CHAPTER / 16
While Washington rode eastward on March 2, a clerk wrote carefully across the Journal in Philadelphia: “The ratification of the Articles of Confederation being yesterday compleated by the accession of the State of Maryland. . . .” Washington knew, of course, that some sort of ceremony would attend Maryland’s ratification, but he had not been told when the documents were to be presented, and, had he been informed, he would not have expected an immediate change for the better. As his horse struggled with the mud of late winter, the sole question raised by the action of Maryland was whether the Articles of Confederation would help bring recruits to camp, bread and meat to the men, and full support to the French Admiral who soon was to show the fleur-de-lis again in Chesapeake Bay.
The party reached the Newport Ferry March 6 and went to the flagship, Duc de Bourgogne, where Rochambeau, Destouches and all the senior officers had assembled to welcome the Commander-in-Chief. After introductions, Washington went ashore, to the bark of a grand salute, and found that the French troops had been drawn up on either side of the route to Rochambeau’s quarters. Splendid soldiers they were, well uniformed and finely accoutred. The interest of the General, of course, was not in the warmth of the reception accorded him but in preparations for the departure of the French fleet. Destouches must be as far south of Newport as possible before Arbuthnot had word at Gardiner’s Bay that the French were weighing anchor. Everything was ready on the seventh, as Washington saw it, for Destouches to sail. Nothing happened. The next day the Fantasque ran aground, but Destouches sent word the vessel soon would be floated. About sunset, the French men-of-war sailed triumphantly out, the magnificence of the spectacle marred, in Washington’s eyes, by the delay in staging it. Three days thereafter the worst possible result seemed probable. Lookouts reported that on March 10 the British fleet had gone to sea with as much assurance as if Arbuthnot had the reckoning of Destouches’ flagship. The American commander no longer permitted himself to assume that the fleet from Rhode Island would get to Virginia before the British.
Washington’s return journey was by way of Lebanon. Over an exceedingly bad road he reached Headquarters March 20, but he found there no reports that relieved his anxiety. On the twenty-first he received word of the presence of Destouches’ squadron in Hampton Roads. Was it now too late? American spies and lookouts insisted a fleet of transports had left Sandy Hook March 13. These assuredly were being sent to Chesapeake Bay and, on arrival, would make Arnold dangerous again. Recent perils were redoubled. Virginia might be subjugated and Greene destroyed. Washington reminded himself, again and again, that “we ought not to look back, unless it is to derive useful lessons from past errors, and for the purpose of profiting by dear bought experience”; but this time, when he saw America’s affairs brought, as he said, “to an awful crisis,” he could not deny himself the reflection that great opportunity had come when the French vessels temporarily outnumbered the British. He did not wish his friends to think he had failed to urge the utmost be made of it, and he explained the circumstances when he answered communications from Philip Schuyler, Joseph Jones, William Fitzhugh and John Armstrong, though he carefully marked the paragraph “Private.” In a hasty letter to Lund Washington, he said somewhat awkwardly:
. . . this I mention in confidence, that the French Fleet and detachment did not undertake the enterprize they are now upon, when I first proposed it to them; the destruction of Arnolds Corps would then have been inevitable before the British fleet could have been in a condition to put to Sea. Instead of this the small squadron, which took the Romulus and other Vessels was sent, and could not, as I foretold, do anything without a Land force at Portsmouth.
For a man of cheerful self-mastery Washington’s mood was of the blackest when, on March 30, doubt over the outcome of the French naval expedition was removed. He learned that Destouches and Arbuthnot had met off the Virginia Capes on the sixteenth, engaged for an hour and then broken off an action neither seemed anxious to press. Although the advantage, except in casualties, was on the side of Destouches, he had decided that the British could outsail his fleet, could get into the Chesapeake before him, and that, therefore, it seemed best to return to Newport. Details were reported within a few hours after the first news. French leaders were anxious to convince Washington that Destouches did his utmost. Next time, they said, he might have better luck.
