If, by making too extensive a plan of attack, the English committed a great error, it must also be acknowledged that the Americans were not irreproachable in their manner of defence. Burgoyne, leading his army, with their heads bent upon the ground, into woods from whence he could not extricate them, dragged on, upon a single road, his numerous cannons and rich military equipages. Certain of not being attacked from behind, the Americans could dispute every step they took: this kind of warfare attracted the militia, and Gates improved each day in strength. Every tree sheltered a skilful rifleman, and the resources offered by military tactics, and the talents even of their chiefs, had become useless to the English. The corps left in New York could, it is true, laugh at the corps of Putnam, but it was too feeble to succour Burgoyne; and instead of being able to secure his triumph, its own fate was even dependent upon his. During that time, Howe was only thinking of Philadelphia, and it was at the expense of the northern expedition that he was repairing thither by an enormous circuit. But, on the other side, why were the English permitted to land so tranquilly? Why was the moment allowed to pass when their army was divided by the river Elk? Why in the south were so many false movements and so much hesitation displayed? Because the Americans had hitherto had combats but not battles; because, instead of harassing an army and disputing hollows, they were obliged to protect an open city, and manoeuvre in a plain, close to a hostile army, who, by attacking them from behind, might completely ruin them. General Washington, had he followed the advice of the people, would have enclosed his army in a city, and thus have entrusted to one hazard the fate of America; but, whilst refusing to commit such an act of folly, he was obliged to make some sacrifice, and gratify the nation by a battle. Europe even expected it; and although he had been created a dictator for six months, the General thought he ought to submit everything to the orders of congress, and to the deliberations of a council of war.
After having advanced as far as Wilmington, the general had detached a thousand men under Maxwell, the most ancient brigadier in the army. At the first march of the English, he was beaten by their advance guard near Christiana Bridge. During that time the army took but an indifferent station at Newport; they then removed a little south, waited two days for the enemy, and, at the moment when these were marching upon their right wing, a nocturnal council of war decided that the army was to proceed to the Brandywine. The stream bearing that name covered its front; the ford called Chad's Ford, placed nearly in the centre, was defended by batteries. It was in that scarcely examined station that, in obedience to a letter from congress, the Americans awaited the battle. The evening of the 10th of September, Howe advanced in two columns, and, by a very fine movement, the left column (about 8000 men under Lord Cornwallis, with grenadiers and guards) directed themselves towards the fords of Birmingham, three miles on our right; the other column continued its road, and at about nine o'clock in the morning it appeared on the other side of the stream. The enemy was so near the skirts of the wood that it was impossible to judge of his force some time was lost in a mutual cannonading. General Washington walked along his two lines, and was received with acclamations which seemed to promise him success. The intelligence that was received of the movements of Cornwallis was both confused and contradictory; owing to the conformity of name betwixt two roads that were of equal length and parallel to each other, the best officers were mistaken in their reports. The only musket shots that had been fired were from Maxwell, who killed several of the enemy, but was driven back upon the left of the American army, across a ford by which he had before advanced. Three thousand militia had been added to the army, but they were placed in the rear to guard some still more distant militia, and took no part themselves in the action. Such was the situation of the troops when they learnt the march of Lord Cornwallis towards the scarcely known fords of Birmingham: they then detached three divisions, forming about five thousand men, under the generals Sullivan, Stirling, and Stephen. M. de Lafayette, as volunteer, had always accompanied the general. The left wing remaining in a state of tranquillity, and the right appearing fated to receive all the heavy blows, he obtained permission to join Sullivan. At his arrival, which seemed to inspirit the troops, he found that, the enemy having crossed the ford, the corps of Sullivan had scarcely had time to form itself on a line in front of a thinly-wooded forest. A few moments after, Lord Cornwallis formed in the finest order: advancing across the plain, his first line opened a brisk fire of musketry and artillery; the Americans returned the fire, and did much injury to the enemy; but their right and left wings having given way, the generals and several officers joined the central division, in which were M. de Lafayette and Stirling, and of which eight hundred men were commanded in a most brilliant manner by Conway, an Irishman, in the service of France. By separating that division from its two wings, and advancing through an open plain, in which they lost many men, the enemy united all their fire upon the centre: the confusion became extreme; and it was whilst M. de Lafayette was rallying the troops that a ball passed through his leg;—at that moment all those remaining on the field gave way. M. de Lafayette was indebted to Gimat, his aide-de-camp, for the happiness of getting upon his horse. General Washington arrived from a distance with fresh troops; M. de Lafayette was preparing to join him, when loss of blood obliged him to stop and have his wound bandaged; he was even very near being taken. Fugitives, cannon, and baggage now crowded without order into the road leading to Chester. The general employed the remaining daylight in checking the enemy: some regiments behaved extremely well but the disorder was complete. During that time the ford of Chad was forced, the cannon taken and the Chester road became the common retreat of the whole army. In the midst of that dreadful confusion, and during the darkness of the night, it was impossible to recover; but at Chester, twelve miles from the field of battle, they met with a bridge which it was necessary to cross; M. de Lafayette occupied himself in arresting the fugitives; some degree of order was re-established; the generals and the commander-in-chief arrived; and he had leisure to have his wound dressed.
