Lafayette’s arrival on August 4 was a conundrum for d’Estaing, since as a loyal officer of the French court he was duty bound to arrest Lafayette and return him home in irons. But in the year since Lafayette had fled France, news of his battlefield exploits at Washington’s side had made him a hero to the French populace. Moreover, in Narragansett Bay Lafayette was acting as an American officer. So d’Estaing welcomed Lafayette, and he, aware of the difficulties occasioned by his presence, became inordinately helpful to the admiral, aiding in establishing the hospital and transferring sick troops. He also worked hard at assuaging d’Estaing’s amour-propre, almost giggling with him as he contended that Sullivan’s plan of attack would be just a “comedic” opening act to the “grand spectacle that your fleet and troops will provide.”
Lafayette ran into resistance from the American officers with his own plan for the attack, to have the best of the American troops join with him and the French marines. When the American officers objected that this would force their overreliance on untrained militias, as Laurens told his father, the marquis became “dissatisfied” with the discussion and “withdrew his attention wholly from the general interest.” D’Estaing raised the stakes on the joint venture, warning Sullivan: “I dare hope that Your Excellency … will put it in my power to give an account to the King and to the Congress of the Number and goodness of the troops that you shall have joined to the French,” adding that it would be a first occasion to provide Louis with “authentic proof of the value which [the Americans] set upon the alliance of His Majesty.”
Sullivan then willfully usurped French privilege. A day in advance of the scheduled joint attack, upon learning from a British deserter that they had abandoned Butts Hill and withdrawn to Newport, Sullivan landed his troops and occupied that high point. This annoyed d’Estaing, more so than Laurens could bear. He wrote to his father that the French officers took “much umbrage” and “talked like women disputing precedence in a country dance instead of men engaged in pursuing the common interest of two great nations.” D’Estaing, suppressing his irritation, conceded that the high point needed to have been seized, and landed his troops. Together the French and Americans readied themselves to begin a siege.
Almost as soon as they did, the curtain of fog lifted to reveal another dramatic sight: an enormous British fleet standing off the bay. Admiral Howe had arrived with thirty ships including eight ships of the line, some from Byron’s squadron that had been redirected from New York to Newport.
D’Estaing was incensed that the Americans had not warned him of the imminent arrival of a fleet that they had been closely watching for in New York. Fleury, one of the translators on scene, in a report to Sartine said nothing about that anger, commenting only that the admiral, having “sensed the gravity of the situation,” decided to take the battle to the open sea, where he could bring to bear his own capital ships, which were larger than those of the British. Sullivan was of course disappointed in d’Estaing leaving port to fight at sea—any delay in the allied assault would allow Clinton to send more land forces to frustrate it—but understood. Fleury wrote that d’Estaing “did not hesitate to give chase” to Howe, and Sullivan soon informed Washington, “I had the pleasure of seeing [the British fleet] fly before [d’Estaing],” after the count had promised that once he had defeated Howe, he and his ships and marines would return and help Sullivan capture Newport. By the next afternoon, d’Estaing’s fleet was in position to do battle with Howe’s squadron. Then a hurricane struck and blew both fleets to pieces.
Fleury wrote that before that storm had arrived d’Estaing had been about to win the battle, but a less partisan post-battle assessment judged that while “the British admiral [had] maneuvered adroitly, d’Estaing—an army officer who comprehended very little of the complexities of maneuvering at sea”—had not.
For ten days Sullivan, Laurens, Fleury, Lafayette, Greene, and the American troops had no idea where the French fleet was, and spent their time attending to the damage on land from the two-day hurricane, which had upended tents, ruined ammunition, and otherwise caused great destruction. Sullivan commented to Washington:
To combat all those difficulties and to surmount all those obstacles, require a degree of temper and a persevering fortitude which I could never boast of, and which few possess in so ample a manner as your Excellency. I will however endeavour by emulating the excellence of your example, to rise superior to the malevolence of fortune.
