So, at the same time the combined forces of Washington and Rochambeau were heading south, soldiers in the Pennsylvania line were marching in the same direction. One of the Pennsylvania officers, whose name has been lost to history, kept a journal, recording the daily events common to all armies on the march, with comments on the weather, which had so much effect on their spirits and comfort level (or lack thereof), along with departures from the norm. His first entry notes that the officers were sick from “excess of drinking.” The next day they were under the weather for the same reason, this time with some suffering fits. Then they had to spruce up—wash their clothing and burnish their weapons—for a review by the governor of Pennsylvania and his lady. Crossing a river, a boat carrying ammunition sank, injuring a sergeant, while three men and two horses drowned.
They slogged through rainwater “half a leg deep” before reaching Virginia, about which the writer had little good to say: “Nothing but Negros and Indian Corn, the soil being in Genl. very poor and the Timber chiefly Pine.” Several days later they arrived at their destination, joining Lafayette’s command, and for the next two weeks marched and countermarched at all hours of the day and night, hoping to meet the enemy on favorable ground, but not until the end of June—on a “day the hotest I ever felt”—did they see any action. They tried to intercept Lieutenant Colonel Simcoe’s cavalry, but Lafayette ordered them to withdraw, fearing that “the Whole British Army would come in pursuit” of them.
One man was shot for desertion; their regimental doctor and two soldiers drowned. Then they had a skirmish on July 6 near Jamestown, where the British again outnumbered them, costing the Pennsylvanians 24 killed, 107 wounded, and the loss of two six-pounders. During this period they visited Richmond, where they found much of the city destroyed by Arnold and great numbers of slaves with smallpox who were dead or dying. They also encountered Baron Steuben, who gave them a lesson in maneuvers to be employed in a siege.
During the ninety-eight-day period between May 26 and September 1, they had spent sixty-seven days marching, traveling at least 735 miles (an average of nearly 11 miles a day).
* * *
ONE MAN WHO kept his finger on the pulse of the constantly changing situation in Virginia was George Mason, squire of Gunston Hall in Alexandria. This former delegate to the Continental Congress had one son, William, who had just returned from militia service in South Carolina, and another, Thomson, who was recently back from a tour of duty on the James River, so their father had up-to-date information on the state’s militia when he wrote on June 3, 1781, to his eldest son and namesake in Paris.
An enemy fleet commanded Virginia’s shores and was able to move British troops “from place to place, where they please, without opposition, so that we no sooner collect a Force sufficient to counteract them in one part of the Country, but they shift to another.…” He informed young George of Lafayette’s whereabouts, and his reinforcements from Pennsylvania. Greene was in South Carolina and had taken all the enemy’s posts there except Charleston; General Phillips had died recently; Arnold succeeded him but was soon superseded by Cornwallis, who was now in overall command of the enemy army in Virginia.
British forces were rampaging through the state, burning tobacco warehouses and plundering the country. If only the French fleet would arrive, Mason added, it would immediately change the face of affairs, “but it has been so long expected in vain, that little credit is now given to reports concerning it.” As George Mason, Jr., knew, his family’s part of Virginia was a Whig stronghold, “well affected to the french alliance, yet they grow uneasy and restless & begin to think that our Allies are spinning out the war, in order to weaken America, as well as Great Britain & thereby leave us, at the End of it, as dependent as possible upon themselves.” Perhaps this was an unjust opinion, but it was natural that it was held by many farmers and planters, heavily burdened with taxes, whose sons were frequently taken from their families for military duty. Those people saw readily enough how the British fleet could move troops hither and yon around the continent and how a strong French fleet would have prevented this from happening.
Mason did not know how much longer Americans could hold out against the unequal opposition of Great Britain. France clearly wanted the states separated from England, but “by drawing out the thread too fine & long, it may unexpectedly break in her hands.”
In conclusion, he wrote, “God bless you, my dear Child! and grant that we may meet again, in your native country, as Freemen; otherwise, that we may never see each other more, is the prayer of your affectionate Father, G. Mason.”
