injuring them, we should see with pleasure such a happy conjunction of
circumstances as would set them at liberty to frequent our ports; the
facilities they would find for their commerce would soon prove to them
all the esteem we feel for them."

Independence was not yet proclaimed, and already the committee charged by
Congress "to correspond with friends in England, Ireland, and other parts
of the world," had made inquiry of the French government, by roundabout
ways, as to what were its intentions regarding the American colonies, and
was soliciting the aid of France.  On the 3d of March, 1776, an agent of
the committee, Mr. Silas Deane, started for France; he had orders to put
the same question point blank at Versailles and at Paris.

The ministry was divided on the subject of American affairs; M. Turgot
inclined towards neutrality.  "Let us leave the insurgents," he said,
"at full liberty to make their purchases in our ports, and to provide
themselves by the way of trade with the munitions, and even the money,
of which they have need.  A refusal to sell to them would be a departure
from neutrality.  But it would be a departure likewise to furnish then
with secret aid in money, and this step, which it would be difficult to
conceal, would excite just complaints on the part of the English."

This was, however, the conduct adopted on the advice of M. de Vergennes;
he had been powerfully supported by the arguments presented in a
memorandum drawn up by M. de Rayneval, senior clerk in the foreign
office; he was himself urged and incited by the most intelligent, the
most restless, and the most passionate amongst the partisans of the
American rebellion--Beaumarchais.

Peter Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais, born at Paris on the 24th of
January, 1732, son of a clockmaker, had already acquired a certain
celebrity by his lawsuit against Councillor Goezman before the parliament
of Paris.  Accused of having defamed the wife of a judge, after having
fruitlessly attempted to seduce her, Beaumarchais succeeded, by dint of
courage, talent, and wit, in holding his own against the whole magistracy
leagued against him.  He boldly appealed to public opinion.  "I am a
citizen," he said; "that is to say, I am not a courtier, or an abbe, or a
nobleman, or a financier, or a favorite, nor anything connected with what
is called influence (_puissance_) nowadays.  I am a citizen; that is to
say, something quite new, unknown, unheard of in France.  I am a citizen;
that is to say, what you ought to have been for the last two hundred
years, what you will be, perhaps, in twenty!"  All the spirit of the
French Revolution was here, in those most legitimate and at the same time
most daring aspirations of his.

French citizen as he proclaimed himself to be, Beaumarchais was quite
smitten with the American citizens; he had for a long while been pleading
their cause, sure, he said, of its ultimate triumph.  On the 10th of
January, 1776, three weeks before the declaration of independence, M. de
Vergennes secretly remitted a million to M. de Beaumarchais; two months
later the same sum was intrusted to him in the name of the King of Spain.
Beaumarchais alone was to appear in the affair and to supply the
insurgent Americans with arms and ammunition.  "You will found," he had
been told, "a great commercial house, and you will try to draw into it
the money of private individuals; the first outlay being now provided, we
shall have no further hand in it, the affair would compromise the
government too much in the eyes of the English."  It was under the style
and title of Rodrigo Hortalez and Co. that the first instalment of
supplies, to the extent of more than three millions, was forwarded to the
Americans; and, notwithstanding the hesitation of the ministry and the
rage of the English, other instalments soon followed.  Beaumarchais was
henceforth personally interested in the enterprise; he had commenced it
from zeal for the American cause, and from that yearning for activity and
initiative which characterized him even in old age.  "I should never have
succeeded in fulfilling my mission here without the indefatigable,
intelligent, and generous efforts of M. de Beaumarchais," wrote Silas
Deane to the secret committee of Congress: "the United States are more
indebted to him, on every account, than to any other person on this side
of the ocean."

Negotiations were proceeding at Paris; Franklin had joined Silas Deane
there.  His great scientific reputation, the diplomatic renown he had won
in England, his able and prudent devotion to the cause of his country,
had paved the way for the new negotiator's popularity in France: it was
immense.  Born at Boston on the 17th of January, 1706, a printer before
he came out as a great physicist, Franklin was seventy years old when he
arrived in Paris.  His sprightly good-nature, the bold subtilty of his
mind cloaked beneath external simplicity, his moderation in religion and
the breadth of his philosophical tolerance, won the world of fashion as
well as the great public, and were a great help to the success of his
diplomatic negotiations.  Quartered at Passy, at Madame Helvetius', he
had frequent interviews with the ministers under a veil of secrecy and
precaution which was, before long, skilfully and discreetly removed; from
roundabout aid accorded to the Americans, at Beaumarchais' solicitations,
on pretext of commercial business, the French Government had come to
remitting money straight to the agents of the United States; everything
tended to recognition of the independence of the colonies.  In England,
people were irritated and disturbed; Lord Chatham exclaimed with the
usual exaggeration of his powerful and impassioned genius "Yesterday
England could still stand against the world, today there is none so poor
as to do her reverence.  I borrow the poet's words, my lords, but what
his verse expresses is no fiction.  France has insulted you, she has
encouraged and supported America, and, be America right or wrong, the
dignity of this nation requires that we should thrust aside with contempt
the officious intervention of France; ministers and ambassadors from
those whom we call rebels and enemies are received at Paris, there they
treat of the mutual interests of France and America, their countrymen are
aided, provided with military resources, and our ministers suffer it,
they do not protest!  Is this maintaining the honor of a great kingdom,
of that England which but lately gave laws to the House of Bourbon?"

The hereditary sentiments of Louis XVI. and his monarchical principles,
as well as the prudent moderation of M. Turgot, retarded at Paris the
negotiations which caused so much illhumor among the English; M. de
Vergennes still preserved, in all diplomatic relations, an apparent
neutrality.  "It is my line (_metier_), you see, to be a royalist," the
Emperor Joseph II. had said during a visit he had just paid to Paris,
when he was pressed to declare in favor of the American insurgents.  At
the bottom of his heart the King of France was of the same opinion; he
had refused the permission to serve in America which he had been asked
for by many gentlemen: some had set off without waiting for it; the most
important, as well as the most illustrious of them all, the Marquis of La
Fayette, was not twenty years old when he slipped away from Paris,
leaving behind his young wife close to her confinement, to go and embark
upon a vessel which he had bought, and which, laden with arms, awaited
him in a Spanish port; arrested by order of the court, he evaded the
vigilance of his guards; in, the month of July, 1777, he disembarked in
America.

Washington did not like France; he did not share the hopes which some of
his fellow-countrymen founded upon her aid; he made no case of the young
volunteers who came to enroll themselves among the defenders of
independence, and whom Congress loaded with favors.  "No bond but
interest attaches these men to America," he would say; "and, as for
France, she only lets us get our munitions from her, because of the
benefit her commerce derives from it."  Prudent, reserved, and proud,
Washington looked for America's salvation to only America herself;
neither had he foreseen nor did he understand that enthusiasm, as
generous as it is unreflecting, which easily takes possession of the
French nation, and of which the United States were just then the object.
M. de La Fayette was the first who managed to win the general's affection
and esteem.  A great yearning for excitement and renown, a great zeal for
new ideas and a certain political perspicacity, had impelled M. de La
Fayette to America; he showed himself courageous, devoted, more judicious
and more able than had been expected from his youth and character.
Washington came to love him as a son.

It was with the title of major-general that M. de La Fayette made his
first campaign; Congress had passed a decree conferring upon him this
grade, rather an excess of honor in Washington's opinion; the latter was
at that time covering Philadelphia, the point aimed at by the operations
of General Howe.  Beaten at Brandywine and at Germantown, the Americans
were obliged to abandon the town to the enemy and fall back on Valley
Forge, where the general pitched his camp for wintering.  The English had
been beaten on the frontiers of Canada by General Gates; General
Burgoyne, invested on all sides by the insurgents, had found himself
forced to capitulate at Saratoga.  The humiliation and wrath of the
public in England were great, but the resolution of the politicians was
beginning to waver; on the 10th of February, 1778, Lord North had
presented two bills whereby England was to renounce the right of levying
taxes in the American colonies, and was to recognize the legal existence
of Congress.  Three commissioners were to be sent to America to treat for
conditions of peace.  After a hot discussion, the two bills had been
voted.

This was a small matter in view of the growing anxiety and the political
manoeuvrings of parties.  On the 7th of April, 1778, the Duke of Richmond
proposed in the House of Lords the recall of all the forces, land and
sea, which were fighting in America.  He relied upon the support of Lord
Chatham, who was now at death's door, but who had always expressed
himself forcibly against the conduct of the government towards the
colonists.  The great orator entered the House, supported by two of his
friends, pale, wasted, swathed in flannel beneath his embroidered robe.
He with difficulty dragged himself to his place.  The peers, overcome at
the sight of this supreme effort, waited in silence.  Lord Chatham rose,
leaning on his crutch and still supported by his friends.  He raised one
hand to heaven.  "I thank God," he said, "that I have been enabled to
come hither to-day to fulfil a duty and say what has been weighing so
heavily on my heart.  I have already one foot in the grave; I shall soon
descend into it; I have left my bed to sustain my country's cause in this
House, perhaps for the last time.  I think myself happy, my lords, that
the grave has not yet closed over me, and that I am still alive to raise
my voice against the dismemberment of this ancient and noble monarchy!
My lords, his Majesty succeeded to an empire as vast in extent as proud
in reputation.  Shall we tarnish its lustre by a shameful abandonment of
its rights and of its fairest possessions?  Shall this great kingdom,
which survived in its entirety the descents of the Danes, the incursions
of the Scots, the conquest of the Normans, which stood firm against the
threatened invasion of the Spanish Armada, now fall before the House of
Bourbon?  Surely, my lords, we are not what we once were!  .  .  .  In
God's name, if it be absolutely necessary to choose between peace and
war, if peace cannot be preserved with honor, why not declare war without
hesitation?  .  .  .  My lords, anything is better than despair; let us
at least make an effort, and, if we must fail, let us fail like men!"

He dropped back into his seat, exhausted, gasping.  Soon he strove to
rise and reply to the Duke of Richmond, but his strength was traitor to
his courage, he fainted; a few days later he was dead (May 11th, 1778);
the resolution' of the Duke of Richmond had been rejected.