It was thus, at twenty-six miles from Philadelphia, that the fate of that town was decided, (11th September, 1777.) The inhabitants had heard every cannon that was fired there; the two parties, assembled in two distinct bands in all the squares and public places, had awaited the event in silence. The last courier at length arrived, and the friends of Liberty were thrown into consternation. The Americans had lost from 1000 to 1200 men. Howe's army was composed of about 12,000 men; their losses had been so considerable that their surgeons and those in the country, were found insufficient, and they requested the American army to supply them with some for their prisoners. If the enemy had marched to Derby, the army would have been cut up and destroyed: they lost an all-important night; and this was perhaps their greatest fault, during a war in which they committed so many errors.
M. de Lafayette, having been conveyed by water to Philadelphia, was carefully attended to by the citizens, who were all interested in his situation and extreme youth. That same evening the congress determined to quit the city: a vast number of the inhabitants deserted their own hearths—whole families, abandoning their possessions, and uncertain of the future, took refuge in the mountains. M. de Lafayette was carried to Bristol in a boat; he there saw the fugitive congress, who only assembled again on the other side of the Susquehannah; he was himself conducted to Bethlehem, a Moravian establishment, where the mild religion of the brotherhood, the community of fortune, education, and interests, amongst that large and simple family, formed a striking contrast to scenes of blood, and the convulsions occasioned by a civil war.
After the Brandywine defeat, the two armies maneouvered along the banks of the Schuylkill. General Washington still remained on a height above the enemy, and completely out of his reach; nor had they again an opportunity of cutting him off. Waine, an American brigadier, was detached to observe the English; but, being surprised during the night, near the White-Horse, by General Grey, he lost there the greatest part of his corps. At length Howe crossed the Schuylkill at Swede's Ford, and Lord Cornwallis entered Philadelphia.
In spite of the declaration of independence of the New States, everything there bore the appearance of a civil war. The names of Whig and Tory distinguished the republicans and royalists; the English army was still called the regular troops; the British sovereign was always designated by the name of the king. Provinces, towns, and families were divided by the violence of party spirit: brothers, officers in the two opposing armies, meeting by chance in their father's house, have seized their arms to fight with each other. Whilst, in the rancour of their pride, the English committed horrible acts of licence and cruelty,—whilst discipline dragged in her train those venal Germans who knew only how to kill, burn, and pillage, in the same army were seen regiments of Americans, who, trampling under foot their brethren, assisted in enslaving their wasted country. Each canton contained a still greater number whose sole object was to injure the friends of liberty, and give information to those of despotism. To these inveterate Tories must be added the number of those whom fear, private interest, or religion, rendered adverse to war. If the Presbyterians, the children of Cromwell and Fairfax, detested royalty, the Lutherans, who had sprung from it, were divided among themselves: the Quakers hated slaughter, but served willingly as guides to the royal troops. Insurrections were by no means uncommon: near the enemy's stations, farmers often shot each other; robbers were even encouraged. The republican chiefs were exposed to great dangers when they travelled through the country; it was always necessary for them to declare that they should pass the night in one house, then take possession of another, barricade themselves in it, and only sleep with their arms by their side. In the midst of these troubles, M. de Lafayette was no longer considered as a stranger; never was any adoption more complete than his own: and whilst, in the councils of war, he trembled when he considered that his voice (at twenty years of age) might decide the fate of two worlds, he was also initiated in those deliberations in which, by reassuring the Whigs, intimidating the Tories, supporting an ideal money, and redoubling their firmness in the hour of adversity, the American chiefs conducted that revolution through so many obstacles.