On August 20 parts of the French fleet reappeared. Laurens met them and was soon writing a long report to his father explaining that the Languedoc was dismasted and rudderless, and had had to resist a British fifty in that condition. “Imagine the cruel situation of the Count to see his ship thus insulted, after having arrived in the midst of the English squadron and preparing for a combat in which victory was inevitably his.” He then broke off the letter because “The council of war on … the French vessels have determined the squadron ought to go immediately to Boston to refit. I am going on board with a solemn protest against it.” Laurens and others pleaded with d’Estaing for two more days so that their combined forces could win Newport. D’Estaing demurred, believing that the well-entrenched enemy could not be ousted in two days. When Sullivan continued to protest, Estaing informed him: “The express orders I have from the King direct me in case of [facing] a superior force to retire to Boston.”
Sullivan sent d’Estaing’s letter with that phrase to Washington, along with his own assessment of what actually drove d’Estaing’s retreat: “It Seems That the Captains of the French Fleet are So Incensed at the Count Destaings being put over them he being but a Land officer that they are Determined to prevent his Doing any thing that may Redound to his Credit or our advantage.” More likely in this instance was that d’Estaing, as a recent biographer suggests, was a “victim of the state,” keenly aware that disregarding instructions and engaging in battle would get him pilloried at home. But d’Estaing also understood, as he had written to Gérard in advance of action in America, that in collaborating with the Americans “The least act of feebleness or timidity might be very fatal.”
Exiting Newport abruptly certainly had the appearance of timidity, regardless of d’Estaing’s reasons for doing so, and the action quickly drew from Sullivan a letter that assailed d’Estaing with the worst charges he could level—“abandoning” the Americans, an action “derogatory to the Honor of France … & destructive in the highest Degree to the Welfare of the United States of America & highly injurious to the Alliance.” Sullivan added, “This must make such an unfavorable impression on the minds of Americans at large, and create such jealousies between them and their hitherto esteemed allies, as will in great measure frustrate the intentions of His Most Christian Majesty and the American Congress.”
D’Estaing read the letter and underlined the words, “hitherto esteemed allies,” a phrase that encapsulated Sullivan’s insults.
“Would you believe,” Lafayette wrote d’Estaing after the admiral’s departure for Boston, “they dared summon me to a council where they protested against a measure taken by the French squadron? I told those gentlemen that … whatever France did was always right … and that I would support those sentiments with a sword that would never have been better employed.” Lafayette’s next letter was less irate, having understood the deleterious consequences of the fleet’s abrupt withdrawal, which caused disheartenment and desertion in the American militias. He advised d’Estaing that the incident “need not mean falling out with General Washington and Congress, the two great movers of all our undertakings.” D’Estaing must hasten his return to Newport, for only then would the French be “able to revenge ourselves on the English by punishing their insolence and on the Americans by forcing their admiration.”
Washington, apprised of what happened, acted very much as the only adult in the room. He wrote to Lafayette:
I feel myself hurt also at every illiberal and unthinking reflection which may have been cast upon Count d’E
staing.… In a free & Republican government … every Man will speak as he thinks, or more properly without thinking—Consequently will judge of Effects without attending to the Causes. It is in the nature of Man to be displeased with every thing that disappoints a favourite hope, or flattering project, and it is the folly of too many of them, to condemn without investigating circumstances.
But Sullivan had already sent copies of his letter to the newspapers. In Boston it spurred street fights with French soldiers and sailors. A French naval lieutenant attempted to intervene in one brawl after two of his sailors were grievously hurt defending a bakery they had set up on shore. It remained unclear whether the instigators of the fracas had been British provocateurs, British sailors from American privateers in port, or Americans; in any case the fight ended with one French lieutenant’s skull smashed in. The stunned city fathers apologized for the death, tried to curtail further ruffian activities, and pledged to build a monument to the lieutenant bearing the inscription, “May any comparable efforts to separate France from America have a similar outcome.”
