How the French Saved America

by Tom Shachtman

  Shelburne now dispatched to Franklin Richard Oswald, seventy-seven, a Scottish merchant; and to Adams he sent Henry Laurens, paroled from the Tower (Oswald provided the bail), in the belief that Laurens was anti-French and still had affection for Great Britain. Oswald and Laurens, once partners in the slave-trading business, crossed the Channel together in early April. Meanwhile Fox decided to send his own man to Paris, Thomas Grenville, son of a former first minister.

  Adams and Laurens were old friends. Stung by learning that he was no longer the sole American commissioner in charge of making peace, Adams had the perfect excuse for remaining in the Netherlands: to complete arrangements for a Dutch loan. It was desperately needed by the United States since British ships, now unopposed in the western Atlantic, were blockading American ports and killing American commerce. Laurens informed Adams that Great Britain was thinking about ceding Canada and Nova Scotia to America. What might be demanded in exchange was unclear, so Adams was skeptical. He was also unwilling to negotiate without consulting his fellow commissioners. To Franklin and to Congress, Adams touted what he construed as his major accomplishment of this period, Dutch recognition of U.S. sovereignty and independence. Actually recognition was a by-product of the French ambassador’s machinations, but that did not diminish its utility in future negotiations with Great Britain.

  From Paris, Franklin soon reported to Laurens: “I told Mr. Oswald that I could make [no propositions] but in Concurrence with my Colleagues; and that if we were together we should not treat but in Conjunction with France.” To Adams he wrote drily that Oswald was “selling to us a Thing that is already our own”—independence. Meanwhile Franklin pleaded with Jay to come to Paris. “You would be of infinite Service [here]. Spain has taken four Years to consider whether she should treat with us or not. Give her Forty. And let us in the mean time mind our own Business.”

  From America, Foreign Secretary Livingston advised Jay to threaten Spain with the U.S. marching its army and militias to the Mississippi to defend American claims. Jay was prepared to do so. Recounting to Livingston an unexpected summons from Floridablanca after more than two years of being kept at arm’s length, Jay said that he would now argue to the Spanish minister that since the United States and Spain were at peace, “Why then should we be anxious for a Treaty with her, or make Sacrifices to purchase it?… Why therefore not postpone it?”

  With the Dutch now on board, the Spanish stiff-armed, and Great Britain pledged to negotiate, it was no wonder that in the spring of 1782 Jay and Adams refused to adhere to their year-old congressional instructions not to negotiate without Vergennes nor to agree to any settlement until Louis XVI had approved it. Franklin was somewhat shaken by his colleagues’ willingness to disregard congressional instructions and pointedly asked Jay whether he would do so deliberately. Jay responded:

  Unless we violate these instructions the dignity of Congress will be in the dust.… Our honor and our interests are concerned in inviolably adhering to [the Franco-American treaties], but if we lean on [France’s] love of liberty, her affection for Americans, or her interested magnanimity, we shall lean on a broken reed that will sooner or later pierce our hands.

  Jay and Adams were willing to wait to complete the settlement until France had a chance to ratify it, but wanted to begin separate negotiations. Franklin had to agree, as did Vergennes, lest such negotiations proceed to his country’s detriment.

  Separate negotiations! Here was incontrovertible evidence that the Franco-American connection was coming apart. The breakup wasn’t France’s fault and it wasn’t America’s; it was simply the final stage of a relationship whose halcyon days were past. Together the allies had had a grand victory; but what had initially impelled them to get together and enabled them to act jointly—their aligned self-interest—now mandated that they go their separate ways. And the break-up underscored that their conjoining had always been little more than an alliance of convenience.