When this news arrived in America, Washington was seriously uneasy.
He had to keep up an incessant struggle against the delays and the
jealousies of Congress; it was by dint of unheard-of efforts and of
unwavering perseverance that he succeeded in obtaining the necessary
supplies for his army.  "To see men without clothes to cover their
nakedness," he exclaimed, "without blankets to lie upon, without victuals
and often without shoes (for you might follow their track by the blood
that trickled from their feet), advancing through ice and snow, and
taking up their winter-quarters, at Christmas, less than a day's march
from the enemy, in a place where they have not to shelter them either
houses or huts but such as they have thrown up themselves,--to see these
men doing all this without a murmur, is an exhibition of patience and
obedience such as the world has rarely seen."

As a set-off against the impassioned devotion of the patriots, Washington
knew that the loyalists were still numerous and powerful; the burden of
war was beginning to press heavily upon the whole country, he feared some
act of weakness.  "Let us accept nothing short of Independence," he wrote
at once to his friends: "we can never forget the outrages to which Great
Britain has made us--submit; a peace on any other conditions would be a
source of perpetual disputes.  If Great Britain, urged on by her love for
tyranny, were to seek once more to bend our necks beneath her iron yoke,
--and she would do so, you may be sure, for her pride and her ambition
are indomitable,--what nation would believe any more in our professions
of faith and would lend us its support?  It is to be feared, however,
that the proposals of England will produce a great effect in this
country.  Men are naturally friends of peace, and there is more than one
symptom to lead me to believe that the American people are generally
weary of war.  If it be so, nothing can be more politic than to inspire
the country with confidence by putting the army on an imposing footing,
and by showing greater energy in our negotiations with European powers.
I think that by now France must have recognized our independence, and
that she will immediately declare war against Great Britain, when she
sees that we have made serious proposals of alliance to her.  But if,
influenced by a false policy, or by an exaggerated opinion of our power,
she were to hesitate, we should either have to send able negotiators at
once, or give fresh instructions to our charges d'affaires to obtain a
definitive answer from her."

It is the property of great men, even when they share the prejudices of
their time and of their country, to know how to get free from them, and
how to rise superior to their natural habits of thought.  It has been
said that, as a matter of taste, Washington did not like France and had
no confidence in her, but his great and strong common sense had
enlightened him as to the conditions of the contest he had entered upon.
He knew it was a desperate one, he foresaw that it would be a long one;
better than anybody he knew the weaknesses as well as the merits of the
instruments which he had at disposal; he had learned to desire the
alliance and the aid of France.  She did not belie his hopes: at the very
moment when Congress was refusing to enter into negotiations with Great
Britain as long as a single English soldier remained on American soil,
rejoicings and thanksgivings were everywhere throughout the thirteen
colonies greeting the news of the recognition by France of the
Independence of the United States; the treaties of alliance, a triumph of
diplomatic ability on the part of Franklin, had been signed at Paris on
the 6th of February, 1778.

"Assure the English government of the king's pacific intentions," M. de
Vergennes had written to the Marquis of Noailles, then French ambassador
in England.  George III. replied to these mocking assurances by recalling
his ambassador.

"Anticipate your enemies," Franklin had said to the ministers of Louis
XVI.;" act towards them as they did to you in 1755: let your ships put to
sea before any declaration of war, it will be time to speak when a French
squadron bars the passage of Admiral Howe who has ventured to ascend the
Delaware."  The king's natural straightforwardness and timidity were
equally opposed to this bold project; he hesitated a long while; when
Count d'Estaing at last, on the 13th of April, went out of Toulon harbor
to sail for America with his squadron, it was too late, the English were
on their guard.

When the French admiral arrived in America, hostilities had commenced
between France and England, without declaration of war, by the natural
pressure of circumstances and the state of feeling in the two countries.
England fired the first shot on the 17th of June, 1778.  The frigate La
Belle Poule, commanded by M. Chaudeau de la Clochetterie, was cruising in
the Channel; she was surprised by the squadron of Admiral Keppel, issuing
from Portsmouth; the Frenchman saw the danger in time, he crowded sail;
but an English frigate, the Arethusa, had dashed forward in pursuit.  La
Clochetterie waited for her and refused to make the visit demanded by the
English captain: a cannon-shot was the reply to this refusal.  La Belle
Poule delivered her whole broadside.  When the Arethusa rejoined Lord
Keppel's squadron, she was dismasted and had lost many men.  A sudden
calm had prevented two English vessels from taking part in, the
engagement.  La Clochetterie went on and landed a few leagues from Brest.
The fight had cost the lives of forty of his crew, fifty-seven had been
wounded.  He was made postcaptain (_capitaine de vaisseau_).  The glory
of this small affair appeared to be of good augury; the conscience of
Louis XVI. was soothed; he at last yielded to the passionate feeling
which was hurrying the nation into war, partly from sympathy towards the
Americans, partly from hatred and rancor towards England.  The treaty of
1763 still lay heavy on the military honor of France.