* * *
WHILE THE ALLIED generals had their own concerns, Sir Henry Clinton was reckoning with the threat that he might be attacked. He was well aware of the movement of the allied troops, since most of their line of march from King’s Ferry on the Hudson to the Delaware lay along a route he took to be an operation against Staten Island. He was also receiving accurate data from his network of spies and alert patrols. After the Wethersfield conference General Chastellux had written to La Luzerne to say that despite Rochambeau’s opposition, he had persuaded the latter to attack New York, and at the same time Washington wrote to Major General John Sullivan with roughly the same message. Both letters were intercepted by Clinton’s men, and the British general—eager to spread discord—gleefully sent Chastellux’s letter to Rochambeau under a flag of truce, saying that he “ought to be on guard against his associates.” Rochambeau, in a frosty reply, requested Clinton to refrain from sending him further flags of truce “because they would no longer be received, since General Washington was the commander-in-chief of the combined army.” At the same time Rochambeau summoned Chastellux, asked if he recognized the letter, and when he admitted that he did gave him a dressing-down, adding that “Although he would not have expected such conduct from him, to show him … that he did not wish to report it to the court, he was burning his letter, hoping that this lesson would be sufficient.” These letters and, especially, the presence of the boats Washington had brought along as props strengthened Clinton’s belief that Staten Island was an allied objective.
Understandably, Rochambeau was increasingly disturbed by what he perceived as Washington’s indiscretion, but in this instance there is strong reason to believe that the American commander wanted the information leaked to the enemy. Whatever the truth of the matter, Clinton sent Cornwallis a copy of Washington’s letter along with an order to send two thousand of his troops to him at once and to take a defensive position at Williamsburg or Yorktown.
When the allied forces appeared on the east side of the Hudson near King’s Bridge, just fifteen miles from lower Manhattan, it became clear to Clinton that he was threatened and would have to have reinforcements from Cornwallis in order to defend New York. Upon hearing that the two hundred jägers plus loyalists posted at King’s Bridge had skirmished with the enemy, he was apprehensive that a full-scale attack was imminent and rode to the scene immediately to size up the situation. Seeing that nothing could be attempted without bringing on a general action—which he was not prepared to do—he took heart from Washington’s withdrawal to White Plains and figured his advanced post in Westchester was adequate as long as the allies made no further moves against it.
In the meantime he kept turning over in his mind the possibility of launching an attack on Philadelphia. He and Cornwallis had been arguing over this by mail, Clinton taking the position that the city contained the rebels’ “principal depots of stores for the campaign, an immense quantity of European and West India commodities, and no inconsiderable supply of money, which their uninterrupted trade and cruisers have lately procured them.” Furthermore, he argued, bitter experience had convinced him (and should convince Cornwallis) that no possibility existed of reestablishing order in any rebellious province “without the hearty assistance of numerous friends. These, My Lord, are not, I think, to be found in Virginia.… But I believe there is a greater probability of finding them in Pennsylvania than in a
ny except the southern provinces.” The earl, he pointed out, had tried to find the purported Tory strength in the Carolinas and had failed. The only remaining source of loyalist support lay in and around Philadelphia, and as long as he remained in command, he intended to exploit the situation there.
* * *
WORD ARRIVED AT allied headquarters that Barras would sail from Newport to Virginia on August 21. This welcome news meant that de Grasse’s fleet would be beefed up, making it superior to anything the British could muster, but even so, questions remained. The allied generals now knew when and where they would march, but the fiction of an attack on New York had to be maintained lest Clinton assail them while they were on the move, and at a certain moment the British general would know with certainty that they were bound for the South. To date, even the men in Washington’s army had to guess what was happening: as Surgeon Thacher wrote, “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.”