  * * *

  The approach of the alliance’s end was hastened by circumstances beyond the control of parties—revolts in Geneva and the Crimea. In Geneva, then under French control, revolutionaries took over the city and French troops were summoned to put down that revolt in concert with the forces of other European nations. Another insurrection, in May, drove the Russian-installed leader from Crimea. The Crimeans then applied to the Ottoman Empire for recognition as one of its provinces, which led Russia and Austria to trigger previously agreed-upon plans to dismember what remained of the Ottoman Empire. “I can see clouds on the European political horizon which demand all our attention,” Vergennes wrote to Montmorin. “We will probably succeed in dissipating them if peace [with Great Britain] is not too far away, but … it will take a lot of skill and care to prevent some violent convulsion in the system as a whole.” Reasoning that a Russian/Austrian attempt to take over the Ottoman Empire would upset the balance of power that France, Britain and Spain wanted to maintain, Vergennes concluded that it also discredited any Russian or Austrian offer to function as neutral mediators of a peace among France, Spain, Great Britain, and the United States.

  Louis XVI had a more personal upset at a Russian intervention that spring, as in Paris the Empress Catherine’s son put on a private reading of Beaumarchais’s play, The Marriage of Figaro, which Louis had banned for its deprecations of the administration, its pointing up of the chasm between rich and poor and nearly every other problem encountered by the downtrodden.

  Then the news arrived from the Caribbean of the defeat and capture of Admiral de Grasse.

  Having gone to the West Indies for the purpose of completing the second part of the Saavedra plan, the taking of various British islands and then a large Franco-Spanish assault on Jamaica, de Grasse had had initial triumphs and managed in several encounters to get the better of Hood’s fleet. But he was unable to capture Hood’s swifter copper-bottomed warships. Then Rodney arrived back in the Caribbean, suffering mightily from gout and often confined to a deck chair, and steaming with anger at the French seizing of his stash on Saint Eustatius. Rodney concealed his anger when he and Hood sent de Grasse some choice provisions for a Martinique celebration of the birth of the Dauphin—de Grasse returned the favor with a present of two chests full of island liqueurs—but in early April Rodney saw an opportunity to make a crushing blow, and took it.

  Learning that de Grasse was to shepherd a convoy in the Canal de Saintes passage between Dominique and Guadeloupe, Rodney and Hood positioned their fleets so as to force de Grasse to break off that task and confront them. The ensuing Battle of the Saintes lasted for several days; unlike the Battle of the Virginia Capes, it featured fighting each and every day, and in a relatively confined passage rather than on the open sea. On April 22, because the Ville de Paris had become so riddled through its three decks and had exhausted its ammunition, de Grasse felt that he had no choice but to surrender the vessel. His second, Vaudreuil, disobeyed standing orders never to abandon the flagship and chose instead to flee, with the majority of the French warships and the convoy, to a Spanish-protected port.

  But the Ville de Paris was taken, the César sank when an accidental fire exploded its magazine, killing four hundred Frenchmen and a British prize crew of fifty, and five more French warships were captured. Six French captains died and de Grasse was wounded; later estimates put the full total of captured and wounded at fourteen to fifteen thousand. “Oh France,” Rodney wrote his wife, “what joy it gives me to humble thy pride, and lower thy haughty insolence!” De Grasse was headed for captivity in London.

  Vergennes downplayed to Louis the seriousness of the defeat, arguing that while this “check” in the Antilles was “very unfortunate, it is not irreparable,” because the lost vessels could be replaced within the year. He began a patriotic public relations campaign, in part so that France would not seem to be impacted during the peace negotiations.

  Congress, wanting to help France after this debacle, offered the newly completed seventy-four-gun America; France ac
cepted the offer—which had the unexpected side result of sidelining its captain, John Paul Jones, who had looked forward to continuing his raids with the new ship.

  * * *

  In mid-May 1782 Grenville returned to Versailles. On May 26 he offered to the foreign minister, “without being provoked to it … threw at my head, so to speak, the Cession of New York, Charleston, and Savannah,” Vergennes confided to Montmorin. The American cities constituted quite a bribe, but since he still considered France bound by the Franco-American alliance, Vergennes rejected the Grenville offer.

  France’s refusal led to arguments within the British cabinet that culminated in a vicious showdown on June 30 over a Fox desire to preemptively offer independence to America. Fox lost that vote. The next day, July 1, Rockingham died, and on hearing that news Fox resigned. George III then appointed Shelburne as first minister and allowed him also to retain the portfolio of foreign minister.