From the day when the Duke of Choiseul had been forced to sign that
humiliating peace, he had never relaxed in his efforts to improve the
French navy.  In the course of ministerial alternations, frequently
unfortunate for the work in hand, it had nevertheless been continued by
his successors.  A numerous fleet was preparing at Brest; it left the
port on the 3d of July, under the orders of Count d'Orvilliers.  It
numbered thirty-two men-of-war and some frigates.  Admiral Keppel came
to the encounter with thirty ships, mostly superior in strength to the
French vessels.  The engagement took place on the 27th, at thirty
leagues' distance from Wessant and about the same from the Sorlingues
Islands.  The splendid order of the French astounded the enemy, who had
not forgotten the deplorable _Journee de M. de Conflans_.  The sky was
murky, and the manoeuvres were interfered with from the difficulty of
making out the signals.  Lord Keppel could not succeed in breaking the
enemy's line; Count d'Orvilliers failed in a like attempt.  The English
admiral extinguished his fires and returned to Plymouth harbor, without
being forced to do so from any serious reverse; Count d'Orvilliers fell
back upon Brest under the same conditions.  The English regarded this
retreat as a humiliation to which they were unaccustomed Lord Keppel had
to appear before a court-martial.  In France, after the first burst of
enthusiasm, fault was found with the inactivity of the Duke of Chartres,
who commanded the rear-guard of the fleet, under the direction of M. de
La Motte-Piquet; the prince was before long obliged to leave the navy, he
became colonel-general of the hussars.  A fresh sally on the part of the
fleet did not suffice to protect the merchant-navy, the losses of which
were considerable.  The English vessels everywhere held the seas.

Count d'Estaing had at last arrived at the mouth of the Delaware on the
9th of July, 1778; Admiral Howe had not awaited him, he had sailed for
the anchorage of Sandy Hook.  The heavy French ships could not cross the
bar; Philadelphia had been evacuated by the English as soon as the
approach of Count d'Estaing was signalled.  "It is not General Howe who
has taken Philadelphia," said Franklin; "it is Philadelphia that has
taken General Howe."  The English commander had foreseen the danger; on
falling back upon New York he had been hotly pursued by Washington, who
had, at Monmouth, gained a serious advantage over him.  The victory of
the Americans would have been complete but for the jealous disobedience
of General Lee.  Washington pitched his camp thirty miles from New York.
"After two years' marching and counter-marching," he wrote, "after
vicissitudes so strange that never perhaps did any other war exhibit the
like since the beginning of the world, what a subject of satisfaction and
astonishment for us to see the two armies back again at the point from
which they started, and the assailants reduced in self-defence to have
recourse to the shovel and the axe!"

The combined expedition of D'Estaing and General Sullivan against the
little English corps which occupied Rhode Island had just failed; the
fleet of Admiral Howe had suddenly appeared at the entrance of the roads,
the French squadron had gone out to meet it, an unexpected tempest
separated the combatants; Count d'Estaing, more concerned for the fate of
his vessels than with the clamors of the Americans, set sail for Boston
to repair damages.  The campaign was lost; cries of treason were already
heard.  A riot was the welcome which awaited the French admiral at
Boston.  All Washington's personal efforts, seconded by the Marquis of La
Fayette, were scarcely sufficient to restore harmony.  The English had
just made a descent upon the coasts of Georgia, and taken possession of
Savannah.  They threatened Carolina, and even Virginia.

Scarcely were the French ships in trim to put to sea when Count d'Estaing
made sail for the Antilles.  Zealous and brave, but headstrong and
passionate, like M. de Lally-Tollendal, under whom he had served in
India, the admiral could ill brook reverses, and ardently sought for an
occasion to repair them.  The English had taken St. Pierre and Miquelon.
M. de Bouille, governor of Iles-du-Vent, had almost at the same time made
himself master of La Dominique.  Four thousand English had just landed at
St. Lucie; M. d'Estaing, recently arrived at Martinique, headed thither
immediately with his squadron, without success, however: it was during
the absence of the English admiral, Byron, that the French seamen
succeeded in taking possession first of St. Vincent, and soon afterwards
of Grenada.  The fort of this latter island was carried after a brilliant
assault.  The admiral had divided his men into three bodies; he commanded
the first, the second marched under the orders of Viscount de Noailles,
and Arthur Dillon, at the head of the Irish in the service of France, led
the third.  The cannon on the ramparts were soon directed against the
English, who thought to arrive in time to relieve Grenada.

Count d'Estaing went out of port to meet the English admiral; as he was
sailing towards the enemy, the admiral made out, under French colors, a
splendid ship of war, _Le Fier-Rodrigue,_ which belonged to Beaumarchais,
and was convoying ten merchant-men.  "Seeing the wide berth kept by this
fine ship, which was going proudly before the wind," says the sprightly
and sagacious biographer of Beaumarchais, M. de Lomdnie, "Admiral
d'Estaing signalled to her to bear down; learning that she belonged to
his majesty Caron de Beaumarchais, he felt that it would be a pity not to
take advantage of it, and, seeing the exigency of the case, he appointed
her her place of battle without asking her proprietor's permission,
leaving to the mercy of the waves and of the English the unhappy
merchant-ships which the man-of-war was convoying. _Le Fier-Rodrique_
resigned herself bravely to her fate, took a glorious part in the battle
off Grenada, contributed in forcing Admiral Byron to retreat, but had her
captain killed, and was riddled with bullets."  Admiral d'Estaing wrote
the same evening to Beaumarchais; his letter reached the scholar-merchant
through the medium of the minister of marine.  To the latter Beaumarchais
at once replied: "Sir, I have to thank you for having forwarded to me the
letter from Count d'Estaing.  It is very noble in him at the moment of
his triumph to have thought how very agreeable it would be to me to have
a word in his handwriting.  I take the liberty of sending you a copy of
his short letter, by which I feel honored as the good Frenchman I am, and
at which I rejoice as a devoted adherent of my country against that proud
England.  The brave Montault appears to have thought that he could not
better prove to me how worthy be was of the post with which he was
honored than by getting killed; whatever may be the result as regards my
own affairs, my poor friend Montault has died on the bed of honor, and I
feel a sort of childish joy in being certain that those English who have
cut me up so much in their papers for the last four years will read
therein that one of my ships has helped to take from them the most
fertile of their possessions.  And as for the enemies of M. d'Estaing and
especially of yourself, sir, I see them biting their nails, and my heart
leaps for joy!"

