Camp, near Bristol, the 7th September, 1778.
My Dear General,—I cannot let M. de la Neuville go to head-quarters without recalling to your excellency's memory an inhabitant of the eastern Rhode Island, those who long much to be again reunited to you, and conceive now great hopes, from Sir Henry Clinton's movement to New York, that you will come to oppose him in person. I think if we meet to oppose the enemy in this quarter, that more troops are absolutely necessary, for we are not able to do anything in our scattered situation. I confess I am myself very uneasy in this quarter, and fear that these people will put it in their heads to take some of our batteries, &c., which, if properly attacked, it will be difficult to prevent. I am upon a little advance of land, where, in case of an alarm, a long stay might be very dangerous; but we will do the best.
I am told that the enemy is going to evacuate New York. My policy leads me to believe that some troops will be sent to Halifax, to the West Indies, and to Canada; that Canada, I apprehend, will be your occupation next winter and spring. This idea, my dear general, alters a plan I had to make a voyage home some months hence, however, as long as you fight I want to fight along with you, and I much desire to see your excellency in Quebec next summer.
With the most tender affection and highest respect, I have the honour to be, &c.
TO THE DUKE D'AYEN.
Bristol, near Rhode Island, September 11th, 1778,
I have already endeavoured to describe to you some part of the pleasure your last letter gave me; but I cannot write again without repeating my assurance of the delight I derived from its perusal. I have blessed, a thousand times, the vessel that brought that letter, and the favourable winds that blew it, to the American shore. The kindness and affection you express have sunk deeply into a heart which is fully sensible of all their value. Your partiality has far over-rated my slight merit; but your approbation is so precious to me, my desire of obtaining it is so very strong, that I experience the same pleasure as if I were conscious of meriting your good opinion. I love you too well not to be enchanted and overjoyed when I receive any proof of your affection. You may find many persons more worthy of it, but I may take the liberty of challenging you to find one human being who either values it more highly, or is more desirous of obtaining it. I place full reliance on your kindness, and even if I were unhappy enough to fall under your displeasure, I hope I should not forfeit your affection. I think I may promise that that last misfortune shall never occur through any fault of mine, and I wish I could feel as certain of never erring from my head as from my heart. The goodness of my friends imposes a weight of obligation upon me. My greatest pleasure will be to hear you say, whilst I embrace you, that you do not disapprove of my conduct, and that you retain for me that friendship which renders me so happy. It is impossible for me to describe to you the joy your letter, and the kind feeling which dictated it, have inspired me with. How delighted I shall be to thank you for it, and to find myself again in your society! If you should ever amuse yourself by looking at the American campaigns, or following them on your maps, I shall ask permission to insert a small river or a mountain: this would give me an opportunity of describing to you the little I have seen, of confiding to you my own trifling ideas, and of endeavouring so to combine them as to render them more military: for there is so great a difference between what I behold here, and those large, fine, well-organised armies of Germany, that, in truth, when I recur from them to our American armies, I scarcely dare say that we are making war. If the French war should terminate before that of the rest of Europe, and you were disposed to see how things were going on, and permitted me to accompany you, I should feel perfectly happy; in the meantime, I have great pleasure in thinking that I shall pass some mornings with you at your own house, and I promise myself as much improvement as amusement from conversing with you, if you are so kind as to grant me some portion of your time.
I received, with heartfelt gratitude, the advice you gave me to remain here during this campaign; it was inspired by true friendship and a thorough knowledge of my interest: such is the species of advice we give to those we really love, and this idea has rendered it still dearer to me. I will be guided by it in proportion as events may follow the direction you appear to have expected. A change of circumstances renders a change of conduct sometimes necessary. I had intended, as soon as war was declared, to range myself under the French banner: I was induced to take this resolution from the fear that the ambition of obtaining higher rank, or the wish of retaining the one I actually enjoy, should appear to be my only motives for remaining here. Such unworthy sentiments have never found entrance into my heart. But your letter, advising me to remain, and assuring me there would be no land campaign, induced me to change my determination, and I now rejoice that I have done so. The arrival of the French fleet upon this coast, has offered me the agreeable prospect of acting in concert with it, and of being a happy spectator of the glory of the French banner. Although the elements, until now, have declared themselves against us, I have not lost the sanguine hopes of the future, which the great talents of M. d'Estaing have inspired us with. You will be astonished to hear that the English still retain all their posts, and have contented themselves with merely evacuating Philadelphia. I expected, and General Washington also expected, to see them abandon everything for Canada, Halifax, and their islands; but these gentlemen are apparently in no great haste. The fleet, it is true, may hitherto have rendered such a division of their troops rather difficult; but now that it is removed to Boston, they might easily begin to make a move: they appear to me, instead of moving off, to intend fighting a little in this part of the country. I thought I ought to consult M. d'Estaing, and even M. Gérard on this subject. Both agreed that I was right to remain, and even said, that my presence here would not prove wholly useless to my own country. That I might have nothing to reproach myself with, I wrote to M. de Montbarrey a short letter, which apprised him of my being still in existence, and of the resolution I had taken not to return to France in the midst of this campaign.
The kind manner in which you received the gazette which John Adams conveyed to you, induced me to send you a second, which must have made you acquainted with the few events that have taken place during this campaign. The visit that the English army designed to pay to a detachment which I commanded the 28th of May, and which escaped their hands owing to their own dilatory movements; the arrival of the treaty, subsequently that of the commissioners, the letter they addressed to congress, the firm answer they received, the evacuation of Philadelphia, and the retreat of General Clinton through Jersey, are the only articles worthy of attention. I have also described to you in what manner we followed the English army, and how General Lee, after my detachment had joined him, allowed himself to be beaten. The arrival of General Washington arrested the disorder, and determined the victory on our side. It is the battle, or rather affair, of Monmouth. General Lee has since been suspended for a year by a council of war, for his conduct on this occasion.
I must now relate to you what has occurred since the arrival of the fleet, which has experienced contrary winds ever since it sailed; after a voyage of three months it reached the Delaware, which the English had then quitted; from thence it proceeded to Sandyhook, the same place General Clinton sailed from after the check he encountered at Monmouth. Our army repaired to White Plains, that former battle-field of the Americans. M. d'Estaing blockaded New York, and we were thus neighbours of the English both by land and sea. Lord Howe, enclosed in the harbour, and separated from our fleet only by the Sandy-hook bar, did not accept the combat which the French admiral ardently desired, and offered him for several days. A noble project was conceived—that of entering into the harbour; but our ships drew too much water, and the English seventy fours could not enter with their guns. Some pilots gave no hopes on this subject; but, when we examined the case more narrowly, all agreed as to its impossibility, and soundings proved the truth of the latter opinion; we were therefore obliged to have recourse to other measures.