A message from General David Forman, who was at a lookout post near Sandy Hook in New York harbor, produced a flurry of excitement and suspense. He reported eighteen large British ships of war off the Hook; if these were added to those formerly under Arbuthnot, it would give the British twenty-nine—possibly a few more than de Grasse had. The next day Washington, who had passed through Princeton to Trenton, heard again from Forman. This time the news was more encouraging. The fleet he had spotted consisted of only fifteen ships of the line and four frigates. Whether they were under Rodney or Admiral Graves could not be determined, but it meant that the British strength was not twenty-nine but twenty-two, at most.
One group of French officers took advantage of their stop in Princeton to examine the terrain and replay the battle Washington had won there in 1776. All of them had studied military history and battlefield topography as part of their education, and this was too good an opportunity to be lost. At a relaxed moment they gathered around a table covered with maps showing the evacuation of Boston, Burgoyne’s surrender, and one based on the engraving by William Faden, showing the surprise of Trenton and the march on Princeton. On a visit to the French camp Washington passed the tent of these officers, looked in and saw what they were studying, and “Despite his modesty … seemed pleased to find thus assembled all the successful and pleasant events of the war.” He joined them at a tavern and had some Madeira and punch, after which they all mounted horses and escorted him back to his camp.
On August 30, after learning that Rochambeau had heard from Lafayette that Cornwallis had retired to York and entrenched his army, it dawned on the junior officers that they were headed for Virginia to confront the British general and his army.
7
A PARTIAL ENGAGEMENT
From Chatham, New Jersey , on August 27, General Washington wrote to Governor Thomas Nelson of Virginia, who had succeeded Thomas Jefferson in June, telling him that plans had changed, that the combined armies were heading south to join a formidable fleet and land forces under Admiral de Grasse to “strike a blow at the Enemy in Virginia.” In order for this operation to succeed, it was imperative that the state of Virginia supply the allies with salted provisions,* beef cattle, forage, and teams of horses with wagons. He was confident of victory over Cornwallis but could not emphasize enough the need for Virginia to cooperate. “Let me entreat your Excellency that every exertion may be made to feed and supply our army while we have occasion to continue in the State.” That put it squarely up to the governor, who in fact had just issued a broadside announcing the arrival of the French fleet and calling for “Vigorous exertions” to ensure the conquest of the British. He urged all militiamen to turn out “with a gun of any sort,” and everyone was asked to supply flour and spirits in particular, plus cattle, wagons, and horses. “Not a moment is to be lost in the Execution of this Business,” he added.
Passing through Trenton, Washington proceeded toward Philadelphia in company with Rochambeau, Chastellux, and a host of French officers, and on the outskirts of the city they were met by members of the City Guard, who escorted them into town. The American commander met a number of old friends and then rode to the home of the financier Robert Morris, where he set up headquarters. He paid a visit to Congress, which was in terrible straits: in recent months as many as five states were sometimes unrepresented; it had no credit and was attempting to hold off creditors; while members were working on a treaty with Holland, trying to determine the borders of Vermont, and endeavoring to patch up the weak Articles of Confederation. But as far as taking action went, Congress, to all intents and purposes, was impotent.
Following the generals, the French and American armies marched south, with the French continually enthralled by the countryside—especially the fertile New Jersey farmland and the charm of Trenton, with its many handsome buildings. En route through Pennsylvania they commented on the “rich and large villages” and the fine countryside that had escaped the ravages of the British when they abandoned Philadelphia. Even Baron Closen’s disappointment at finding no good Rhine wine in the vicinity was somewhat mollified when he tasted a pear cider, which he declared delicious.