Confined to his bed for six weeks, M. de Lafayette suffered from his wound, but still more severely from his inactivity. The good Moravian brothers loved him, and deplored his warlike folly. Whilst listening to their sermons, he planned setting Europe and Asia in a flame. As he was no longer able to do anything but write, he wrote to the commander of la Martinique, and proposed to him to make a descent upon the English islands under American colours. He wrote also to M. de Maurepas, and offered to conduct some Americans to the Isle of France, concerting previously with individuals an attack upon the English factories.~{21} From the particulars which have since become known, that project in India would have succeeded; but it was rejected at Versailles, where no answers were yet vouchsafed to M. de Lafayette's letters. Bouillé more ardent in temper, would have adopted the whole plan, but he could not act without permission; and these delays led to the period of the war which M. de Lafayette was so desirous of bringing on.
During his residence at Bethlehem, the English entrenched themselves at Philadelphia. The two rivers which encompassed the town were united by a chain of wooden palisades and good redoubts, partly covered by an inundation. A portion of their army was encamped at Germantown, five miles in advance of those lines; these were attacked, the 4th of October, by Washington, and although his left column was retarded by an absurd precedence of divisions, and misled by a thick fog,—although the advance guard of the right, under Conway, attacked in front what it ought to have attacked in flank, the enemy was not less taken by surprise and beaten, and the general, with his victorious wing, passed through the whole extent of the enemy's encampment. All things went on well until then; but a false movement of the left column, and still more the attack of a stone house which they should have turned, gave the enemy time to rally. Howe was thinking of a retreat, but Cornwallis arrived in haste with a reinforcement. The Americans repassed through the English encampment, and the action ended by a complete defeat. Many men were lost on both sides. General Agnew, an Englishman, and General Nash, an American, were killed. The Americans had some dragoons under Pulaski, the only one of the confederated Poles who had refused to accept a pardon. He was an intrepid knight, a libertine and devotee, and a better captain than general; he insisted on being a Pole on all occasions, and M. de Lafayette, after having contributed to his reception in the army, often exerted himself to effect a reconciliation betwixt him and the other officers. Without waiting for his wound to be closed, M. de Lafayette returned to head-quarters, twenty-five miles from Philadelphia. The enemy, who had fallen back upon their lines, attacked Fort Mifflin, upon an island, and Fort Red-Bank, on the left side of the Delaware. Some chevaux de frise, protected by the forts, and some galleys, stopped the fleet, magazines, and detachments which had been sent from the Chesapeak. Amongst the skirmishes which took place betwixt small parties of soldiers, the most remarkable one was the surprise of a corps of militia at Cevoked-Billet,~{22} in which the English burnt their wounded prisoners in a barn. Such was the situation of the south, when news was received of the capitulation of Burgoyne. That general, when he quitted Canada, had made a diversion on his right; but Saint Leger had failed in an operation against Fort Schuyler; and he himself, by advancing towards Albany, appeared to have lost much time. Gates was constantly adding numerous militia to his continental troops. All the citizens being armed militia, a signal of alarm assembled them, or an order of state summoned them to march. But if that crusade were rather a voluntary one, their residence at the camp was still more dependent on their own inclination: the discipline was suitable to the formation of the corps. The continentalists, on the contrary, belonged to the thirteen states, of which each one supplied some regiments; the soldiers were either engaged for the war or for three years, which improper alternative was occasioned by republican jealousy. These regular troops had military regulations, a severe discipline, and the officers of each state vied with each other for promotion. Gates, placed in an entrenched position, in the centre of woods, on the road to Albany, and with the North river on his right, had assembled sixteen thousand men; and this invasion of the enemy, by threatening New England, had served as an instant summons to the brave militia. They had already proved their strength at Bennington, where Stark had surrounded and destroyed a detachment belonging to Burgoyne. The enemy, having arrived within three miles of Gates, and not being able to make a circuit round him without abandoning their cannon and military accoutrements, attempted twice to force him; but they had scarcely