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[Illustration: Charlotte Corday, after the assassination of Marat,
apprehended by the Jacobin mob

Painting by J. Weerts.]




THE GREAT EVENTS

BY

FAMOUS HISTORIANS

A COMPREHENSIVE AND READABLE ACCOUNT OF THE WORLD'S HISTORY, EMPHASIZING
THE MORE IMPORTANT EVENTS, AND PRESENTING THESE AS COMPLETE NARRATIVES
IN THE MASTER-WORDS OF THE MOST EMINENT HISTORIANS

NON-SECTARIAN      NON-PARTISAN      NON-SECTIONAL

ON THE PLAN EVOLVED FROM A CONSENSUS OF OPINIONS GATHERED FROM THE MOST
DISTINGUISHED SCHOLARS OF AMERICA AND EUROPE, INCLUDING BRIEF
INTRODUCTIONS BY SPECIALISTS TO CONNECT AND EXPLAIN THE CELEBRATED
NARRATIVES, ARRANGED CHRONOLOGICALLY, WITH THOROUGH INDICES,
BIBLIOGRAPHIES, CHRONOLOGIES, AND COURSES OF READING

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

ROSSITER JOHNSON, LL.D.

ASSOCIATE EDITORS

CHARLES F. HORNE, Ph.D.

JOHN RUDD, LL.D.

_With a staff of specialists_

_VOLUME XIV_


[Illustration]

The National Alumni

COPYRIGHT, 1905,

BY THE NATIONAL ALUMNI




CONTENTS

VOLUME XIV


                                                                      PAGE

_An Outline Narrative of the Great Events_,                           xiii
CHARLES F. HORNE

_The Battle of Lexington (A.D. 1775)_,                                   1
RICHARD FROTHINGHAM

_The Battle of Bunker Hill (A.D. 1775)_,                                19
JOHN BURGOYNE
JOHN HENEAGE JESSE
JAMES GRAHAME

_Canada Remains Loyal to England_
_Montgomery's Invasion (A.D. 1775)_,                                    30
JOHN M'MULLEN

_Signing of the American Declaration of Independence (A.D. 1776)_,      39
THOMAS JEFFERSON
JOHN A. DOYLE

_The Defeat of Burgoyne at Saratoga (A.D. 1777)_,                       51
SIR EDWARD SHEPHERD CREASY

_The First Victory of the American Navy (A.D. 1779)_,                   68
ALEXANDER SLIDELL MACKENZIE

_Joseph II Attempts Reform in Hungary (A.D. 1780)_,                     85
ARMINIUS VAMBERY

_Siege and Surrender of Yorktown (A.D. 1781)_,                          97
HENRY B. DAWSON
LORD CORNWALLIS

_British Defence of Gibraltar (A.D. 1782)_,                            116
FREDERICK SAYER

_Close of the American Revolution (A.D. 1782)_,                        137
JOHN ADAMS
JOHN JAY
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN
HENRY LAURENS
JOHN M. LUDLOW

_Settlement of American Loyalists in Canada (A.D. 1783)_,              156
SIR JOHN G. BOURINOT

_The First Balloon Ascension (A.D. 1783)_,                             163
HATTON TURNOR

_Framing of the Constitution of the United States (A.D. 1787)_,        173
ANDREW W. YOUNG
JOSEPH STORY

_Inauguration of Washington_
_His Farewell Address (A.D. 1789-1797)_,                               197
JAMES K. PAULDING AND GEORGE WASHINGTON

_French Revolution: Storming of the Bastille (A.D. 1789)_,             212
WILLIAM HAZLITT

Hamilton Establishes the United States Bank (A.D. 1791),               230
ALEXANDER HAMILTON AND LAWRENCE LEWIS, JR.

_The Negro Revolution in Haiti (A.D. 1791)_
_Toussaint Louverture Establishes the Dominion of his Race_,           236
CHARLES WYLLYS ELLIOTT

_Republican France Defies Europe_
_The Battle of Valmy (A.D. 1792)_,                                     252
ALPHONSE M. L. LAMARTINE

_The Invention of the Cotton-gin (A.D. 1793)_
_Enormous Growth of the Cotton Industry in America_,                   271
CHARLES W. DABNEY
R. B. HANDY
DENISON OLMSTED

_The Execution of Louis XVI (A.D. 1793)_
_Murder of Marat: Civil War in France_,                                295
THOMAS CARLYLE

_The Reign of Terror (A.D. 1794)_,                                     311
FRANÇOIS P. G. GUIZOT

_The Downfall of Poland (A.D. 1794)_,                                  330
SIR ARCHIBALD ALISON

_The Rise of Napoleon_
_The French Conquest of Italy (A.D. 1796)_,                            339
SIR WALTER SCOTT

_Overthrow of the Mamelukes (A.D. 1798)_
_The Battle of the Nile_,                                              353
CHARLES KNIGHT

_Jenner Introduces Vaccination (A.D. 1798)_,                           363
SIR THOMAS J. PETTIGREW

_Universal Chronology (A.D. 1775-1799)_,                               377
JOHN RUDD




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

VOLUME XIV


                                                                      PAGE
_Charlotte Corday, after the assassination of Marat,
apprehended by the Jacobin mob (page 305)_,
Painting by J. Weerts.                                        Frontispiece

_The Siege of Yorktown_,                                               108
Painting by L. C. A. Couder.




AN OUTLINE NARRATIVE

TRACING BRIEFLY THE CAUSES, CONNECTIONS, AND CONSEQUENCES OF

THE GREAT EVENTS

(THE EPOCH OF REVOLUTION)

CHARLES F. HORNE


"After us, the deluge!" said Louis XV of France. He died in 1774, and
the remaining quarter of the eighteenth century witnessed social changes
the most radical, the most widespread which had convulsed civilization
since the fall of Rome. "As soon as our peasants seek education," said
Catharine II of Russia to one of her ministers, "neither you nor I will
retain our places." Catharine, one of the shrewdest women of her day,
judged her own people by the more advanced civilization of Western
Europe. She saw that it was the growth of ideas, the intellectual
advance, which had made Revolution, world-wide Revolution, inevitable.

If we look back to the beginnings of Teutonic Europe, we see that the
social system existing among the wild tribes that overthrew Rome, was
purely republican. Each man was equal to every other; and they merely
conferred upon their sturdiest warrior a temporary authority to lead
them in battle. When these Franks (the word itself means freemen) found
themselves masters of the imperial, slave-holding world of Rome, the two
opposing systems coalesced in vague confusing whirl, from which emerged
naturally enough the "feudal system," the rule of a warrior aristocracy.
Gradually a few members of this nobility rose above the rest, became
centres of authority, kings, ruling over the States of modern Europe.
The lesser nobles lost their importance. The kings became absolute in
power and began to regard themselves as special beings, divinely
appointed to rule over their own country, and to snatch as much of their
neighbors' as they could.

Secure in their undisputed rank, the monarchs tolerated or even
encouraged the intellectual advance of their subjects, until those
subjects saw the selfishness of their masters, saw the folly of
submission and the ease of revolt, saw the world-old truth of man's
equality, to which tyranny and misery had so long blinded them.

Of course these ideas still hung nebulous in the air in the year 1775,
and Europe at first scarce noted that Britain was having trouble with
her distant colonies. Yet to America belongs the honor of having first
maintained against force the new or rather the old and now re-arisen
principles. England, it is true, had repudiated her Stuart kings still
earlier; but she had replaced their rule by that of a narrow
aristocracy, and now George III, the German king of the third generation
whom she had placed as a figure-head upon her throne, was beginning,
apparently with much success, to reassert the royal power. George III
was quite as much a tyrant to England as he was to America, and Britons
have long since recognized that America was fighting their battle for
independence as well as her own.

The English Parliament was not in those days a truly representative
body. The appointment of a large proportion of its members rested with a
few great lords; other members were elected by boards of aldermen and
similar small bodies. The large majority of Englishmen had no votes at
all, though the plea was advanced that they were "virtually
represented," that is, they were able to argue with and influence their
more fortunate brethren, and all would probably be actuated by similar
sentiments. This plea of "virtual representation" was now extended to
America, where its absurdity as applied to a people three thousand miles
away and engaged in constant protest against the course of the English
Government, became at once manifest, and the cry against "Taxation
without representation" became the motto of the Revolution.


THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION

Parliament, finding the Americans most unexpectedly resolute against
submitting to taxation, would have drawn back from the dispute; but King
George insisted on its continuance. He could not realize the difference
between free-born Americans long trained in habits of self-government,
and the unfortunate peasantry of Continental Europe, bowed by centuries
of suffering and submission. He thought it only necessary to bully the
feeble colonists, as Louis XIV had bullied the Huguenots by dragonnades.
Soldiers were sent to America to live on the inhabitants; and in Boston,
General Gage to complete the terror sent out a force to seize the
patriot leaders and destroy their supplies.

Then came "the shot heard round the world." Instead of cringing humbly,
the Americans resisted. Several were shot down at Lexington, and in
return the remainder attacked the soldiers with a resolution and skill
which the peasantry of an open country had never before displayed
against trained troops. These farmers had learned fighting from the
Indians, they had learned self-reliance, and each man acting for
himself, seeking what shelter he could find from tree or fence, fired
upon the Britons, until the most famous soldiery of Europe fled back to
Boston "their tongues hanging out of their mouths like dogs."[1]

The astonished Britons clamored that their opponents did not "fight
fair," meaning that the peasants did not stand still like sheep to be
slaughtered, or rush in bodies to be massacred by the superior weapons
and trained manoeuvres of the professional troops. Therein the
objection touched the very point of the world's advance: the common
people, the country folk of one land at least, had ceased to be mere
unthinking cattle; they acted from intellect, not from sheer brute
despair.

Within a week of Lexington an army of the Americans were gathered round
Boston to defend their homes from further invasions by these foreigners.
The English tried the issue again, and attacked the Americans at Bunker
Hill.[2] The steady valor of the regular troops, engaged on a regular
battle-ground, enabled them to drive the poorly armed peasants from
their intrenchments. But the victory was won at such frightful expense
of life to the British that it was not until forty years had brought
forgetfulness, that they tried a similar assault in military form
against the Americans at New Orleans. The farmers could shoot as well as
think. After Bunker Hill the Revolution was recognized as a serious war,
not a mere mad uprising of hopelessness. Washington took control of the
destinies of America. Congress proclaimed its Independence.[3]

At this period Northern America became unfortunately and apparently
permanently divided against itself. Canada, largely from its French
origin and language, had always stood apart from the more southern
English-speaking colonies. There had been repeated wars between them.
But now when England had seized possession of Canada and within fifteen
years of that event the southern colonists were fighting England, it did
seem probable or at least hopeful that all America might unite against
the common foe.

So thought the American Congress, and despatched a force, not against
the inhabitants of Canada, but against the British troops there, to
enable the Canadians to join in the revolt. The Canadians refused; the
British forces were brilliantly handled, and the tiny American army,
totally unequal to coping single-handed against the enemy and against
the gigantic natural difficulties of the expedition, failed--failed
gloriously but totally--and only roused anew against the southland the
antagonism of the Canadians, mingled now with contempt and a growing
admiration and even loyalty toward the Britons.[4]

Canada became a depot into which British troops were poured, and when
Lord Howe and his army had captured New York, the English Government
planned a powerful expedition to descend the Hudson valley, unite with
Howe and so isolate New England from the less violently rebellious
colonies farther south. On the success or failure of this undertaking
hung the fate not only of the new continent, but one seeing the
consequences now is almost tempted to say, the fate of the world.

The command was intrusted to Burgoyne, an experienced and capable
general. Troops were given to him, it was thought, amply sufficient to
overbear all opposition. There was no regular army to resist him. But
the American farmers of the region rallied in their own defence, they
hung like a cloud around Burgoyne's advance, they cut off his supplies,
they became ever more numerous in his front, until at last he fought
desperate battles against them, could not advance, and was compelled to
surrender his entire army.[5]

Instantly the war assumed a new aspect. Europe awoke to the fact that
England was engaged against a worthy foe. France, humbled in India,
driven from America, defeated on her own borders, saw her opportunity
for revenge, revenge against her hated rival. Moreover, the spirit of
freedom which had been proclaimed by Voltaire, by Rousseau, by a
thousand other voices, was awake in France; it saw its own cause,
hopeless at home, being triumphantly defended in America; and it cried
enthusiastically that the heroes should have aid. Spain, too, had sore
causes of complaint against England. So France first and then Spain made
alliance with the Americans. George III by his obstinacy had plunged his
realm into sore difficulties, had given the final blow to any possible
reëstablishment of kingly power in England.

The most immediate shock caused the Britons by the changed aspect of the
world, was given them by Paul Jones, an American naval officer. He took
advantage of the French alliance to secure a little fleet, part American
but mostly French; and with it he cruised boldly around Great Britain,
bidding defiance to her navy and plundering her shores, in some faint
imitation of the depredations her troops had committed in America. The
fight of Jones in his flagship against the English frigate Serapis has
become world-famous, and the grim resolution with which the American won
his way to victory in face of apparent impossibilities, taught the
Britons that on sea as well as on land they had met their match.[6]

For a time the island kingdom bore up against all her foes. The most
famous of the many sieges of Gibraltar occurred; and for three years the
French and Spanish fleets sought unavailingly to batter the stubborn
rock into surrender.[7] But at last a second British army was trapped
and captured at Yorktown by the French and Americans.[8] Then England
yielded. It was impossible for her longer to undertake the enormous task
of transporting troops across three thousand miles of ocean. She needed
them at home; and many of the English people had always protested
against the fratricidal war with their brethren in America. American
independence was acknowledged, and England was left free to demand a
peace of her European foes.[9]

The antagonisms roused by this bitter war, in which British troops had
repeatedly and cruelly ravaged the American lands and homes, were long
in fading. Canada had stood loyally by Great Britain, and the break
between the northern land and the other colonies was sharp and final.
Even throughout the States which had become independent, a portion of
the people had loyally upheld British rule; and on these unfortunates
the liberated Americans threatened to wreak vengeance for all that had
been endured. Thus came about a vast emigration of the "Tories" or
Loyalists from the new States to Canada. They brought with them the
bitterness of the expatriated, and Canada became yet more firmly
British, more "anti-American" than before.[10]


THE FRENCH REVOLUTION

Of even greater influence were the consequences of the American
Revolution as affecting Continental Europe. Estimates have differed
widely as to just how much the French Revolution was caused by that
across the ocean. Certain it is that Frenchmen had been enthusiastic in
America's cause, that many of their officers fought under Washington,
and returned home deeply infused with devotion to liberty. It has long
been a popular error, encouraged by historians of a former generation,
that the French Revolution arose from a starving peasantry driven to
madness by intolerable oppression. We know better now. It was in Paris,
not in the provinces, that the revolt began. Judged by modern standards,
of course, the French peasantry were oppressed; but if we measure their
condition by that of surrounding nations at the time, by the Austrians
under kind-hearted Maria Theresa, or even by the Prussians under
Frederick the Great, most advanced of the upholders of "benevolent
despotism," in whose lands serfs were still "sold with the soil"
compared with these, Frenchmen were free, prosperous, and happy. It is
even true that the lower classes were unready for change. In Hungary,
Joseph II, son of Maria Theresa, attempted a complete and radical reform
of all abuses, and the mob rose in fury against his innovations,
compelled him to restore their "ancient customs." They had grown
familiar with their chains.[11]

The French Revolution was an uprising of the middle classes. Its great
leaders in the earlier stages were Mirabeau, son of a baron, and
America's own friend the Marquis Lafayette. Even the King, Louis XVI, at
least partly approved the movement. The States-General was summoned in
1789 after an interval of nearly two centuries, to decide on the best
way of relieving the country from its financial embarrassments. This
gathering was soon resolved into a National Assembly which insisted on
giving France a constitution, making it a limited instead of an absolute
monarchy.[12]

On the 14th of July the mob of Paris rose in sudden fury and stormed the
ancient state prison, the Bastille. The King sent no troops to resist
them; and from that time his power was but a shadow. His overthrow,
however, was not yet contemplated. The Revolution was still to be one of
dignity and intellect. An entire year after the fall of the Bastille,
the president of the National Assembly could still say in addressing a
deputation of Americans headed by Paul Jones: "It was by helping you to
conquer liberty that the French learned to understand and love it. The
hands which went to burst your fetters were not made to wear them
themselves; but, more fortunate than you, it is our King himself, it is
a patriot and citizen king, who has called us to the happiness which we
are enjoying that happiness which has cost us merely sacrifices, but
which you paid for with torrents of blood Courage broke your chains;
reason has made ours fall off."

But alas! reason was soon to lose control. The lower classes had wakened
to a sense of their power, they began to use it savagely. Hatred of the
haughty aristocracy, long smoldering, burst everywhere into flame. Mobs
of country peasants plundered isolated chateaux and slew their inmates.
Meanwhile the National Assembly had been abolishing all titles of
nobility; the vast estates of the clergy were confiscated. The
aristocrats began fleeing from France, and the possessions of all who
fled were declared forfeited to the new government.

Imagine the tumult that this upheaval caused to the rest of Europe. News
travelled slowly in those days; but these "_émigrés_," these banished
nobles, were palpable evidences of what had occurred. The common folk
everywhere, especially along the French borders in Germany, Switzerland,
and Italy, celebrated the French triumph as their own. Liberty was at
hand! For them, too, it would come presently! Murmurings of revolt grew
loud. The monarchs of Europe, terrified, took up the cause of the
_Émigrés_ as their own. France was threatened with invasion. King Louis
threw in his lot with his royal friends and attempted flight from Paris.
He was caught and brought back a prisoner. A foreign army marched
against France.

This invasion was met and repelled in the Battle of Valmy (1792), not an
extensive or bloody contest in itself, but one of incalculable
importance in human history, because like Bunker Hill it showed that a
new force had arisen to upset all the military calculations of the past.
Raw troops could now be found to meet on equal terms with veterans.
Liberty, hitherto an impalpable idea, a mere phantom in the brains of a
few philosophers, proved able to call up armies at a word, able
physically to hold its own against embattled despotism. Even the German
Goethe wrote of Valmy, "In this place and on this day a new era of the
world begins."[13]

France however had already gone mad with its success. Even before Valmy
wholesale murder had begun in Paris. The prisons were broken open and a
thousand "aristocrats" hideously butchered without trial. The day after
Valmy, the land was proclaimed a republic. King Louis was put on trial
for his life, and in January, 1793, was executed.[14] Frenchmen began
fighting among themselves. The reign of "terror" began as that of kings
was abolished. Chiefs of each faction accused all others as traitors,
and executions by the guillotine rose to fifty a day. "We must have a
hundred!" cried Robespierre, the lunatic leader of the moment.

The excesses in Paris roused civil war, and through all France men slew
one another in the name of liberty. In Brittany the peasants even rose
in support of royalty, and refused allegiance to the republic. Never has
the most hideous brutality of man been more openly displayed than in
those days of vengeance. The intellectual classes of Europe everywhere
shrank back, terrified at the spectre they had evoked.

The Reign of Terror ended in 1794 with the downfall and execution of its
leader, Robespierre.[15] The civil war was trampled out in blood. And
with Titanic energy the French Republic defended itself against its
foreign foes.

All Europe had joined in a coalition against France--all the kings, that
is. Their subjects still doubted, still hoped, still looked anxiously to
France to see if freedom were in truth a possibility. Then from the
ranks of the liberated French arose great generals, aristocrats no
longer, but men of the people, fitted to lead the new-born armies of the
people. Greatest of these and grimmest of them was Napoleon Bonaparte.
He taught the timorous legislative authorities of Paris how to reassert
their dominion over "King Mob," who had ruled them and the country for
four hideous years. He checked a new uprising by a discharge of
well-stationed cannon, aimed to kill.

Order being thus established at home, the French began to pour over the
border in attack upon those kings who had threatened them. In many
places they were still received as the apostles of liberty. Holland,
Switzerland, the Rhine lands, became allies or dependents of France.
Kings were helpless against them. To the spirit of Republicanism, to the
impassioned courage of Frenchmen, was added the genius of Bonaparte. He
conquered Italy. He plundered her and sent home priceless treasures to
delight his countrymen and fill their exhausted treasury. He became the
man of the hour.[16]

Far beyond France spread the influence of her example. In Eastern
Europe, Poland was roused against the despoilers who had already seized
a portion of her territory. She began a rebellion under Kosciuszko, who,
like Lafayette, had imbibed the love of freedom in America. But Poland
was crushed by the overpowering forces of Russia, Prussia, and Austria.
Her remaining provinces were divided among the plunderers and the last
fragment of her independence was extinguished.[17]

In Haiti also there was a rebellion. The negroes of the island rose
against their Spanish masters and drove them into exile. Toussaint
Louverture, often regarded as the greatest hero of his race, led the
insurgents victoriously against both Spanish and English forces, and
finally with French help established the independence of Haiti as a
negro republic. He became administrator as well as warrior. After a few
successful years he was treacherously seized and held prisoner by
Napoleon; but the monument he had erected for himself, the "Black
Republic," continued and still continues to exist.[18]

In a period so tumultuous as was this quarter-century, one could scarce
expect that the world would make much progress in science. Men were too
intent on sterner things. There was, however, just before the beginning
of the French Revolution, one event which to a future generation may
seem more important even than to us. Aërial navigation began. The first
successful balloon ascension was made by the Montgolfier brothers, and
the sport became for a while a Parisian fad.[19] Still more noteworthy
was the employment of vaccination as a preventive against smallpox. The
system was introduced in England by Jenner in 1798, and its use spread
rapidly over Europe. More recently it has been employed against other
diseases as well, and the resultant increase in the general health of
mankind is beyond computation.[20]


FORMATION OF THE UNITED STATES

Meanwhile America, the source or at least the partial source of all this
republican tumult, was having difficulties of her own. The peace after
Yorktown left her exhausted. The Articles of Confederation which had
sufficed to hold the colonies together under the stress of their great
necessity, had proven insufficient to give any real unity. Each little
colony was jealous of its own power as an independent State: and for a
time it seemed as if they must disband, that America must become like
Europe, divided into a collection of separate ever-jarring States,
devastated by constant wars.

That this was not our own country's fate, we owe to Washington. Our
saviour in war, he became also our saviour in peace. After watching
through some years of this disorganization, he emerged from the peaceful
retirement of his country home, to urge that some means be taken to form
a more perfect union. It was largely through his instrumentality that
the convention of 1787 was called; and he presided over its labors.
Again and again it seemed as if the convention would disband in anarchy.
The antagonisms between the various delegates appeared irreconcilable.
But always there was Washington to control the flaming passions, to
insist upon moderation, upon union. And in the end that convention drew
up the Constitution of the United States.[21]

Even then there remained the task of persuading each State to accept the
Constitution; and this also would have been impossible had not all men
looked to Washington to act as president of the new republic, to do
justice between its differing sections. Relying equally on his wisdom,
his caution, and his incorruptibility, the States intrusted to him a
power they would have conferred upon no other.

Two years were occupied in arranging matters, and then, in 1789, the
date so memorable to France as well, the new government was organized,
Washington was inaugurated as President, and the United States began its
stupendous career as a single nation.[22]

There were difficulties, of course. American finances seemed as
hopelessly involved as had been those of monarchical France. But this
rock upon which the French projects of reform all split, our government
escaped by the financial genius of Alexander Hamilton.[23] The natural
summons of the French that the Americans should become their allies,
should help them to win freedom in their turn, proved another source of
danger. A thousand others were not lacking. But Washington's
conservatism preserved his government through all. He proclaimed
America's well-known policy toward the European States: "Friendship with
all, entangling alliances with none." The material prosperity of the
country increased rapidly. Eli Whitney invented the cotton-gin, which
made cotton cultivation so remunerative that the South grew rich, and
also, alas, became wedded to the system of slavery under which it was
supposed cotton could best be produced.[24]

For eight years Washington guided the destinies of the infant nation,
and then resigned his authority to one of his lieutenants. So that
really the great leader's influence continued predominant until he died
in December, 1799. Already however the more radical of Americans were
grown restive under his restraining hand. Federalism, conservatism, was
losing its control upon the national counsels, a change toward wider and
more radical democracy was at hand.


OVERTHROW OF DEMOCRACY IN FRANCE

The year of 1799 saw also a great change in France, but in the opposite
direction, away from democracy and back toward absolutism. The French
government, grown rash with its marvellous victories, had dared to
despatch Bonaparte, its ablest general, on an ill-considered and
somewhat fanciful expedition to distant Egypt. There his fleet was
destroyed by the English admiral, Nelson, in the celebrated Battle of
the Nile, and he and his army were left practically prisoners in
Egypt.[25]

Deprived of his genius at home, French military affairs went badly.
Monarchy rallied from its momentary depression. Russian troops drove the
French from Switzerland; Germans defeated them along the Rhine. The
Constitutional government in Paris was proving impracticable, its
members incompetent. Bonaparte saw his opportunity. Leaving his army in
Egypt, he escaped the British and returned alone to France. In Paris he
summoned the soldiers around him, entered the hall of the assembly,
and, much as Cromwell had once done in England, bade the wrangling
members disperse. Then he constructed a new government, which he still
called a republic. But as he himself was to be First Consul, with almost
all power in his own hands, the Government proved in reality as complete
an absolutism as that of Richelieu or Louis XIV. The first European
attempt at democracy had perished. The new century was to learn what
this suddenly risen dictator would establish in its stead.

[FOR THE NEXT SECTION OF THIS GENERAL SURVEY SEE VOLUME XV]

FOOTNOTES:

[1] See _Battle of Lexington_, page 1.

[2] See _Battle of Bunker Hill_, page 19.

[3] See _Signing of American Declaration of Independence_, page 39.

[4] See _Canada Remains Loyal to England_, page 30.

[5] See _Defeat of Burgoyne at Saratoga_, page 51.

[6] See _First Victory of the American Navy_, page 68.

[7] See _British Defence of Gibraltar_, page 116.

[8] See _Siege and Surrender of Yorktown_, page 97.

[9] See _Close of the American Revolution_, page 137.

[10] See _Settlement of American Loyalists in Canada_, page 156.

[11] See _Joseph II Attempts Reform in Hungary_, page 85.

[12] See _French Revolution: Storming of the Bastille_, page 212.

[13] See _Republican France Defies Europe: Battle of Valmy_, page 252.

[14] See _Execution of Louis XVI: Murder of Marat: Civil War in France_,
page 295.

[15] See _The Reign of Terror_, page 311.

[16] See _The Rise of Napoleon: The French Conquest of Italy_, page 339.

[17] See _The Downfall of Poland_, page 330.

[18] See _Negro Revolution in Haiti_, page 236.

[19] See _First Balloon Ascension_, page 63.

[20] See _Jenner Introduces Vaccination_, page 363.

[21] See _Framing of the Constitution of the United States_, page 173.

[22] See _Inauguration of Washington: His Farewell Address_, page 197.

[23] See _Hamilton Establishes the United States Bank_, page 230.

[24] See _Invention of the Cotton-gin_, page 271.

[25] See _Overthrow of the Mamelukes: The Battle of the Nile_, page 353.




BATTLE OF LEXINGTON

A.D. 1775

RICHARD FROTHINGHAM

     April 19, 1775, is memorable in American history as the day
     on which occurred the first bloodshed of the Revolution. The
     two combats of the day--that at Lexington and that at
     Concord--really constituted one action, which ended in a
     long running fight. As a single action, it is usually called
     the Battle of Lexington. The engagement at Concord,
     separately considered, is called the Battle of Concord, or
     the Concord Fight.

     At both places, on that fateful day, "the embattled farmers"
     faced the troops of their own sovereign, to resist what was
     felt to be an unwarranted and menacing invasion of American
     liberties. While the soldiers of King George were doing
     their own loyal duty, the New England yeomen who "fired the
     shot heard round the world" obeyed a conviction still more
     compelling. Hence came the first physical struggle in what
     was already an "irrepressible conflict" of principle between
     Englishmen and their kinsmen on the American continent.

     The Revolutionary War was begun on the part of the Americans
     for the redress of grievances for which they had exhausted
     all peaceable endeavors to secure a remedy. It was afterward
     successfully waged for independence. Repressive measures of
     Great Britain in the colonies began with the issuance by
     colonial courts of "writs of assistance." These writs
     authorized officers to summon assistance in searching
     certain premises under certain laws. In the first attempt to
     enforce such a writ--in Massachusetts, 1761--the policy was
     defeated through popular opposition, brilliantly led by
     James Otis, who by a single speech produced such an effect
     that John Adams said of the occasion: "Then and there was
     the first scene of the first act of opposition to the
     arbitrary claims of Great Britain. Then and there the child
     Independence was born."

     Later grievances were those of the Stamp Act (1765), taxes
     on paints, glass, etc. (1767), and the Boston Port Bill
     (1774), ordering the closing of the port on account of the
     rebellious acts of the citizens, especially in the
     "tea-party" of December 16, 1773, when they threw into the
     waters of the harbor from English ships tea valued at
     eighteen thousand pounds. As early as 1770 had occurred the
     "Boston Massacre," a collision between citizens and British
     soldiers, which added to earlier discontents and increased
     the sensitiveness to later irritations.

     The first Continental Congress, in 1774, though strongly
     pacific, favored resistance to aggressions of the Crown.
     During this year and the next two Provincial Congresses met
     in Massachusetts, the collection of military stores was
     authorized, a committee of safety was created, and the
     "minute-men" were organized.

     General Gage, the British commander in Boston, denounced
     these proceedings as treasonable. Parliament vainly sought
     to adjust the difficulties and enforce its authority.
     Conciliatory efforts on both sides failing, it soon became
     evident that a conflict of arms was at hand. By April 4,
     1775, it was known in Boston that reënforcements were on
     their way to General Gage. Soon after their arrival he was
     ready for the movement with which the narrative of
     Frothingham, a high authority on these events, begins.


General Gage had, in the middle of April, 1775, about four thousand men
in Boston. He resolved, by a secret expedition, to destroy the magazines
collected at Concord. This measure was neither advised by his council
nor by his officers. It was said that he was worried into it by the
importunities of the Tories; but it was undoubtedly caused by the
energetic measures of the Whigs. His own subsequent justification was
that when he saw an assembly of men, unknown to the Constitution,
wresting from him the public moneys and collecting warlike stores, it
was alike his duty and the dictate of humanity to prevent the calamity
of civil war by destroying these magazines. His previous belief was that
should the Government show a respectable force in the field, seize the
most obnoxious patriot leaders, and proclaim a pardon for others, it
would come off victorious.

On April 15th the grenadiers and light infantry, on the pretence of
learning a new military exercise, were relieved from duty; and at night
the boats of the transport ships which had been hauled up to be repaired
were launched and moored under the sterns of the men-of-war. These
movements looked suspicious to the vigilant patriots, and Dr. Joseph
Warren sent intelligence of them to Hancock and Adams, who were in
Lexington. It was this timely notice that induced the committee of
safety to take additional measures for the security of the stores in
Concord, and to order (on the 17th) cannon to be secreted, and a part of
the stores to be removed to Sudbury and Groton.

On Tuesday, April 18th, General Gage directed several officers to
station themselves on the roads leading out of Boston, and prevent any
intelligence of his intended expedition that night from reaching the
country. A party of them, on that day, dined at Cambridge. The
committees of safety and supplies, which usually held their sessions
together, also met that day, at Wetherby's Tavern, in Menotomy, now West
Cambridge. Elbridge Gerry and Colonels Orne and Lee, of the members,
remained to pass the night. Richard Devens and Abraham Watson rode in a
chaise toward Charlestown, but, soon meeting a number of British
officers on horseback, they returned to inform their friends at the
tavern, waited there until the officers rode by, and then rode to
Charlestown. Gerry immediately sent an express to Hancock and Adams,
that "eight or nine officers were out, suspected of some evil design,"
which caused precautionary measures to be adopted at Lexington.

Richard Devens, an efficient member of the committee of safety, soon
received intelligence that the British troops were in motion in Boston,
and were certainly preparing to go into the country. Shortly after, the
signal agreed upon in this event was given, namely, a lantern hung out
from the North Church steeple in Boston, when Devens immediately
despatched an express with this intelligence to Menotomy and Lexington.
All this while General Gage supposed his movements were a profound
secret, and as such in the evening communicated them in confidence to
Lord Percy. But as this nobleman was crossing the Common on his way to
his quarters he joined a group of men engaged in conversation, when one
said, "The British troops have marched, but will miss their aim!"

"What aim?" inquired Lord Percy.

"Why, the cannon at Concord." He hastened back to General Gage with this
information, when orders were immediately issued that no person should
leave town. Dr. Warren, however, a few minutes previous, had sent Paul
Revere and William Dawes into the country. Revere, about eleven o'clock,
rowed across the river to Charlestown, was supplied by Richard Devens
with a horse, and started to alarm the country. Just outside of
Charlestown Neck he barely escaped capture by British officers; but
leaving one of them in a clay-pit, he got to Medford, awoke the captain
of the minute-men, gave the alarm on the road, and reached the Rev.
Jonas Clark's house in safety, where the evening before a guard of
eight men had been stationed to protect Hancock and Adams.

It was midnight as Revere rode up and requested admittance. William
Monroe, the sergeant, told him that the family, before retiring to rest,
had requested that they might not be disturbed by noise about the house.
"Noise!" replied Revere; "you'll have noise enough before long--the
regulars are coming out!" He was then admitted. Dawes, who went out
through Roxbury, soon joined him. Their intelligence was "that a large
body of the King's troops, supposed to be a brigade of twelve or fifteen
hundred, had embarked in boats from Boston, and gone over to Lechmere's
Point, in Cambridge, and it was suspected they were ordered to seize and
destroy the stores belonging to the colony, then deposited at Concord."

The town of Lexington, Major Phinney writes, is "about twelve miles
northwest of Boston and six miles southeast of Concord. It was
originally a part of Cambridge, and previous to its separation from that
town was called the Cambridge Farms." The act of incorporation bears
date March 20, 1712. The inhabitants consist principally of hardy and
independent yeomanry. In 1775 the list of enrolled militia bore the
names of over one hundred citizens. The road leading from Boston divides
near the centre of the village in Lexington. The part leading to Concord
passes to the left, and that leading to Bedford to the right, of the
meeting-house, and form two sides of a triangular green or common, on
the south corner of which stands the meeting-house, facing directly down
the road leading to Boston. At the right of the meeting-house, on the
opposite side of Bedford road, was Buckman's Tavern.

About one o'clock the Lexington alarm-men and militia were summoned to
meet at their usual place of parade, on the Common; and messengers were
sent toward Cambridge for additional information. When the militia
assembled, about two o'clock in the morning, Captain John Parker, its
commander, ordered the roll to be called, and the men to load with
powder and ball. About one hundred thirty were now assembled with arms.
One of the messengers soon returned with the report that there was no
appearance of troops on the roads; and the weather being chilly, the
men, after being on parade some time, were dismissed with orders to
appear again at the beat of the drum. They dispersed into houses near
the place of parade--the greater part going into Buckman's Tavern. It
was generally supposed that the movements in Boston were only a feint to
alarm the people.

Revere and Dawes started to give the alarm in Concord, and soon met Dr.
Samuel Prescott, a warm patriot, who agreed to assist in arousing the
people. While they were thus engaged they were suddenly met by a party
of officers, well armed and mounted, when a scuffle ensued, during which
Revere was captured; but Prescott, by leaping a stone-wall, made his
escape. The same officers had already detained three citizens of
Lexington, who had been sent out the preceding evening to watch their
movements. All the prisoners, after being questioned closely, were
released near Lexington, when Revere rejoined Hancock and Adams, and
went with them toward Woburn, two miles from Clark's house.

While these things were occurring, the British regulars were marching
toward Concord. Lieutenant-Colonel Smith, at the head of about eight
hundred troops--grenadiers, light infantry, and marines--embarked about
ten o'clock at the foot of Boston Common, in the boats of the ships of
war. They landed, just as the moon arose, at Phipps' Farm, now Lechmere
Point, took an unfrequented path over the marshes, where in some places
they had to wade through water, and entered the old Charlestown and West
Cambridge road. No martial sounds enlivened their midnight march; it was
silent, stealthy, inglorious. The members of the "Rebel Congress" arose
from their beds at the tavern in Menotomy, to view them. They saw the
front pass on with the regularity of veteran discipline. But when the
centre was opposite the window, an officer and file of men were detached
toward the house. Gerry, Orne, and Lee, half-dressed as they were, then
took the hint and escaped to an adjoining field, while the British in
vain searched the house.

Colonel Smith had marched but few miles when the sounds of guns and
bells gave the evidence that, notwithstanding the caution of General
Gage, the country was alarmed. He detached six companies of light
infantry, under the command of Major Pitcairn, with orders to press
forward and secure the two bridges at Concord, while he sent a messenger
to Boston for a reënforcement. The party of officers who had been out
joined the detachment, with the exaggerated report that five hundred men
were in arms to oppose the King's forces. Major Pitcairn, as he
advanced, succeeded in capturing everyone on the road until he arrived
within a mile and a half of Lexington Meeting-house, when Thaddeus
Bowman succeeded in eluding the advancing troops, and, galloping to the
Common, gave the first certain intelligence to Captain Parker of their
approach.

It was now about half-past four in the morning. Captain Parker ordered
the drum to beat, alarm-guns to be fired, and Sergeant William Monroe to
form his company in two ranks a few rods north of the meeting-house. It
was a part of "the constitutional army," which was authorized to make a
regular and forcible resistance to any open hostility by the British
troops; and it was for this purpose that this gallant and devoted band
on this memorable morning appeared on the field. Whether it ought to
maintain its ground or whether it ought to retreat would depend upon the
bearing and numbers of the regulars. It was not long in suspense. At a
short distance from the parade-ground the British officers, regarding
the American drum as a challenge, ordered their troops to halt, to prime
and load, and then to march forward in double-quick time.

Meantime sixty or seventy of the militia had collected, and about forty
spectators, a few of whom had arms. Captain Parker ordered his men not
to fire unless they were fired upon. A part of his company had time to
form in a military position facing the regulars; but while some were
joining the ranks and others were dispersing, the British troops rushed
on, shouting and firing, and their officers--among whom was Major
Pitcairn--exclaiming, "Ye villains! ye rebels! disperse!" "Lay down your
arms!" "Why don't you lay down your arms?" The militia did not instantly
disperse nor did they proceed to lay down their arms.

The first guns, few in number, did no execution. A general discharge
followed, with fatal results. A few of the militia who had been wounded,
or who saw others killed or wounded by their side, no longer hesitated,
but returned the fire of the regulars. Jonas Parker, John Monroe, and
Ebenezer Monroe, Jr., and others, fired before leaving the line; Solomon
Brown and James Brown fired from behind a stone wall; one other person
fired from the back door of Buckman's house; Nathan Monroe, Lieutenant
Benjamin Tidd and others retreated a short distance and fired. Meantime
the regulars continued their fire as long as the militia remained in
sight, killing eight and wounding ten. Jonas Parker, who repeatedly said
he never would run from the British, was wounded at the second fire, but
he still discharged his gun, and was killed by a bayonet. "A truer heart
did not bleed at Thermopylæ."

Isaac Muzzy, Jonathan Harrington, and Robert Monroe were also killed on
or near the place where the line was formed. "Harrington's was a cruel
fate. He fell in front of his own house, on the north of the Common. His
wife at the window saw him fall and then start up, the blood gushing
from his breast. He stretched out his hands toward her as if for
assistance, and fell again. Rising once more on his hands and knees, he
crawled across the road toward his dwelling. She ran to meet him at the
door, but it was to see him expire at her feet."

Monroe was the standard-bearer of his company at the capture of
Louisburg. Caleb Harrington was killed as he was running from the
meeting-house after replenishing his stock of powder; Samuel Hadley and
John Brown, after they had left the Common; Asahel Porter, of Woburn,
who had been taken prisoner by the British as he was endeavoring to
effect his escape.

The British suffered but little; a private of the Tenth regiment and
probably one other were wounded, and Major Pitcairn's horse was struck.
Some of the Provincials retreated up the road leading to Bedford, but
most of them across a swamp to a rising ground north of the Common. The
British troops formed on the Common, fired a volley, and gave three
huzzas in token of victory. Colonel Smith, with the remainder of the
troops, soon joined Major Pitcairn, and the whole detachment marched
toward Concord, about six miles distant, which it reached without
further interruption. After it left Lexington six of the regulars were
taken prisoners.

Concord was described in 1775, by Ensign Berniere, as follows: "It lies
between two hills, that command it entirely. There is a river runs
through it, with two bridges over it. In summer it is pretty dry. The
town is large, and contains a church, jail, and court-house; but the
houses are not close together, but in little groups." The road from
Lexington entered Concord from the southeast along the side of a hill,
which commences on the right of it about a mile below the village, rises
abruptly from thirty to fifty feet above the road, and terminates at the
northeasterly part of the square. The top forms a plain, which commands
a view of the town. Here was the liberty-pole. The court-house stood
near the present county-house. The main branch of the Concord River
flows sluggishly, in a serpentine direction, on the westerly and
northerly side of the village, about half a mile from its centre. This
river was crossed by two bridges--one called the Old South bridge--the
other, by the Rev. William Emerson's, called the Old North bridge. The
road beyond the North bridge led to Colonel James Barrett's, about two
miles from the centre of the town.

Dr. Samuel Prescott, whose escape has been related, gave the alarm in
Lincoln and Concord. It was between one and two o'clock in the morning
when the quiet community of Concord were aroused from their slumbers by
the sounds of the church-bell. The committee of safety, the military
officers, and prominent citizens assembled for consultation. Messengers
were despatched toward Lexington for information; the militia and
minute-men were formed on the customary parade-ground near the
meeting-house; and the inhabitants, with a portion of the militia, under
the able superintendence of Colonel Barrett, zealously labored in
removing the military stores into the woods and by-places for safety.
These scenes were novel and distressing; and among others, Rev. William
Emerson, the patriotic clergyman, mingled with the people, and gave
counsel and comfort to the terrified women and children.

Reuben Brown, one of the messengers sent to obtain information, returned
with the startling intelligence that the British regulars had fired upon
his countrymen at Lexington, and were on their march for Concord. It was
determined to go out to meet them. A part of the military of
Lincoln--the minute-men, under Captain William Smith, and the militia,
under Captain Samuel Farrar--had joined the Concord people; and after
parading on the Common, some of the companies marched down the
Lexington road until they saw the British two miles from the centre of
the town. Captain Minot, with the alarm company, remained in town, and
took possession of the hill near the liberty-pole. He had no sooner
gained it, however, than the companies that had gone down the road
returned with the information that the number of the British was treble
that of the Americans. The whole then fell back to an eminence about
eighty rods distance, back of the town, where they formed in two
battalions. Colonel Barrett, the commander, joined them here, having
previously been engaged in removing the stores. They had scarcely formed
when the British troops appeared in sight at the distance of a quarter
of a mile, and advancing with great celerity--their arms glittering in
the splendor of early sunshine. But little time remained for
deliberation. Some were in favor of resisting the further approach of
the troops; while others, more prudent, advised a retreat and a delay
until further reënforcements should arrive. Colonel Barrett ordered the
militia to retire over the North bridge to a commanding eminence about a
mile from the centre of the town.

The British troops then marched into Concord in two divisions--one by
the main road, and the other on the hill north of it, from which the
Americans had just retired. They were posted in the following manner:

The grenadiers and light infantry, under the immediate command of
Colonel Smith, remained in the centre of the town. Captain Parsons, with
six light companies, about two hundred men, was detached to secure the
North bridge and to destroy stores, who stationed three companies, under
Captain Laurie, at the bridge, and proceeded with the other three
companies to the residence of Colonel Barrett, about two miles distant,
to destroy the magazines deposited there. Captain Pole, with a party,
was sent, for a similar purpose, to the South bridge. The British met
with but partial success in the work of destruction, in consequence of
the diligent concealment of the stores. In the centre of the town they
broke open about sixty barrels of flour, nearly half of which was
subsequently saved; knocked off the trunnions of three iron
twenty-four-pound cannon, and burned sixteen new carriage-wheels and a
few barrels of wooden trenchers and spoons. They cut down the
liberty-pole, and set the court-house on fire, which was put out,
however, by the exertions of Mrs. Moulton. The parties at the South
bridge and at Colonel Barrett's met with poor success. While engaged in
this manner the report of guns at the North bridge put a stop to their
proceedings.

The British troops had been in Concord about two hours. During this time
the minute-men from the neighboring towns had been constantly arriving
on the high grounds, a short distance from the North bridge, until they
numbered about four hundred fifty. They were formed in line by Joseph
Hosmer, who acted as adjutant. It is difficult, if not impossible, to
ascertain certainly what companies were present thus early in the day.
They came from Carlisle, from Chelmsford, from Westford, from Littleton,
and from Acton. The minute-men of Acton were commanded by Captain Isaac
Davis, a brave and energetic man. Most of the operations of the British
troops were visible from this place of rendezvous, and several fires
were seen in the middle of the town. Anxious apprehensions were then
felt for its fate. A consultation of officers and of prominent citizens
was held. It was probably during this conference that Captain William
Smith, of Lincoln, volunteered, with his company, to dislodge the
British guard at the North bridge. Captain Isaac Davis, as he returned
from it to his ranks, also remarked, "I haven't a man that's afraid to
go." The result of this council was that it was expedient to dislodge
the guard at the North bridge. Colonel Barrett accordingly ordered the
militia to march to it, and to pass it, but not to fire on the King's
troops unless they were fired upon. He designated Major John Buttrick to
lead the companies to effect this object. Lieutenant-Colonel Robinson
volunteered to accompany him. On the march Major Buttrick requested
Colonel Robinson to act as his superior, but he generously declined.

It was nearly ten o'clock in the morning when the Provincials, about
three hundred in number, arrived near the river. The company from Acton
was in front, and Major Buttrick, Colonel Robinson, and Captain Davis
were at their head. Captains David Brown, Charles Miles, Nathan Barrett,
and William Smith, with their companies, and also other companies, fell
into the line. Their positions, however, are not precisely known. They
marched in double file, and with trailed arms. The British guard, under
Captain Laurie, about one hundred in number, were then on the west side
of the river, but on seeing the Provincials approach they retired over
the bridge to the east side of the river, formed as if for a fight, and
began to take up the planks of the bridge. Major Buttrick remonstrated
against this and ordered his men to hasten their march.

When they had arrived within a few rods of the bridge the British began
to fire upon them. The first guns, few in number, did no execution;
others followed with deadly effect. Luther Blanchard, a fifer in the
Acton company, was first wounded; and afterward Captain Isaac Davis and
Abner Hosmer, of the same company, were killed. On seeing the fire take
effect Major Buttrick exclaimed, "Fire, fellow-soldiers! for God's sake,
fire!" The Provincials then fired, and killed one and wounded several of
the enemy. The fire lasted but a few minutes. The British immediately
retreated in great confusion toward the main body--a detachment from
which was soon on its way to meet them. The Provincials pursued them
over the bridge, when one of the wounded of the British was cruelly
killed by a hatchet.

Part of the Provincials soon turned to the left, and ascended the hill
on the east of the main road, while another portion returned to the high
grounds, carrying with them the remains of the gallant Davis and Hosmer.
Military order was broken, and many who had been on duty all the morning
and were hungry and fatigued improved the time to take refreshment.
Meantime the party under Captain Parsons--who was piloted by Ensign
Berniere--returned from Captain Barrett's house, repassed the bridge
where the skirmish took place, and saw the bodies of their companions,
one of which was mangled. It would have been easy for the Provincials to
have cut them off. But war had not been declared; and it is evident that
it had not been fully resolved to attack the British troops. Hence this
party of about one hundred were allowed, unmolested, to join the main
body. Colonel Smith concentrated his force, obtained conveyances for the
wounded, and occupied about two hours in making preparations to return
to Boston--a delay that nearly proved fatal to the whole detachment.

While these great events were occurring at Lexington and Concord, the
intelligence of the hostile march of the British troops was spreading
rapidly through the country; and hundreds of local communities, animated
by the same determined and patriotic spirit, were sending out their
representatives to the battle-field. The minute-men, organized and ready
for action, promptly obeyed the summons to parade. They might wait in
some instances to receive a parting blessing from their minister, or to
take leave of weeping friends; but in all the roads leading to Concord,
they were hurrying to the scene of action. They carried the firelock
that had fought the Indian, and the drum that beat at Louisburg; and
they were led by men who had served under Wolfe at Quebec. As they drew
near the places of bloodshed and massacre they learned that in both
cases the regulars had been the aggressors--"had fired the first"--and
they were deeply touched by the slaughter of their brethren. Now the
British had fairly passed the Rubicon. If any still counselled
forbearance, moderation, peace, the words were thrown away. The
assembling bands felt that the hour had come in which to hurl back the
insulting charges on their courage that had been repeated for years, and
to make good the solemn words of their public bodies. And they
determined to attack on their return the invaders of their native soil.

Colonel Smith, about twelve o'clock, commenced his march for Boston. His
left was covered by a strong flank-guard that kept the height of land
that borders the Lexington road, leading to Merriam's Corner; his right
was protected by a brook; the main body marched in the road. The British
soon saw how thoroughly the country had been alarmed. It seemed, one of
them writes, that "men had dropped from the clouds," so full were the
hills and roads of the minute-men. The Provincials left the high grounds
near the North bridge and went across the pastures known as "the Great
Fields," to Bedford road. Here the Reading minute-men, under Major
Brooks, afterward Governor Brooks, joined them; and a few minutes after,
Colonel William Thompson, with a body of militia from Billerica and
vicinity, came up. It is certain, from the diaries and petitions of this
period, that minute-men from other towns also came up in season to fire
upon the British while leaving Concord.

The Reverend Foster, who was with the Reading company, relates the
beginning of the afternoon contest in the following manner: "A little
before we came to Merriam's hill we discovered the enemy's flank-guard,
of about eighty or one hundred men, who, on their retreat from Concord,
kept that height of land, the main body in the road. The British troops
and the Americans at that time were equally distant from Merriam's
Corner. About twenty rods short of that place the Americans made a halt.
The British marched down the hill, with very slow but steady step,
without music, or a word being spoken that could be heard. Silence
reigned on both sides. As soon as the British had gained the main road,
and passed a small bridge near that corner, they faced about suddenly
and fired a volley of musketry upon us. They overshot; and no one, to my
knowledge, was injured by the fire. The fire was immediately returned by
the Americans, and two British soldiers fell dead, at a little distance
from each other, in the road, near the brook."

The battle now began in earnest, and as the British troops retreated a
severe fire was poured in upon them from every favorable position. Near
Hardy's hill, the Sudbury company, led by Captain Nathaniel Cudworth,
attacked them, and there was a severe skirmish below Brooks' Tavern on
the old road north of the school-house. The woods lined both sides of
the road which the British had to pass, and it was filled with the
minute-men. "The enemy," says Mr. Foster, "was now completely between
two fires, renewed and briskly kept up. They ordered out a flank-guard
on the left to dislodge the Americans from their posts behind large
trees, but they only became a better mark to be shot at." A short and
sharp battle ensued. And for three or four miles along these woody
defiles the British suffered terribly. Woburn had "turned out
extraordinary"; it sent out a force one hundred eighty strong, "well
armed and resolved in defence of the common cause." Major Loammi
Baldwin, afterward Colonel Baldwin, was with this body. At Tanner brook,
at Lincoln bridge, they concluded to scatter, make use of the trees and
walls as defences, and thus attack the British. And in this way they
kept on pursuing and flanking them. In Lincoln, also, Captain Parker's
brave Lexington company again appeared in the field, and did efficient
service. "The enemy," says Colonel Baldwin, "marched very fast, and left
many dead and wounded and a few tired." Eight were buried in Lincoln
graveyard. It was at this time that Captain Jonathan Wilson, of Bedford,
Nathaniel Wyman, of Billerica, and Daniel Thompson, of Woburn, were
killed.

In Lexington, at Fiske's hill, an officer on a fine horse, with a drawn
sword in his hand, was actively engaged in directing the troops, when a
number of the pursuers, from behind a pile of rails, fired at him with
effect. The officer fell, and the horse, in affright, leaped the wall,
and ran toward those who had fired. It was here that Lieutenant-Colonel
Smith was severely wounded in the leg. At the foot of this hill a
personal contest between James Hayward, of Acton, and a British soldier
took place. The Briton drew up his gun, remarking, "You are a dead man!"
"And so are you!" answered Hayward. The former was killed. Hayward was
mortally wounded and died the next day.

The British troops, when they arrived within a short distance of
Lexington Meeting-house, again suffered severely from the close pursuit
and the sharp fire of the Provincials. Their ammunition began to fail,
while their light companies were so fatigued as to be almost unfitted
for service. The large number of wounded created confusion, and many of
the troops rather ran than marched in order. For some time the officers
in vain tried to restore discipline. They saw the confusion increase
under their efforts, until, at last, they placed themselves in front,
and threatened the men with death if they advanced. This desperate
exertion, made under a heavy fire, partially restored order. The
detachment, however, must have soon surrendered had it not in its
extreme peril found shelter in the hollow square of a reënforcement sent
to their relief.

General Gage received, early in the morning, a request from Colonel
Smith for a reënforcement. About nine o'clock he detached three
regiments of infantry and two divisions of marines, with two
field-pieces, under Lord Percy, to support the grenadiers and light
infantry. Lord Percy marched through Roxbury, to the tune of _Yankee
Doodle_ to the great alarm of the country. To prevent or to impede his
march, the select-men of Cambridge had the planks of the Old bridge,
over which he was obliged to pass, taken up; but instead of being
removed, they were piled on the causeway on the Cambridge side of the
river. Hence Lord Percy found no difficulty in replacing them so as to
admit his troops to cross. But a convoy of provisions was detained until
it was out of the protection of the main body. This was captured at West
Cambridge. According to Gordon, Rev. Dr. