Everything locked together in one bewildering puzzle of personnel, equipment, supplies, finance and resources in the early autumn of 1778. British ship-movements were as baffling as ever. Gates interpreted rumors to forecast an attack on Boston, an offensive that seemed improbable to Washington. Various observers thought the enemy was preparing to attempt the subjugation of South Carolina. President Laurens shared this view and doubtless sponsored in Congress the election of Benjamin Lincoln to succeed Robert Howe in command of the Southern Department. Virginia and North Carolina were called upon to supply militia reenforcements. Washington’s own estimate of Clinton’s plans shifted with events, but when intelligence was received in mid-October of contemplated or actual embarkation of as many as five or six thousand troops in New York, he concluded that some of these regiments were bound for the West Indies and some for South Carolina. At the same time, he conceded something to the fears of New England and increased Gates’s force by three brigades, and then on October 23 he ordered McDougall eastward. Gates was authorized, at discretion, to proceed to Hartford but not to go farther until it was certain the British were bound for Massachusetts. A week passed without news. Then Washington learned of a resolution of the Delegates in Philadelphia that directed him “to order Major General Gates forthwith to repair to Boston.” This made no real difference, but the action of Congress aroused the jealousy of Sullivan, offended the
pride of Heath, and stirred antagonism between the more belligerent of Gates’s supporters and Washington’s. In this temporary, half-concealed renewal of strife, the recuperated Conway had a hand—perhaps his last disservice to America—by again presenting Gates as the persecuted savior of the country. The victor of Saratoga was left idle and isolated when the “scare” of an invasion of New England died away quickly.
Washington awaited disclosure of British plans and returned to sharpening dull tools by working the treadle of the old grindstone of disciplinary routine. Other duties of the autumn tried both his heart and his judgment. Because of the shortage of flour in New England, the “convention Troops” of Burgoyne’s army were sent to Charlottesville, Virginia; numerous proposals for action against hostile Indians were canvassed and rejected or deferred; preparation was begun for a large raid into Canada but laid aside as impracticable in winter. Scarcely had this scheme been abandoned when Washington received on November 4 the text of a detailed plan for a joint French and American invasion of Canada in 1779. This had been considered by Congress, which had voted to send a copy of the plan to Benjamin Franklin and another to Washington with instructions to communicate it to Lafayette. It was not wise, Washington reasoned, to disclose to a citizen of any other country the considerations that might be decisive in passing judgment on the undertaking. Although Lafayette spoke of the project as if it had originated with him, Washington thought it might have emanated from the court of France and he examined it most carefully. His conclusion was that France and America jointly would not have sufficient strength for the conquest of Canada in 1779.
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