commenced their march when Arnold fell upon them with his division, and in those woods, lined with sharpshooters, it was only possible for them to reach the entrenchments. Arnold had his leg broken at the second affair; Lincoln, the other major-general, was wounded also. Four thousand men, who embarked at New York, had, it is true, ascended the Hudson. Whilst Vaughan was needlessly burning Esopus, Clinton had taken all the forts that defended the river. They were but little annoyed by Putnam, who, in the first breaking out of the troubles, had thrown aside his plough to bear to the army far more zeal than talent. But still that diversion was too weak; and by a note which a spy who had been taken swallowed, but which was recovered by an emetic, it was seen that Clinton was aware of his own weakness. Burgoyne, abandoned by the savages, regretting his best soldiers, and Frazer, his best general, reduced to five thousand men, who were in want of provisions, wished to retreat; but it was then too late: his communications were no longer open; and it was at Saratoga, some miles in the rear of his army, that he signed the celebrated convention. A brilliant troop, covered with gold, filed out with Burgoyne: they encountered Gates and his officers, all clothed in plain grey cloth. After a frugal repast, the two generals beheld the conquered army filing out; and, as a member of parliament said, "five thousand men crossed the rebel country to take up their winter quarters near Boston." Clinton then redescended to New York, and the militia returned to their domestic hearths. Gates' chief merit consisted in his skilful choice of a position; Burgoyne's misfortune was owing to the nature of the country, which was impracticable and almost a desert. If the enemies of the former criticised the terms of the convention, M. de Lafayette loudly proclaimed how glorious he thought it; but he blamed Gates afterwards for rendering himself independent of his general, and for retaining the troops which he ought to have sent him. To obtain them, it was necessary to despatch Hamilton, a young man of great talents, whose counsels had justly acquired much credit.~{23}
The forts of the Delaware had not yet yielded: that of Red-Bank, defended by four hundred men, was attacked, sword in hand, by sixteen hundred Hessians. The work having been reduced by Mauduit, a young Frenchman, the enemy engaged betwixt the old and new entrenchments. They were driven back with the loss of seven hundred men and Count Donop, their chief, whose last words were—"I die the victim of my own ambition, and the avarice of my sovereign." That fort was commanded by an old and respected colonel, Greene, who, three years after, was massacred by the English to whom he had surrendered, whilst, covering him with his own body, an old negro perished heroically by his side. Fort Mifflin, although attacked by land and water, did not defend itself less valiantly; the Augusta, an English ship of the line, had been already blown up; a frigate also perished; and Colonel Smith did not even think of surrendering: but the island being attacked from an unknown passage, the works were assaulted from the rear, and were obliged to be evacuated. Lord Cornwallis and five thousand men having fallen upon the Jerseys, it became also necessary to quit Red-Bank which the Americans blew up before leaving it: General Greene, crossing the river at Trenton opposed, with a precisely equal force, the detachment of Cornwallis.
Although M. de Lafayette's wound was not yet sufficiently closed for him to put on a boot, he accompanied Greene to Mount Holly; and detaching himself in order to reconnoitre, he found the enemy, November 25th, at Gloucester, opposite Philadelphia. The booty they had collected was crossing the river. To assure himself more fully on this point M. de Lafayette advanced upon the strip of land called Sandy Point, and for this imprudence he would have paid dearly if those who had the power of killing him had not depended too much on those who had the power of taking him prisoner. After having succeeded in somewhat appeasing the terror of his guides, he found himself, about four o'clock, two miles from the English camp, before a post of four hundred Hessians with their cannon. Having only three hundred and fifty men, most of them militia, he suddenly attacked the enemy, who gave way before him. Lord Cornwallis came up with his grenadiers; but, supposing himself to be engaged with the corps of General Greene, he allowed himself to be driven back to the neighbourhood of Gloucester, with a loss of about sixty men. Greene arrived in the night, but would not attack the enemy. Lord Cornwallis passed over the river, and the American detachment rejoined the army at its station at Whitemarsh, twelve miles from Philadelphia. It had occupied, since the last month, some excellent heights; the general's accurate glance had discerned the situation of the encampment through an almost impenetrable wood.