  Shelburne had always seen himself as a modern Oliver Cromwell, and according to a recent biographer his assumption of full power gave to him, as it once had to Cromwell, the chance to “save the nation in direst straits, constitution corrupted, dominated by the inept and self-serving, and threatened by powerful and hostile forces abroad.” But Shelburne would first have to get rid of that sticky problem, the war in America. He had been convinced of the path to doing so, in part, by his reading of his friend Adam Smith’s An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, published in 1776, whose last chapters argued that Great Britain could be saved from the economic disaster of the Revolutionary War only by granting independence to the United States and then embracing it as the best British trading partner. Shelburne was keenly aware that the idea had also been championed by British trade organizations, whose antipathy to the North government had assured its fall. Addressing Parliament now as first minister, Shelburne declared that “if the sun of England would set with the loss of America, it [is my] resolution to improve the twilight, and to prepare for the rising of England’s sun again.” Few understood his ulterior meaning—that the new rise was not to be warlike but rather an ascension to the position of trading colossus, with America as Britain’s main partner.

  By then, Jay had joined Franklin in Paris. Although both were quite ill, over the course of four days they drew up a list of American demands that on July 10 Franklin read to Oswald. It consisted of “necessary” and “advisable” elements of any peace between Great Britain and the United States. “Necessary” were the full and complete independence of the United States and the withdrawal of all British troops; the settling of “the boundaries of their Colonies”—meaning the western colonies of the original thirteen states; a confinement of Canada to its boundaries prior to the 1774 expansion; and fishing rights off Newfoundland and Nova Scotia. “Advisable” were Great Britain’s acknowledgment of war guilt; indemnification for damages; the ceding of Canada to the United States; and a waiving of customs duties for U.S. goods entering the British Isles. Oswald had previously reported to Shelburne Franklin’s remark “that the more we favoured them [the Americans] … the more they could do for us in the conclusion of the separate treaties.” The Franklin-Jay list showed that the Americans were quite willing to distance themselves from France: “The Doctor did not in the Course of [our] Conversation hesitate as to a Conclusion with [us], on account of any Connection with those other states [France, Spain, and the Netherlands].”

  * * *

  In Philadelphia, the Franco-American alliance was still intact, and celebrating. La Luzerne had readied a large gala in honor of the birth of the Dauphin. The guests included Washington, Rochambeau, many members of Congress, governors, and fifteen hundred others.

  Rochambeau attended because his army was on the move. During the winter the weather in Virginia had been unseasonably cold—enough to freeze wine, which distressed the French—but when it had turned warmer Rochambeau had brought his troops northward. He had done so slowly, taking an entire month to reach Baltimore. Towns by the wayside were delighted at his leisure because at every stop he spent a lot of hard cash to buy provisions and accommodations. By the time he reached Baltimore, word had arrived of the British resolution forbidding new offensive operations, and of the fall of the North government. Rochambeau then prepared his army to return to France from Baltimore. But the next news, of the de Grasse defeat in the Caribbean, returned the Rochambeau army to its slow march, which brought them to Philadelphia in time for the July 15 celebration.

  Rochambeau discussed with his American hosts what to do with a Vaudreuil fleet that suddenly appeared in Chesapeake Bay long after his own forces had left that area; some American politicians wanted to use it to attack Canada. The idea went nowhere, among other reasons because Washington did not want to invade Canada—and no one was happier at the quashing than Vergennes. He confided to La Luzerne that whatever “hinders the conquest of that country [Canada] enters essentially into our designs. But you will understand, of course, that this way of thinking must remain an absolute secret to the Americans. It would be an offense [for which] they would never forgive us.”

  The main battle action in America during the summer of 1782 was near Charleston, where Greene led the American forces. John Laurens had gone to participate in it and he created a network of spies, many of them black, to keep Greene informed of British maneuvers. At a moment when the British high command was considering the abandonment of Charleston without a fight—something that Greene did not know—Greene sent a battalion to counter a British foraging expedition. The battalion was ambushed near Beaufort, and in the first volley Laurens was shot off his horse and died. He was twenty-seven.