Anxiety for Destouches’ fleet had been matched by anxiety over Greene. As early as March 15 it had been known that Greene defiantly had recrossed the Roanoke River and had a somewhat less gloomy prospect, though he was weaker than some members of Congress were inclined to think. At last, on March 31, Washington received a brief dispatch from him, with a copy of a report the commander of the Southern Department had sent Congress regarding a battle with Cornwallis at Guilford Court House, North Carolina, on the fifteenth. In a hot action, British discipline and persistence had driven Greene from the position he had chosen, but he had inflicted losses that would burden British adversaries who had destroyed their wagons and had little equipment with which to care for their wounded. Some leaders, hearing this encouraging news, applied Pyrrhus’s lament to Cornwallis: another such victory and he would be undone. Washington was more cautious in his judgment. He held to his belief that the troops who recently had sailed from New York had been dispatched to reenforce Cornwallis. They now were said to be fifteen to sixteen hundred in number, under Maj. Gen. William Phillips, and were free to land at Portsmouth, Wilmington, or any other harbor from which they could march expeditiously to Cornwallis. Arnold, too, might be strong enough to join Cornwallis with part of his forces or to shape his plans in cooperation with those of the General.
Whatever advantage Greene might have gained at Guilford Court House would be cancelled if Greene had to face Cornwallis, Phillips and perhaps half of Arnold’s command. Could Washington give assistance? Recruiting showed no improvement; food was as scarce and transportation as feeble as ever; the prospect of the regular supply of clothing was improved by the resignation of James Wilkinson as Clothier General, but men still were being returned unfit for duty because they were almost naked. With French aid from Newport it might be possible to execute a demonstration in front of New York that would prevent further detachment of British forces to Virginia; but beyond this, what could be done to help Greene? One possibility of relief in the Southern Department was the dangerous course of sending Lafayette to Greene. Should the Marquis go to Greene despite Destouches’ failure, or should he resume his place in an Army that thereby would admit its inability to reenforce Greene? Washington thought the subject of sufficient importance to justify a council of war. The unanimous decision was to reverse the march of Lafayette, who already was moving north from Annapolis, and to send him to join Greene. Orders to this effect were forwarded April 6. Approximately two weeks later Washington received from Greene a dispatch that told of Cornwallis’s withdrawal from Guilford Court House to Wilmington. That town was at a greater distance than Greene could attempt to cover. “In this critical and distressing situation,” said Greene, “I am determined to carry the war immediately into South Carolina.” He explained: “The enemy will be obliged to follow us, or give up their posts in that State. If the former takes place, it will draw the war out of this State, and give it an opportunity to raise its proportion of men. If they leave their posts to fall, they must lose more there than they can gain here. If we continue in this State, the enemy will hold their possessions in both.”
Lafayette was well advanced on his march when Washington learned of this bold plan. Would the Marquis be able to go as far as Greene might proceed? Could Lafayette afford to leave Arnold and Phillips to do their worst in Virginia while he moved to the Carolinas? Everything depended on Greene and his men, on the rally of Virginia and North Carolina, and, as always, on the hope that the French would have more ships of war on the coast than the British manned. Until that great day arrived the American cause might sink lower and lower. In a letter to Lau
rens, Washington reviewed some of the struggles against nakedness and hunger: “. . . why,” he said, “need I run into the detail, when it may be declared in a word that we are at the end of our tether, and that now or never our deliverance must come.”
To all the anguish of leadership there now was added personal humiliation of a sort Washington had not known during the entire war. In a post captured during the final days of March by Loyalist partisans near Smith’s Clove was a full and candid letter on the military situation written by Washington to Benjamin Harrison. Washington took the loss stoically and perhaps did not recall the contents of other communications that had found their way to the desk of his adversary, if indeed, he knew which had been captured and which had gone by a different post. Then, about a fortnight after this incident, the General found in Rivington’s Gazette of April 4 a brief extract from the letter he had written Lund Washington when he had felt that the small size of de Tilly’s squadron and the delay in the sailing of Destouches’ ships had cost the allies an opportunity of destroying Arnold. Publication of the criticism was certain to be offensive to Rochambeau, Destouches and the other French leaders whose support was more desperately needed than ever. Washington had told Laurens it was “now or never” with French deliverance. Could it be that a careless letter had increased the chance the answer would be “never”?
