FRANCE IN THE REVOLUTION
The rebellion of the colonies had been long expected in France. As early as 1750, Turgot, before the Sorbonne, had compared colonies to fruits which only remain on the stem until they reach maturity, and then drop off.
Vergennes.
Vergennes, in conversation with an English traveller, had predicted: "England will soon repent of having removed the only check that can keep her colonies in awe. They stand no longer in need of her protection. She will call upon them to contribute towards supporting the burdens they have helped to bring on her. They will answer by striking off all dependence."
France had excellent reasons for hating England. Her lilies had gone down again and again before the British flag. Despoiled by England of her American and Canadian possessions, dislodged from her foothold in India, subjected to the espionage, and stung by the arrogance of her enemy, her policy was directed toward one object, the rehabilitation of her former glory at the expense of her greatest rival.[18]
Beaumarchais.
Louis the Sixteenth, young and pleasure-loving, was glad to shift all responsibility upon his able advisers,—Maurepas, whom he tolerated, Vergennes, whom he feared and respected, and Beaumarchais, the son of a watchmaker, author of "Le Mariage de Figaro" and "Le Barbier de Seville,"—whom he cordially admired and loved, and who had probably more influence at court than all the rest put together. These were the men with whom Deane and Franklin labored, with varying result, for many years—sometimes thwarted and discouraged, at others cheered by promises, and sustained by substantial favors. Presents of money were given by France to America, and her ports were open to American trading-vessels. But England had a vigilant ambassador at the French court, watching like a cat lest the plucky little mouse should venture too far. It behooved the mouse to keep well in hiding. He could hope to gain an advantage over his enemy by stealthy diplomacy only.
Silas Deane.
France had, early in September, 1776, sent secret messengers to America to ascertain the state of affairs and report to the court of Versailles. Congress sent Silas Deane, Benjamin Franklin, and Arthur Lee to plead the cause of the colonists at the French court, and negotiate treaties with foreign powers.[19]
Benjamin Franklin.
Franklin, on being selected, had said to Dr. Rush, "I am old and good for nothing, but, as store keepers say of their remnants of cloth, I am but a fag-end, and you may have me for what you please;"[20] but Franklin had strong personal reasons for hating England. Accused once by the solicitor-general (Wedderburn, Lord Loughborough) of stealing political letters, the latter had arraigned him and poured upon his head all the vials of ministerial wrath, branding him as a thief in the most fearful philippic ever pronounced against man.[21] "Franklin stood," says Dr. Priestly, "conspicuously erect during the harangue, and kept his countenance as immovable as wood." He was dressed in a suit of Manchester velvet, which he laid aside and never wore after the terrible lashing of Lord Loughborough; but, "Seven years afterwards, on the termination of the war, so triumphant to his own country, and so humiliating to Britain, he signed the articles of Peace, being then Ambassador at Paris, dressed in the Manchester velvet,"—once the garment of heaviness and humiliation, now the royal robe of triumph!
He became, fortunately, a toast at the French court. The statesman who could write ballads and invent musical instruments possessed a charming versatility which attracted the French. How versatile he still could be, even in old age, is attested by the fact that poets, philosophers, and men of fashion,—Vergennes, Voltaire, Turgot,—nay, the queen herself, admired and sought him. Turgot described him in a line which afterwards adorned the snuff-boxes, medallions, and rings of the court. On these Franklin's head appeared, with this legend, Eripuit fulmen sceptrumque tyrannus, the dignified, old, unpowdered head, its thin hair concealed by a fur cap, which yet had wisdom to guide the hand that "tore the lightning from heaven and the sceptre from the tyrant!"
It was not designed by Providence that America should fail in her contest. Rough-hewn as her methods must perforce be, they were given shape by the hand that guides our ends. Every event here, every move on the chess-board in France, tended to the same result. One of the fifteen decisive battles of the world was fought at Saratoga. "The Capitulation of General Burgoyne to Mr. Gates" (as the English in their wrath expressed it) turned the tide of affairs. It resulted immediately in the alliance with France, so long and ardently desired, without which this country might not have won independence.
Of course, we sent post-haste to tell the good news of this victory to our long-suffering envoy at the French court. The "Capitulation to Mr. Gates" occurred Oct. 17, 1777; the news reached Franklin Dec. 4, of the same year—nearly two months afterward. But we are the last people who should ever lament the want of telegraphic service in our early history. Had such existed during the Revolution, we would surely this day be sending our humble duty, with many gifts, to our Gracious Sovereign, his Most Sacred Majesty, Edward VII, upon his coronation. A polite ambassador would not be nearly sufficient.
General Burgoyne.
When Benjamin Franklin received the news he was quietly dining, not dreaming of any better fortune than that we should be able to hold Philadelphia.[22] No more dramatic scene can be imagined than that which took place on the evening of Dec. 4, 1777, when Jonathan Austin's chaise rapidly drove into the courtyard at Passy and rudely interrupted Dr. Franklin's dinner-party. The guests, among whom were Beaumarchais, rushed out. "Sir," exclaimed Franklin, "is Philadelphia taken?" "Yes, Sir," replied Austin; and Franklin clasped his hands and turned to reënter the house. Austin cried, "I have better and greater news; General Burgoyne and his whole army are prisoners of war." Beaumarchais set out with all speed to notify Vergennes, and he drove with such haste that his coach upset, and he dislocated his arm.
Rochambeau.