  * * *

  In mid-July, Shelburne advised Oswald that he could tell Franklin Great Britain would accept American independence. Oswald conveyed the news. At last! Yet as the Franklin scholar Jonathan R. Dull emphasizes: “Franklin won this victory not because America’s bargaining position was so strong but rather because Shelburne was anxious for peace.”

  John Jay was not convinced that independence had been won, since the structure of the dual negotiations would allow Great Britain to construe independence as conditional, to be resolved only when all the treaties were signed. With Franklin sidelined by illness, Jay insisted to Oswald that if Great Britain truly accepted American independence, Oswald’s instructions must be changed to state definitively that he was dealing with the United States of America—currently, his commission referred to “Colonies or Plantations.” Franklin, as always eager for unanimity among his colleagues, agreed with Jay. Since Oswald would not consent to the change, Jay canceled their next meeting. In the Netherlands a few days later, Adams learned that the commission of another British diplomat also presumed he was dealing with colonies rather than with an independent country. Direct U.S.–Great Britain negotiations were put on hold.

  * * *

  A new negotiator then came to the fore: de Grasse. Since his capture, the British had treated him very well, and after landing at Portsmouth he had been taken to meet the king and queen—the king used the occasion to return de Grasse’s sword to him—and he was visited in his rooms at a hotel by several members of the cabinet and high government officials. De Grasse also sat for his portrait, wearing the sash of the Croix de Saint-Louis. Before his departure for France on parole on August 12, de Grasse held peace discussions with Shelburne. On August 17 the gist of those discussions was conveyed to Vergennes by de Grasse’s nephew: American independence was to be complete and absolute; France would get back Saint Lucia and give back Dominica and Saint Vincent; Dunkerque would be restored to French control; France would be guaranteed fishing rights off Newfoundland, as well as the African slave-trading post in Senegal and some additional trade space in India. Spain, in this formulation, would hold on to West Florida and receive either Minorca or Gibraltar, providing that Great Britain kept the other as a fortified base.

  Vergennes thought that these terms represented substantial concessions for the British
, and had they not come from a messenger of such probity as de Grasse he would have wondered if they were a ploy. He forwarded the terms to Madrid.

  In Paris, Jay had been dealing with Aranda, Spain’s long-serving ambassador, and they were very far apart on America’s boundaries. Spain claimed all of what was then known as the Northwest—Michigan, Illinois, Indiana—and the Southwest, meaning the Mississippi Delta and the Floridas. Jay insisted that the American western boundary be the western bank of the Mississippi River. They were so deadlocked that Aranda asked Vergennes to help, and Vergennes gave that task to Gérard de Rayneval, brother of Conrad Gérard.

  The results of Rayneval’s assistance were nearly disastrous for America. On September 6, 1782, he handed Jay a paper. It repeated the Aranda line, which La Luzerne had also been trying to hammer home to Congress: that America “cannot extend its territories beyond the bounds of its conquests.” Therefore all the lands south of the Ohio River would be Spain’s, while the “fate” of the lands north of the Ohio “must be decided by the Court of London.” Jay and Franklin—and Adams, when he learned of this—were stunned, as this assertion by Spain confirmed all their suspicions of betrayal by their French allies, especially when Rayneval, after handing Jay this paper, left for London.

  There Rayneval’s ostensible task was to discover whether what de Grasse had orally conveyed was an accurate reflection of British thinking. Shelburne told him it was not precisely so but was close. The two men quickly realized that they were of like mind about ending the war. “I not only wish to contribute to the re-establishment of peace between our sovereigns, but also to bring about a cordiality which will be to their reciprocal advantage,” Shelburne told Rayneval. “If we join together and are truly in agreement, we can lay down the law to the rest of Europe.” That matched what Rayneval knew to be the fondest visions of Vergennes and Louis XVI.