Rochambeau’s dispatch on the subject was so dignified and restrained that it scarcely could be called a protest. Washington left the drafting of an answer to Hamilton, who submitted a text that displayed both frankness and self-restraint. In the paper the Colonel placed before him, Washington expressed his regret “that an accident should have put it in the [enemy’s] power to give the world anything from me which may contain an implication the least disagreeable to you or to the Chevalier Destouches.” Washington went on: “Whatever construction it may bear, I beg your Excellency will consider the letter as to a private friend, a gentleman who has the directions of my concerns at home, totally unconnected with public affairs, and on whose discretion I could absolutely rely.”
Another embarrassment came in a letter of Lund Washington’s, followed by one Lafayette sent from Alexandria on April 23. These papers explained that when a British sloop came up the Potomac many Negroes left Mount Vernon and joined the enemy. Lund himself went aboard, carried food to the officers and consented to supply provisions in hope that he might procure the return of the slaves. “This,” said the Marquis, “being done by the gentleman who in some measure represents you at your house will certainly have a bad effect, and contrasts with spirited answers from some neighbors that had their houses burnt accordingly.” Washington’s sense of justice told him that Lund had done this to save Mount Vernon from possible destruction, but he could not withhold a stiff rebuke. He told his manager: “. . . to go on board their vessels; carry them refreshments; commune with a parcel of plundering scoundrels, and request a favor by asking the surrender of my Negroes, was exceedingly ill-judged, and ’tis to be feared, will be unhappy in its consequences, as it will be a precedent for others, and may become a subject of animadversion.”
Now, as usual, Washington’s troops were hungry if they were not naked, without pay when not without food. Every effort to keep the Army together was hampered by the smallness of his staff. Hamilton declined to resume his regular place. The determination of the General to do absolute justice was not shaken but he could not accede immediately to Hamilton’s appeal for field assignment. Washington undertook to get proper rank and seniority for the self-effacing Tench Tilghman who, with David Humphreys, temporarily constituted the official “family.” Jonathan Trumbull, Jr., the choice of Washington for the post of military secretary, promised to join the staff early in June; other appointees were under consideration.
By May 13, Washington saw that large opportunity awaited his troops if they could be fed. Luzerne wrote that he was going to urge Destouches to make another effort in the Chesapeake. Washington had a thousand positive wishes for this, and forwarded Luzerne’s letter to Destouches; but an express from the east brought word that command at Newport had changed: on the sixth the French frigate Concorde had landed at Boston the Comte de Barras, who was to relieve the temporary successor of de Ternay. The same frigate included among its passengers the Viscomte de Rochambeau, son of the General. A shower of letters from the senior, from Barras, from General the Chevalier François Jean de Chastellux, and from Destouches, conveyed intimations that the younger Rochambeau had important dispatches. An early meeting with Washington was much desired by Rochambeau and Barras. The reply of the American commander was immediate: He would be happy to meet the gentlemen on May 21, and, as the Connecticut Legislature would be in session at Hartford, he would suggest Wethersfield for the conference.
Washington set out May 18 for Wethersfield. As the second day’s ride was nearing its end a group of gentlemen met the General and escorted him to Joseph Webb’s house at Wethersfield. May 21 Washington and his officers rode up to Hartford to welcome Rochambeau, who arrived about noon. The French commander was accompanied by Chastellux and an official “family,” but there was one disappointment: Barras had been detained in Rhode Island by the appearance of a British fleet, assumed to be that of Arbuthnot.
The next day Rochambeau confirmed the content of dispatches from France: A large fleet under the Admiral Comte de Grasse had left Brest, with infantry reenforcements on transports, and was going to the West Indies; but when this fleet had passed the Azores, vessels with six hundred troops were to be detached and, under the escort of the Sagittaire, were to proceed to Newport. With this accession of strength, where should the French take the field? That was what Rochambeau wished most of all to consider.