It was not, however, until July 10, 1780, that Rochambeau wrote from Newport to Washington: "We are now at your command. It is hardly necessary for me to tell your Excellency that I bring sufficient cash for whatever is needed by the King's army."
Lafayette was holding Cornwallis at Yorktown, having orders from Washington that he was on no account to be permitted to escape. In order to prevent this it was necessary to have the assistance of the French fleet. To this end he despatched a frigate to Cape Henry, where De Grasse was expected to touch, urging him to come up Chesapeake Bay as soon as possible to clear the James River and blockade the York. This word was received by De Grasse, who arrived with his fleet of twenty-eight ships of the line in Chesapeake Bay on Aug. 30, 1781.
De Grasse.
The French forces then joined Washington in a rapid march to Virginia, having made a feint of attacking New York, and thus deceived Sir Henry Clinton. Well for us there were no railroads or telegraph wires in those days! Washington and his allies were not discovered until they were almost in front of Cornwallis.
The march through Philadelphia was a species of triumph. And now who more ready than the Tory ladies to welcome and applaud! "The windows were filled with ladies waving handkerchiefs and uttering exclamations of joy. The ragged Continentals came first with their torn battle-flags and cannon; and the French followed in gay white uniforms faced with green to the sound of martial music. A long time had passed since Philadelphia had seen such a pageant; the last resembling it had been the splendid Mischianza festival, devised by poor André in the days of the British occupation,"[23] and enjoyed, alas, by these same ladies, while these same Continentals were starving and perishing with cold!
They were equal to any situation, these Philadelphia ladies! The first duty of woman, according to them, was to make herself agreeable to the powers that be—the heroes of the hour. Said Washington Irving, "The beauties who had crowned the British Knights in the chivalrous time of the Mischianza, were now ready to bestow wreaths and smiles on their Gallic rivals."
Lord Cornwallis.
Fifteen days after the arrival of the allied forces successful assaults were made upon the enemy's redoubts, Washington putting the match to the first gun; and on Oct. 17, Cornwallis, after having made unsuccessful efforts to relieve his position and to escape by water, proposed a cessation of hostilities and the appointment of commissioners to settle terms of surrender. On Oct. 19, in pursuance of articles of capitulation, drawn by Vicomte de Noualles and Colonel Laurens, representing the allies, and Colonel Dundas and Major Ross, representing the British, Lord Cornwallis surrendered; the English marching out to the tune, "The World's Turned Upside Down,"—a fact which was, no doubt, accepted by the brave Cornwallis as the only solution to the turn events had taken.
"The work is done and well done," said Washington as he heard the long shout of the French and the Americans.
To Maurepas, in France, Lafayette wrote:—
"The play is over, Monsieur le Compte, the fifth act has just come to an end."[24]
"It's all over now," said our old friend Lord North,[25] heartily relieved, we may well believe, to be rid of all the bother.
At midnight on Oct. 23, 1781, Philadelphia was startled by the cry, "Cornwallis is taken." And on Oct. 24, on motion of Mr. Randolph, it was resolved, "That Congress at 2 o'clock this day go in procession to the Dutch Lutheran Church and return thanks to Almighty God for crowning the allied arms of the United States and France with success by the surrender of the whole British Army under the command of the Earl of Cornwallis."[26]
But not with joy and gratitude was the news received by old Lord Fairfax, who had given Washington his first opportunity in life. He had liked the fifteen-year-old lad, had taught him to follow the hounds, and been his cordial friend as long as he fought for the Crown. Lord Fairfax, "the Nimrod of Greenway Court," was now ninety-two years old. "When he heard," says the irrepressible Parson Weems, "that Washington had captured Cornwallis and all his army, he called to his black waiter: 'Come, Joe! Carry me to bed, for it is high time for me to die.'"
"Then up rose Joe, all at the word
And took his master's arm.
And thus to bed he softly laid
The Lord of Greenway farm.
"There oft he called on Britain's name
And oft he wept full sore.
Then sighed, 'Thy will, O Lord, be done,'
And word spake never more."
The old Royalist's heart had broken with grief and disappointment.
But how was the aged mother to hear the news? Would her heart break with the sudden access of joy?
Washington himself despatched a courier to her with the news of the surrender. She raised her hands to heaven and exclaimed with the deepest fervor:—
"Thank God! Thank God! All the fighting and killing is over. The war is ended and now we shall have peace and happiness."
GREENWAY COURT.
Mindful of her age her son would not come to her suddenly and unheralded. He could not come immediately. He had to attend to the distribution of ordnance and stores, the departure of prisoners, the embarkation of troops, to say nothing of the courtesies of the hour—such as the selection of two beautiful horses as a present to De Grasse, who did not sail until Nov. 4. He was then summoned in haste to Eltham, the seat of his old friend Colonel Bassett, there to fold his tender arms around the dying form of Parke Custis and receive his last breath. Years before, he had thus comforted the sweet young sister, "Patsy Custis," in her last hour.
Martha Washington, the mother, and the wife and four children of Parke Custis (who was only twenty-eight years old) were all at Eltham, and with them Washington remained until the last tribute of respect was paid to the deceased. And that he might comfort his wife and help the young widow, he then and there adopted George Washington Parke Custis and Nellie Custis into his family.
From Eltham he proceeded immediately on pressing business with Congress at Philadelphia, and not until Nov. 11 did he reach Fredericksburg.