On August 30 the French officers traveling with the army entered Philadelphia and made their way to the assembly hall, where the generals and local notables awaited them. After downing a rum punch, they went to La Luzerne’s residence, where “Rochambeau and his staff were housed like princes,” and dined that evening at financier Robert Morris’s home, where they had “all the foreign wines possible with which to drink endless toasts” to the kings of France and Spain, the United States, and the speedy arrival of the Comte de Grasse, while in the city’s harbor several vessels fired salutes in honor of the occasion. Later the city was illuminated in tribute to Washington, who strolled through some of the principal streets surrounded by enthusiastic admirers. He can hardly have been in the mood for toasts; he was writing Lafayette to say, “I am distressed beyond expression to know what is become of the Count de Grasse, and for fear the English fleet, by occupying the Chesapeake (towards which my last accounts say they were steering) should frustrate all our flattering prospects in that quarter.” It was no easy time for a man whose heart was set on the success of a plan of enormous complexity. As soon as Lafayette had news of any kind, he was to send it “on the Spur of Speed, for I am almost all impatience and anxiety.…”
On the afternoon of September 2 the American army made its appearance but did not halt; thanks to the hot, dry weather the troops marched through town and raised a cloud of dust “like a smothering snow-storm,” according to Surgeon James Thacher, who found it embarrassing “as the ladies were viewing us from the open windows of every house as we passed through this splendid city.” The line of march was a good two miles long, and “The general officers and their aides, in rich military uniform, mounted on noble steeds elegantly caparisoned, were followed by their servants and baggage.” Behind each brigade came several fieldpieces and ammunition wagons, and the soldiers, he reported, “marched in slow and solemn step, regulated by drum and fife.”
Certainly, no private soldier in the ranks wore a “rich military uniform” comparable to those of the officers, and it came as a shock to Philadelphians lining the streets to see these dirt-caked, threadbare men who made up the army of the United States. Nor did the troops look to be enjoying themselves despite the cheers from the crowd. Some two thousand of them—Colonel Alexander Scammell’s Continental light infantry, the Rhode Island and Moses Hazen’s regiments, two regiments of Continentals from New York, John Lamb’s artillerymen, light infantry from Connecticut and New York, plus sappers and miners—a mixed bag, to be sure, were thoroughly unenthusiastic about heading south into what they regarded as an unhealthy climate, far from home. More to the point, they had received no pay and were not about to embark on a new adventure without some of that money in negotiable coins in their pockets. The impasse was resolved when t
he obliging Rochambeau loaned Washington twenty thousand dollars so the Continental Army could continue south.
Few of those men looked forward to the road that lay ahead, for these marches were exhausting, even under ideal circumstances. Private Joseph Plumb Martin wrote years after the war, “… I have felt more anxiety, undergone more fatigue and hardships, suffered more every way, in performing one of those tedious marches than ever I did in fighting the hottest battle I was ever engaged in.…”
For the young men and boys who had rarely, if ever, been away from home and were every day more distant from their loved ones, the longing for families could be painful, and Francis Barber meant to see that his wife wrote him regularly and kissed their children, George and Polly, over and over again for him. In mid-July he sent off a letter numbered 6 and said how anxious he was because only that day had he received a message she wrote on June 1. That said, he proceeded to lecture her sternly on how often he wished she would write, and at what length. He did not want apologies about how she was in a hurry or that it was too late at night to write fully. Think how you would feel, he said, if after four weeks of anxious waiting for a letter one was handed to you “written on the quarter of a sheet of paper; your last, my dear Nancy, comes under [that] description.”
He was enjoying “uninterrupted health,” he told her, despite the hardships of their march, which had “robbed me of all my fat” and made him “the colour of an Indian.” The letter was signed, “I have the happiness to be, dear Nancy, your most faithfull and affectionate husband, F. Barber.” Under the date on the letter someone has written in pencil, “Killed at Yorktown.”
On the same day the Americans paraded through Philadelphia, General Sir Henry Clinton sent a message to Lord Cornwallis: “By intelligence which I have this day received, it would seem that Mr. Washington is moving with an army to the southward, with an appearance of haste; and gives out that he expects the cooperation of a considerable French armament. Your Lordship, however, may be assured that if this should be the case, I shall endeavour to reinforce your command by all means within the compass of my power.…” Whether Cornwallis realized it or not, this meant that he was going to be dependent on the navy to bring him reinforcements or, if necessary, remove his army from the peninsula he had chosen to occupy.
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