On August 26 Sullivan, at Lafayette’s urging, sent new orders to his men: “It having been supposed by some Persons that the Commander in Chief meant to insinuate that the departure of the French Fleet was owing to a fixed determination not to assist in the present enterprize.… The General would not wish to give the least colour for ungenerous and illiberal minds to make such unfair interpretations.” He sent Lafayette to Boston to hurry the French fleet’s return. The ships were not ready. D’Estaing offered to lead his troops overland from Boston to help Sullivan— to himself “become a colonel of infantry, under the command of [Sullivan] who, three years ago, was a lawyer, and who certainly must have been an uncomfortable person to his clients.” The offer was not accepted.
Sullivan decided anyway to make an attempt on Newport. His troops, under Greene, some led by Laurens and other seasoned officers, did not take the garrison but acquitted themselves well. After Washington ordered a full retreat because British naval reinforcements were en route, Sullivan accomplished it without incurring additional bloodshed. In these battles the daredevils Laurens and Fleury were again wounded, and the Rhode Island black unit performed with valor. The morning after the American retreat, one hundred British ships did appear off Newport.
Steuben, who had also undertaken at Washington’s request a mission to Newport to calm Sullivan, returned to headquarters and wrote a note to Gérard perfectly summing up the Franco-American alliance thus far: “America has declared herself independent and France has recognized that independence; but it seems to me that neither one nor the other has taken solid enough measures for the conservation of that title.”
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“Take a bit of courage, have a bit of patience, and all will go well.”
—José Moñino, Count of Floridablanca
The partners had had the sort of falling-out—a result of pique, missed signals, and unfortunate circumstances—that makes both partners miserable but does not obviate the bond that initially connected them or their hope that it will do so again.
Vergennes was still attempting to buttress the future of that alliance. His efforts centered on inducing Spain to join it. The initial roadblock was an unexpected Spanish offer to France and Great Britain to mediate the American war. Was this a genuine proposal to end the war or a ploy to postpone what Vergennes believed to be Spain’s inevitable entrance to that war at the side of France? His annoyance had risen in midsummer of 1778, when Floridablanca hinted to London that Spain’s neutrality could be bought. France had little to gain by entering a bidding war for Spain’s participation, so Vergennes bided his time, and in the fall Floridablanca let Vergennes know that Carlos III had become impatient at the slowness of Great Britain’s response to the mediation proposal.
Yet the Spanish king and his first minister were not unhappy at the lackadaisical pace of affairs because they knew that in Spain as a whole there was a notable dearth of enthusiasm for entering a war on the side of America. The Spanish populace feared the potential spread of American-style rebellion to South America—in Quito, Ecuador, there had already been tax revolts against Madrid similar to those that preceded the American Revolution. Also, neither Spain’s army nor navy was as fully recovered from the devastations of the Seven Years’ War as France’s. When Montmorin, France’s ambassador to Madrid, tried to learn whether Spain would eventually enter the war, Floridablanca offered only a cryptic message: “Prenez un peu de courage, ayez un peu de patience, soyez sûr que tout ira bien” (Take a bit of courage, have a bit of patience, and be certain that all will go well).
* * *
Lafayette was trying to help the alliance too. In the wake of the Newport debacle, he planned a voyage home to France to obtain additional troops, ships, and money for America. Congress commissioned a ceremonial sword for him; he accepted the honor with his usual grace, asking only that his workmen in France be permitted to fashion the sword, as they better knew the family’s devices. While waiting to depart, he issued a personal challenge to Lord Carlisle over the insults to Louis XVI contained in the Carlisle commission’s letter to Congress. Carlisle refused the duel on the grounds that the offending language had not been personal but was part of a diplomatic argument.
Lafayette’s other task before leaving was to keep the Canadian pot simmering.