The joy of Beaumarchais, as well as that of France, was a little
excessive, and smacked of unfamiliarity with the pleasure of victory.
M. d'Estaing had just been recalled to France; before he left, he would
fain have rendered to the Americans a service pressingly demanded of him.
General Lincoln was about to besiege Savannah; the English general, Sir
Henry Clinton, a more able man than his predecessor, had managed to
profit by the internal disputes of the Union, he had rallied around him
the loyalists in Georgia and the Carolinas, civil war prevailed there
with all its horrors; D'Estaing bore down with his squadron for Savannah.
Lincoln was already on the coast ready to facilitate his landing; the
French admiral was under pressure of the orders from Paris, he had no
time for a regular siege.  The trenches had already been opened twenty
days, and the bombardment, terrible as it was for the American town, had
not yet damaged the works of the English.  On the 9th of October,
D'Estaing determined to deliver the assault.  Americans and French vied
with each other in courage.  For a moment the flag of the Union floated
upon the ramparts, some grenadiers made their way into the place, the
admiral was wounded; meanwhile, the losses were great, and perseverance
was evidently useless.  The assault was repulsed.  Count D'Estaing still
remained nine days before the place, in hopes of finding a favorable
opportunity; he was obliged to make sail for France, and the fleet
withdrew, leaving Savannah in the hands of the English.  The only
advantage from the admiral's expedition was the deliverance of Rhode
Island, abandoned by General Clinton, who, fearing an attack from the
French, recalled the garrison to New York.  Washington had lately made
himself master of the fort at Stony Point, which had up to that time
enabled the English to command the navigation of the Hudson.

In England the commotion was great: France and America in arms against
her had just been joined by Spain.  A government essentially monarchical,
faithful to ancient traditions, the Spaniards had for a long while
resisted the entreaties of M. de Vergennes, who availed himself of the
stipulations of the Family pact.  Charles III. felt no sort of sympathy
for a nascent republic; he feared the contagion of the example it showed
to the Spanish colonies; he hesitated to plunge into the expenses of a
war.  His hereditary hatred against England prevailed at last over the
dictates of prudence.  He was promised, moreover, the assistance of
France to reconquer Gibraltar and Minorca.  The King of Spain consented
to take part in the war, without however recognizing the independence of
the United States, or entering into alliance with them.

The situation of England was becoming serious, she believed herself to be
threatened with a terrible invasion.  As in the days of the Great Armada,
"orders were given to all functionaries, civil and military, in case of a
descent of the enemy, to see to the transportation into the interior and
into a place of safety of all horses, cattle, and flocks that might
happen to be on the coasts."  "Sixty-six allied ships of the line
ploughed the Channel, fifty thousand men, mustered in Normandy, were
preparing to burst upon the southern counties.  A simple American
corsair, Paul Jones, ravaged with impunity the coasts of Scotland.  The
powers of the North, united with Russia and Holland, threatened to
maintain, with arms in hand, the rights of neutrals, ignored by the
English admiralty courts.  Ireland awaited only the signal to revolt;
religious quarrels were distracting Scotland and England; the authority
of Lord North's cabinet was shaken in Parliament as well as throughout
the country; the passions of the mob held sway in London, and among the
sights that might have been witnessed was that of this great city given
up for nearly a week to the populace, without anything that could stay
its excesses save its own lassitude and its own feeling of shame " [M.
Cornelis de Witt, _Histoire de Washington_].