The obvious alternatives were Virginia and New York harbor. Either the French and Americans had to proceed overland to Virginia or they must conduct operations in New York. What was the judgment of Washington? The American commander did not hesitate: Could not the situation in Virginia be relieved more economically and more readily, in the controlling circumstances, by attacking New York than by attempting anything else? In event the enemy could not be challenged at sea, no better plan seemed to Washington to be within the means of the French and Americans than that of threatening vigorously the reduced garrison of New York. Clinton then would have to recall troops from Virginia or risk the loss of his most valuable base. Subtraction from the force of the enemy might serve Greene and Lafayette almost as well as additions to their own numbers. Would it not be incomparably easier to move the French from Newport to the lower Hudson than to attempt to drag the whole Army to James River in Virginia? Nothing short of the transfer of all Clinton’s troops to the South could justify that ordeal.
Rochambeau had another and exciting question: The principal French fleet was going to the West Indies—he did not say why or for how long—but if a naval reenforcement were to appear on the coast, how did Washington think it should be employed? The General replied that a choice of plan depended primarily on the size of the squadron. It might be used to help in the New York operations; it might be of largest good in circumstances not foreseen. The second of these possibilities was suggested because it was plain that a fleet of superior strength could intercept supplies for the enemy in Virginia and the Carolinas and thereby stop almost immediately the progress of Cornwallis and his columns. The nearer hope was in having de Grasse come to New York where he might cut off Arbuthnot from that base or seal the British ships in the harbor. Barras then would be free to join de Grasse. After that, any advantage that sea power could yield the allies might be within their grasp. The Frenchmen consented that Washington might bring the question to the attention of Luzerne and might say they were of one mind with the American in urging that de Grasse come to the coast of the United States. Washington forthwith addressed the French Minister, whom he urged to write the Admiral. When Washington dismounted at the New Windsor Headquarters about sunset May 25 he could tell himself that the conference had been successful, exce
pt for the absence of Barras whom it was most desirable he know personally; but, as generally happened, bad news awaited him: Martha was quite sick; the enemy’s forces from Canada were said to have reached Crown Point, whence it was thought they might penetrate into the valley of the Mohawk. This danger from the direction of the New York lakes continued to hang over Washington, but it did not become acute while he was making his initial preparations for the joint attack on New York. To that operation news from Virginia and the Carolinas gave the spur of immediacy. The enemy in Virginia had advanced as far as Petersburg, and on April 25 Lord Rawdon had made a successful sally from Camden, South Carolina, which Greene had been besieging. Washington thought this investment did vast honor to Greene and forecast the loss by the British of more of their isolated posts in South Carolina, unless Cornwallis marched to relieve them; but, meanwhile, what was to be the fate of Virginia, whither the British seemed to be making ready to send still more troops from New York? There even were rumors of a transfer of the entire British army to Virginia, in which event the difficulties of land transportation could not be permitted to stand in the way of a similar movement by the Continental Army.
The very next development threatened to destroy the whole of the Wethersfield plan. As Washington had few expresses and no cipher for correspondence with Greene and Lafayette, his own seal and the vigilance of the post rider were his sole security of such military secrets as he had to transmit. In spite of previous capture of embarrassing letters, the General on May 31 wrote Lafayette via the regular public channels that the joint operation of Americans and French was to be against New York primarily because “it was thought that we had a tolerable prospect of expelling the enemy or obliging them to withdraw part of their force from the southward, which last would give the most effectual relief to those States”—the secret of all others it was important to keep from the British. This precious paper was in a mail taken from the carrier June 3 by “an artful and enterprising fellow.” Sir Henry Clinton valued the seizure so highly that he gave the captor two hundred guineas, but he could not refrain from boasting of his good luck and foolishly let it be known that he was acquainted with the plans of the Americans. Washington, on his side, tried to depreciate the importance of the disclosures and sharpen the question the British soon began to ask—was the letter a ruse? The awkward reality persisted: If Washington made active preparations for an attack on New York, would not Clinton conclude that the dispatch to Lafayette was authentic and that Washington was trying to tempt the British to recall troops from Virginia?
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