He distributed a letter to “my Children the Savages of Canada,” saying that he was returning home for a bit but that he would come back to lead them to freedom. Your American and French “fathers,” he wrote, “want to take the thirteen states with one hand and Canada with the other in order to join them together against our enemies.” While still in Boston awaiting a ship, Lafayette discussed an invasion of Canada with d’Estaing, who apparently did not dismiss the notion out of hand despite having instructions to do so. He dutifully matched Lafayette’s proclamation to French-speaking Canadians, exhorting them: “You were born French [and] you have never ceased to be French.” Not long afterward d’Estaing and his squadron departed for the Caribbean, aiming for St. Lucia, toward which, he had been recently informed, a British squadron had just sailed from New York. The admiral vowed to Washington and Congress to return next year and help rid America of the British.
* * *
By year’s end, Steuben was almost finished writing and illustrating a manual of regulations, drills, and model orders for the Continental army. Washington believed that his forces had been overreliant on British army rules that were wildly inappropriate to a citizen-filled army in a republic, and had given Steuben the task of constructing a new set. Steuben could have used as his only source the Prussian regulations that he knew well and prized, but as a student of military affairs he recognized that the most recently overhauled code was France’s, and sought to incorporate French regulations in the manual. He hired Fleury to help interpret those rules, du Ponceau to translate his prose into English, and L’Enfant to illustrate it. The manual’s practical aim was to guide field commanders during combat, but the document was also deeply philosophical: The first objective for a captain “should be, to gain the love of his men, by treating them with every possible kindness and humanity.” The resulting “blue book,” so named for the color of its cover, was a testament to the professionalizing of the Continental army and its debt to America’s French partner.
* * *
First impressions often capture the essence of a situation better than longer immersion, whose plethora of detail can obscure. Conrad-Alexandre Gérard landed in the United States with deep positive feelings for America based on his reading of English literature and his exposure to Franklin and Deane; but he was not in Philadelphia an entire week before writing to Vergennes that there reigned in America’s deliberative body “un esprit de parti” (a spirit of partisanship), with one group constantly negating the activities of the other while all the members were attempting to assure their reelection—activities that made them seem to Gérard as though they were aspirants f
or places in a permanent aristocracy, not in a democracy. Congress, he concluded, was no longer the institution that Franklin had so lovingly described.
Some of Gérard’s instructions were straightforward: have Congress ratify the alliance and sign a document stating that neither country would agree to a separate peace with Great Britain, and to deal with loans and currency questions. More important was Gérard’s hidden agenda: to dissuade the United States from any attempt to annex Canada, and thereby to allow Great Britain to make of that territory a buffer to American expansion; and for the same reason to encourage Congress to yield to Spain’s wishes to control the Mississippi River and the Gulf of Mexico.
This was a rather stunning program. While France desired that its partner obtain full independence, at the same time France wanted that partner, after independence, to be geographically hemmed in, fearing that if it were not, it would become the next great power and threaten France’s resurgent dominance. In Gérard’s first few months at Philadelphia he had to push aside this agenda while he dealt with more immediate problems, such as Congress having neglected to officially turn down the Carlisle commission proposals. In September he convinced them to do so, and also prevented Congress from openly discussing Sullivan’s rash letter of anger at d’Estaing; he reported to Vergennes that he had “neglected nothing … to establish a just opinion of the conduct of the Comte d’Estaing.”
Then Gérard had to direct his energies to the plight of Silas Deane.
For three weeks after landing in Philadelphia, Deane had basked in the glow of a warm welcome home from Washington and Congress, but the latter’s benevolence began to fade once he formally asked to make his report. He appeared in front of that deliberative body by invitation on August 14 but was not permitted to utter a word; his testimony was delayed, rescheduled, and tabled until the late fall, by which time the full scope of the Lee-Adams attack on him had become apparent. The accusations against Deane echoed two recent imbroglios involving other former members of Congress, one in which a quartermaster general was accused of abusing his post for profit, and a second in which the chief of the medical division was charged with selling army hospital supplies to private buyers. In treating Deane poorly, Congress disregarded his having facilitated the military supply of America at a critical moment in the Revolution, his negotiating of the Franco-American alliance, and the contract that entitled him to a fee on transactions he made on behalf of the American government.
How the French Saved America Page 16