The Story of the British Army

by Charles Cooper King

The first attempt to reach the nominal capital, Philadelphia, had thus failed. The next was more direct, and was to be assisted by an invasion from Canada. The latter can be dismissed in a few words. General Burgoyne selected so bad a line of march on Saratoga, not far from Albany, on the upper reaches of the Hudson, that he was compelled to surrender there. The fighting had been most severe. At Stillwater and other places, the 9th, 20th, 21st, 62nd (who in this war got their name of “Springers,” from acting as the light infantry, whose order to advance was “Spring up”), the grenadiers, and the light companies of the 35th and 24th behaved with the greatest gallantry, as did the 9th, of which regiment there is an interesting story to tell. With the army its warlike stores should have been surrendered; but the colonel of this regiment, with a feeling that can be comprehended, without actual sympathy, removed the colours from the staves and secreted them. On returning home, they were remounted, and presented to the king, who returned them to the officer, to be retained as an heirloom. Passing through many hands, they finally descended to the Chaplain of the Royal Military College, Sandhurst, who presented them to that institution, where, “trooped” by a battalion of the regiment then at Aldershot, they were placed in the college next the pair of colours which were borne by the 9th during Peninsular fights. But those which were carried in America are distinguished from the later ones by the absence of the St. Patrick’s Cross in the “Jack.”

Meanwhile, Howe’s army, concentrated at New York after its retreat from the Jerseys, had put to sea, and, sailing south, had landed in the estuary of the Chesapeake. Washington, from the neighbourhood of the Hudson, moved down to meet him, taking up a position behind the Brandywine, but he was badly beaten by an outflanking attack, and fell back behind Philadelphia to Valley Forge, and the British occupied the capital. The battle proved conclusively that neither the American levies nor their leaders were yet able to cope with regular forces in a pitched battle. The waiting game was better, and the night attack on Germanstown a few weeks later only failed because of the grim tenacity the 40th Regiment showed in the defence of Judge Tew’s house at the entrance of the village. Beyond this, little was done in the winter of 1777, but Howe returned home, and was succeeded by Sir Henry Clinton, who soon withdrew from Philadelphia, and returned with the army to New York, by way of the Jerseys, where a sharp rearguard action was fought at Monmouth Courthouse, and again the Colonists were defeated in their effort to disturb the retreat. Again it was evident that the natural semi-guerilla warfare which they had first adopted was more suitable to their powers than more serious tactics. Throughout, Washington had shown little real military skill, and his tangible success was once more due to his adversary’s faults.

But one great event followed on the surrender of the British at Saratoga and the return of Clinton to New York. France, who had so long openly sympathised with the Colonists as to permit American privateers to sell English prizes in her ports, had formed with the States a commercial treaty, in which they were referred to as being “in full possession of independence,” and finally threw her sword into the scale, a course in which she was not long after followed by Spain.

Speaking generally, the theatre of war from this time forward, useless forays and wanton mischief elsewhere excepted, shifted to the South. Georgia was first reduced to submission. Then the Carolinas were attempted. Charleston was taken, the Southern Provinces occupied, and the usual desultory, haphazard fighting followed, with the customary want of practical results. The need of a connected plan of operation is apparent everywhere. Gates was badly beaten at Camden; and reprisals, that embittered even those who were not seriously disaffected to the royal cause, followed. Mistake after mistake! This, at least, was not the way to cow into submission men largely of English race. It is curious to note also in this part of the campaign that the only generals fighting on the American side who were distinctly of English birth, and had had some military training,—Gates and Lee,—had proved themselves distinct failures.

Cornwallis was next despatched to the South, and fared no better than his predecessors; while Clinton, in command of New York, directed the operations thence with no greater success, having to face now the greater danger of dealing with regular French troops side by side with the levies of the States.

But at this juncture, when the new allies were actually landing, and the beginning of the end had come, General Arnold was given the command of West Point, on the Hudson, the river-line dividing the New England States from the remainder, and to the retention of which Washington attached extraordinary importance. The story of his treason is one of the few bits of romance in the history of this prolonged and unhappy war. He was brave beyond measure, he was reckless and careless, he was vain, ostentatious, and extravagant; but no one dreamed he was a traitor. He had tried to obtain a loan from the French Minister and had failed, and, so doing, turned to the other side, and proposed for money and advancement to surrender West Point and the Highlands, “in such a manner as to contribute every possible advantage to His Majesty’s arms.” His immediate go-between and correspondent was a certain Major André, Adjutant-General of the British Army, and A.D.C. of Sir Henry Clinton. On the very night that Washington met the French officer at Hartford, to arrange the allied plan of campaign, André, dressed in uniform, over which he wore a long greatcoat, landed to confer with Arnold. So prolonged were the treasonable negotiations, that day broke, and retreat became dangerous. Over-persuaded, he changed into plain clothes, concealed in his boots the plans and documents he had procured, and, under a forged pass and a feigned name, attempted to cross the neutral ground, and reach Tarrytown. He was captured and made prisoner, and his captors, refusing a heavy bribe, sent him to North Castle. Meanwhile, Arnold had received information that the plot was known, and embarked on board H.M.S. Vulture under a flag of truce, and completed his treason by surrendering his own boat’s crew as prisoners of war!

André was brought to trial before fourteen general officers, among whom were the Marquis de Lafayette and Baron Stuben, and was by all the customs of war, and “according to the law and usage of nations,” sentenced to be hanged. “His appeal to die by shooting rather than by hanging was refused. As General Greene is reported to have said, to have mitigated the sentence would have been to doubt its justice. So he died the death of a spy, as from his own confession and action he deserved, but he died bravely and calmly, like a gallant gentleman of England.” No such death created more controversy, or raised more hysterical sympathy. The whole business was bad, and André soiled his hands in touching it at all, let alone the fact of his being in plain clothes within the enemy’s lines, which at once placed him without doubt in the position of a spy. His reasons for going there, assumed to be patriotic, were largely personal, for promotion was to reward success; and they have little to do with the matter. However good the reasons, the means were vile; too vile even to justify the end.

Washington was censured severely for his severity at the time, but no one now would blame him. He had his duty to his country to do, and he did it. None the less, André’s bones were eventually moved to Westminster Abbey, and a fulsome tablet records the manner of his death.

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Meanwhile, Cornwallis in the Carolinas scored a victory at Guildford Courthouse, where the Guards, the old 71st, and the 23rd and 33rd, defeated an inferior force of militia and what were fast becoming seasoned troops, but the task was too heavy for his strength. “My cavalry,” he sadly writes, “wanted everything, and the infantry everything but shoes.” So he marched, with sundry skirmishes of little value in various places, north-east towards York Town, and Lord Rawdon, who practically commanded the other wing, fell back south-east towards Charleston, with the 3rd, 63rd, and 64th.