So many and such imposing preparations were destined to produce but
little fruit.  The two fleets, the French and the Spanish, had effected
their junction off Corunna, under the orders of Count d'Orvilliers; they
slowly entered the Channel on the 31st of August, near the Sorlingues
(Scilly) Islands; they sighted the English fleet, with a strength of only
thirty, seven vessels.  Count de Guichen, who commanded the vanguard, was
already manoeuvring to cut off the enemy's retreat; Admiral Hardy had the
speed of him, and sought refuge in Plymouth Sound.  Some engagements
which took place between frigates were of little importance, but glorious
for both sides.  On the 6th of October, the _Surveillante,_ commanded by
Chevalier du Couedic, had a tussle with the _Quebec;_ the broadsides were
incessant, a hail of lead fell upon both ships, the majority of the
officers of the _Surveillante_ were killed or wounded.  Du Couedic had
been struck twice on the head.  A fresh wound took him in the stomach;
streaming with blood, he remained at his post and directed the fight.
The three masts of the _Surveillante_ had just fallen, knocked to pieces
by balls, the whole rigging of the _Quebec_ at the same moment came down
with a run.  The two ships could no longer manoeuvre, the decimated crews
were preparing to board, when a thick smoke shot up all at once from the
between-decks of the _Quebec;_ the fire spread with unheard of rapidity;
the _Surveillante,_ already hooked on to her enemy's side, was on the
point of becoming, like her, a prey to the flames, but her commander,
gasping as he was and scarcely alive, got her loose by a miracle of
ability.  The _Quebec_ had hardly blown up when the crew of the
_Surveillante_ set to work picking up the glorious wreck of their
adversaries; a few prisoners were brought into Brest on the victorious
vessel, which was so blackened by the smoke and damaged by the fight that
tugs had to be sent to her assistance.  A few months afterwards Du
Couedic died of his wounds, carrying to the grave the supreme honor of
having been the only one to render his name illustrious in the great
display of the maritime forces of France and Spain.  Count d'Orvilliers
made no attempt; the inhabitants upon the English coasts ceased to
tremble; sickness committed ravages amongst the crews.  After a hundred
and four days' useless cruising in the Channel, the huge fleet returned
sorrowfully to Brest; Admiral d'Orvilliers had lost his son in a partial
engagement; he left the navy and retired ere long to a convent.  Count de
Guichen sailed for the Antilles with a portion of the French fleet, and
maintained with glory the honor of his flag in a series of frequently
successful affairs against Admiral Rodney.  At the beginning of the war,
the latter, a great scapegrace and overwhelmed with debt, happened to be
at Paris, detained by the state of his finances.  "If I were free," said
he one day in the presence of Marshal Biron, "I would soon destroy all
the Spanish and French fleets."  The marshal at once paid his debts.
"Go, sir," said he, with a flourish of generosity to which the eighteenth
century was a little prone, "the French have no desire to gain advantages
over their enemies save by their bravery."  Rodney's first exploit was to
revictual Gibraltar, which the Spanish and French armaments had invested
by land and sea.

Everywhere the strength of the belligerents was being exhausted without
substantial result and without honor; for more than four years now
America had been keeping up the war, and her Southern provinces had been
everywhere laid waste by the enemy; in spite of the heroism which was
displayed by the patriots, and of which the women themselves set the
example, General Lincoln had just been forced to capitulate at
Charleston.  Washington, still encamped before New York, saw his army
decimated by hunger and cold, deprived of all resources, and reduced to
subsist at the expense of the people in the neighborhood.  All eyes were
turned towards France; the Marquis of La Fayette had succeeded in
obtaining from the king and the French ministry the formation of an
auxiliary corps; the troops were already on their way under the orders of
Count de Rochambeau.

Misfortune and disappointments are great destroyers of some barriers,
prudent tact can overthrow others.  Washington and the American army
would but lately have seen with suspicion the arrival of foreign
auxiliaries; in 1780, transports of joy greeted the news of their
approach.  M. de La Fayette, moreover, had been careful to spare the
American general all painful friction.  Count de Rochambeau and the
French officers were placed under the orders of Washington, and the
auxiliary corps entirely at his disposal.  The delicate generosity and
the disinterestedness of the French government had sometimes had the
effect of making it neglect the national interests in its relations with
the revolted colonies; but it had derived therefrom a spirit of conduct
invariably calculated to triumph over the prejudices as well as the
jealous pride of the Americans.

"The history of the War of Independence is a history of hopes deceived,"
said Washington.  He had conceived the idea of making himself master of
New York with the aid of the French.  The transport of the troops had
been badly calculated; Rochambeau brought to Rhode Island only the first
division of his army, about five thousand men; and Count de Guichen,
whose squadron had been relied upon, had just been recalled to France.
Washington was condemned to inaction.  "Our position is not sufficiently
brilliant," he wrote to M. de La Fayette, "to justify our putting
pressure upon Count de Rochambeau; I shall continue our arrangements,
however, in the hope of more fortunate circumstances."  The American army
was slow in getting organized, obliged as it had been to fight
incessantly and make head against constantly recurring difficulties; it
was getting organized, however; the example of the French, the discipline
which prevailed in the auxiliary corps, the good understanding
thenceforth established among the officers, helped Washington in his
difficult task.  From the first the superiority of the general was
admitted by the French as well as by the Americans; naturally, and by the
mere fact of the gifts he had received from God, Washington was always
and everywhere chief of the men placed within his range and under his
influence.

This natural ascendency, which usually triumphed over the base jealousies
and criminal manoeuvres into which the rivals of General Washington had
sometimes allowed themselves to be drawn, had completely failed in the
case of one of his most brilliant lieutenants; in spite of his inveterate
and well-known vices, Benedict Arnold had covered himself with glory by
daring deeds and striking bravery exhibited in a score of fights, from
the day when, putting himself at the head of the first bands raised in
Massachusetts, he had won the grade of general during his expedition to
Canada.  Accused of malversation, and lately condemned by a court-martial
to be reprimanded by the general-in-chief, Arnold, through an excess of
confidence on Washington's part, still held the command of the important
fort of West Point: he abused the trust.  Washington, on returning from
an interview with Count de Rochambeau, went out of his way to visit the
garrison of West Point: the commandant was absent.  Surprised and
displeased, the general was impatiently waiting for his return, when his
aide-de-camp and faithful friend, Colonel Hamilton, brought him important
despatches.  Washington's face remained impassible; but throughout the
garrison and among the general's staff there had already spread a whisper
of Arnold's treachery: he had promised, it was said, to deliver West
Point to the enemy.  An English officer, acting as a spy, had actually
been arrested within the American lines.

