At last the favorable moment came. Sullivan, an active and intelligent officer, was in command of the Continental forces, and the coöperation of D’Estaing with the French fleet was secured. On the 29th of July twelve French ships of the line and four frigates arrived off Newport. The English were effectually blockaded, driven from their outposts, and compelled to destroy their vessels.
Preparations were made for an immediate advance. At no period of the war had greater enthusiasm prevailed. Volunteers came pouring in from Boston, Salem, Newburyport, Portsmouth—not merely those whom pay or bounty could call out, but men of wealth and position. John Hancock led the militia of Massachusetts. Greene and Lafayette came on from the main army. By the 8th of August Sullivan found himself at the head of ten thousand men. The right wing took post at Tiverton. The French fleet under D’Estaing held the outer harbor. The morning of the 10th was fixed upon for the attack. On the 8th the fleet ran up the middle passage in face of a heavy fire from the enemy’s batteries, and secured the command of the bay. Sir Robert Pigot drew in his forces and stationed them in strong positions near the town. They numbered about six thousand in all.
Sullivan seeing that the British commander had abandoned his strong works at the head of the island, thought that no time was to be lost in securing them, and without waiting for the day agreed upon with the French admiral, set his right wing under Greene, in motion on the morning of the 9th and began to cross over to the island. D’Estaing felt the breach of etiquette, but had little time to dwell upon it. For about two in the afternoon a fleet of nearly twenty-five sail came in sight, standing in for Newport. It was the fleet of Lord Howe. He lay to off Point Judith for the night, and next morning began a trial of seamanship with D’Estaing for the weather-gage. The Englishman stood out to sea; a sudden change of wind enabled the Frenchman to follow him, and the whole of the first day and part of the second were passed in manœuvring. Meanwhile the wind kept rising, and in a few hours it blew a gale. Soon it was no longer a question of victory, but of life. The work of destruction by mortal hands ceased. The big ships were tossed helplessly about by the yawning billows. The invisible winds snapped the strong masts—once the pride of centennial forests—asunder. The Languedoc, with her ninety guns, the French admiral’s own ship, lost masts and rudder. The shattered fleets made their way to port as best they might, the English to New York, the French to Newport, with occasional encounters on their way.
The tempest had raged with as much violence on shore as at sea. Nothing could withstand its rage. Trees were torn up by the roots. Tent poles were snapped asunder like reeds. Marquees were torn and dashed to the ground. The rain fell in torrents, swelling the brooks till they overflowed their banks and spread over the fields in ponds and pools. Men crouched under the stone walls. When the tempest ceased, horses and men were found dead together. Then was the time for Pigot to draw out his men from their snug quarters in the town and lead them against the exhausted Americans. The American general feared this, and anxiously watched the dangerous hours go by. But the Englishman let slip the golden occasion and it never returned.
It was not without many misgivings that Sullivan had seen the French fleet make sail and stand out to sea. But D’Estaing had pledged himself to return, and when on the 20th a swift frigate, and soon the Languedoc herself, hove in sight, he dispatched Greene and Lafayette to confer with the French admiral and his officers and secure their coöperation. But whatever D’Estaing’s own wishes may have been, his officers, who were jealous of him as a landsman, pointed to his instructions and called upon him to repair to Boston. The Americans felt themselves deserted, for it was only by the aid of the fleet that the town could be taken. “There never,” they said, “was a prospect so favorable blasted by such a shameful desertion.”
Still Sullivan resolved to persevere in his attempt, and giving partial vent to his indignation in the order of the day, took up a position within three miles of the town and began to erect batteries. It was soon evident that it would be hazardous to attempt to hold it. On the 28th it was resolved to fall back and establish a fortified camp at the north end of the island. But already the army was melting away. Three thousand militiamen and volunteers went off in twenty-four hours, and presently the assailants scarcely outnumbered the assailed. The British fleet also would soon be back, while the French fleet could no longer be counted upon. D’Estaing indeed gallantly offered to bring up his land forces to the support of his allies. But now the only question was how to retreat without loss. A sharp battle was fought on the 29th, in which both sides contended obstinately for the victory. Then in the night, men, baggage, artillery and stores, were transported across the ferry without the loss of a man or beast, or a single munition of war.
CHAPTER XXVI.
ACTS OF THE BRITISH TROOPS.—DISTRESS IN RHODE ISLAND.—EVACUATION OF NEWPORT.—REPUDIATION.—END OF THE WAR.