It was true; and General Arnold, turning traitor to his country from
jealousy, vengeance, and the shameful necessities entailed by a
disorderly life, had sought refuge at New York with Sir Henry Clinton.
Major Andre was in the hands of the Americans.  Young, honorable, brave,
endowed with talents, and of elegant and cultivated tastes, the English
officer, brought up with a view to a different career, but driven into
the army from a disappointment in love, had accepted the dangerous
mission of bearing to the perfidious commandant of West Point the English
general's latest instructions.  Sir Henry Clinton had recommended him not
to quit his uniform; but, yielding to the insinuating Arnold, the unhappy
young man had put on a disguise; he had been made prisoner.  Recognized
and treated as a spy, he was to die on the gallows.  It was the ignominy
alone of this punishment which perturbed his spirit.  "Sir," he wrote to
Washington, "sustained against fear of death by the reflection that no
unworthy action has sullied a life devoted to honor, I feel confident
that in this my extremity, your Excellency will not be deaf to a prayer
the granting of which will soothe my last moments.  Out of sympathy for a
soldier, your Excellency will, I am sure, consent to adapt the form of my
punishment to the feelings of a man of honor.  Permit me to hope that, if
my character have inspired you with any respect, if I am in your eyes
sacrificed to policy and not to vengeance, I shall have proof that those
sentiments prevail in your heart by learning that I am not to die on the
gallows."

With a harshness of which there is no other example in his life, and of
which he appeared to always preserve a painful recollection, Washington
remained deaf to his prisoner's noble appeal: Major Andre underwent the
fate of a spy.  "You are a witness that I die like a man of honor," he
said to an American officer whose duty it was to see the orders carried
out.  The general did him justice.  "Andre," he said, "paid his penalty
with the spirit to be expected from a man of such merit and so brave an
officer.  As to Arnold, he has no heart.  .  .  .  Everybody is surprised
to see that he is not yet swinging on a gibbet."  The passionate
endeavors of the Americans to inflict upon the traitor the chastisement
he deserved remained without effect.  Constantly engaged, as an English
general, in the war, with all the violence bred of uneasy hate, Arnold
managed to escape the just vengeance of his countrymen; he died twenty
years later, in the English possessions, rich and despised.  "What would
you have done if you had succeeded in catching me?" he asked an American
prisoner one day.  "We would have severed from your body the leg that had
been wounded in the service of the country, and would have hanged the
rest on a gibbet," answered the militiaman quietly.

The excitement caused by the treachery of Arnold had not yet
subsided, when a fresh cup of bitterness was put to the lips of
the general-in-chief, and disturbed the hopes he had placed on the
reorganization of his army.  Successive revolts among the troops of
Pennsylvania, which threatened to spread to those of New Jersey, had
convinced him that America had come to the end of her sacrifices.  "The
country's own powers are exhausted," he wrote to Colonel Lawrence in a
letter intended to be communicated to Louis XVI.; "single-handed we
cannot restore public credit and supply the funds necessary for
continuing the war.  The patience of the army is at an end, the people
are discontented; without money, we shall make but a feeble effort, and
probably the last."

The insufficiency of the military results obtained by land and sea, in
comparison with the expenses and the exhibition of force, and the
slowness and bad management of the operations, had been attributed, in
France as well as in America, to the incapacity of the ministers of war
and marine, the Prince of Montbarrey and M. de Sartines.  The finances
had up to that time sufficed for the enormous charges which weighed upon
the treasury; credit for the fact was most justly given to the consummate
ability and inexhaustible resources of M. Necker, who was, first of all,
made director of the treasury on October 22, 1776, and then
director-general of finance on June 29, 1777, By his advice, backed by
the favor of the queen, the two ministers were superseded by M. de Segur
and the Marquis of Castries.  A new and more energetic impulse before
long restored the hopes of the Americans.  On the 21st of March, 1780,
a fleet left under the orders of Count de Grasse; after its arrival at
Martinique, on the 28th of April, in spite of Admiral Hood's attempts to
block his passage, Count de Grasse took from the English the Island of
Tobago, on the 1st of June; on the 3d of September, he brought Washington
a reinforcement of three thousand five hundred men, and twelve hundred
thousand livres in specie.  In a few months King Louis XVI. had lent to
the United States or procured for them on his security sums exceeding
sixteen million livres.  It was to Washington personally that the French
government confided its troops as well as its subsidies.  "The king's
soldiers are to be placed exclusively under the orders of the
general-in-chief," M. Girard, the French minister in America, had said,
on the arrival of the auxiliary corps.

After so many and such painful efforts, the day of triumph was at last
dawning upon General Washington and his country.  Alternations of success
and reverse had signalized the commencement of the campaign of 1781.
Lord Cornwallis, who commanded the English armies in the South, was
occupying Virginia with a considerable force, when Washington, who had
managed to conceal his designs from Sir Henry Clinton, shut up in New
York, crossed Philadelphia on the 4th of September, and advanced by
forced marches against the enemy.  The latter had been for some time past
harassed by the little army of M. de La Fayette.  The fleet of Admiral de
Grasse cut off the retreat of the English.  Lord Cornwallis threw himself
into Yorktown; on the 30th of September the place was invested.

It was but slightly and badly fortified; the English troops were fatigued
by a hard campaign; the besiegers were animated by a zeal further
stimulated by emulation; French and Americans vied with one another in
ardor.  Batteries sprang up rapidly, the soldiers refused to take any
rest, the trenches were opened by the 6th of October.  On the 10th, the
cannon began to batter the town; on the 14th an American column,
commanded by M. de La Fayette, Colonel Hamilton and Colonel Lawrence,
attacked one of the redoubts which protected the approaches to the town,
whilst the French dashed forward on their side to attack the second
redoubt, under the orders of Baron de Viomenil, Viscount de Noailles, and
Marquis de St. Simon, who, ill as he was, had insisted on being carried
at the head of his regiment.  The flag of the Union floated above both
works at almost the same instant; when the attacking columns joined again
on the other side of the outwork they had attacked, the French had made
five hundred prisoners.  All defence became impossible.  Lord Cornwallis
in vain attempted to escape; he was reduced, on the 17th of October, to
signing a capitulation more humiliating than that of Saratoga: eight
thousand men laid down their arms, the vessels which happened to be lying
at Yorktown and Gloucester were given up to the victors.  Lord Cornwallis
was ill of grief and fatigue.  General O'Hara, who took his place,
tendered his sword to Count de Rochambeau; the latter stepped back, and,
pointing to General Washington, said aloud, "I am only an auxiliary."  In
receiving the English general's sword, Washington was receiving the
pledge of his country's independence.

England felt this.  "Lord North received the news of the capitulation
like a bullet in his breast," said Lord George Germaine, secretary of
state for the colonies; he threw up his arms without being able to utter
a word beyond 'My God, all's lost!'"  To this growing conviction on the
part of his ministers, as well as of the nation, George III. opposed an
unwavering persistency.  "None of the members of my cabinet," he wrote
immediately, "will suppose, I am quite sure, that this event can in any
way modify the principles which have guided me hitherto and which will
continue to regulate my conduct during the rest of this struggle."

Whilst the United States were celebrating their victory with
thanksgivings and public festivities, their allies were triumphing at all
the different points, simultaneously, at which hostilities had been
entered upon.  Becoming embroiled with Holland, where the republican
party had prevailed against the stadtholder, who was devoted to them, the
English had waged war upon the Dutch colonies.  Admiral Rodney had taken
St. Eustache, the centre of an immense trade; he had pillaged the
warehouses and laden his vessels with an enormous mass of merchandise;
the convoy which was conveying a part of the spoil to England was
captured by Admiral La Motte-Piquet; M. Bouille surprised the English
garrison remaining at St. Eustache and recovered possession of the
island, which was restored to the Dutch.  They had just maintained
gloriously, at Dogger Bank, their old maritime renown.  "Officers and
men all fought like lions," said Admiral Zouttman.  The firing had not
commenced until the two fleets were within pistol-shot.  The ships on
both sides were dismasted, scarcely in a condition to keep afloat; the
glory and the losses were equal; but the English admiral, Hyde Parker,
was irritated and displeased.  George III. went to see him on board his
vessel.  "I wish your Majesty younger seamen and better ships," said the
old sailor, and he insisted on resigning.  This was the only action
fought by the Dutch during the war; they left to Admiral de Kersaint the
job of recovering from the English their colonies of Demerara, Essequibo,
and Berbice, on the coasts of Guiana.

A small Franco-Spanish army was at the same time besieging Minorca.
The fleet was considerable, the English were ill-prepared; they were soon
obliged to shut themselves up in Fort St. Philip.  The ramparts were as
solid, the position was as impregnable, as in the time of Marshal
Richelieu.  The admirals were tardy in bringing up the fleet; their
irresolution caused the failure of operations that had been ill-combined;
the squadrons entered port again.  The Duke of Crillon, who commanded the
besieging force, weary of investing the fortress, made a proposal to the
commandant to give the place up to him: the offers were magnificent, but
Colonel Murray answered indignantly: "Sir, when the king his master
ordered your brave ancestor to assassinate the Duke of Guise, he replied
to Henry III., Honor forbids!  You ought to have made the same answer to
the king of Spain when he ordered you to assassinate the honor of a man
as well born as the Duke of Guise or yourself.  I desire to have no
communication with you but by way of arms."  And he kept up the defence
of his fortress, continually battered by the besiegers' cannonballs.
Assault succeeded assault: the Duke of Crillon himself escaladed the
ramparts to capture the English flag which floated on the top of a tower:
he was slightly wounded.  "How long have generals done grenadiers' work?"
said the officers to one another.  The general heard them.  "I wanted to
make my Spaniards thorough French," he said, "that nobody might any
longer perceive that there are two nationalities here."  Murray at last
capitulated on the 4th of February, 1782: the fortress contained but a
handful of soldiers exhausted with fatigue and privation.

Great was the joy at Madrid as well as in France, and deep the dismay in
London: the ministry of Lord North could not stand against this last
blow.  So many efforts and so many sacrifices ending in so many disasters
were irritating and wearing out the nation.  "Great God!" exclaimed
Burke, "is it still a time to talk to us of the rights we are upholding
in this war!  Oh! excellent rights!  Precious they should be, for they
have cost us dear.  Oh! precious rights, which have cost Great Britain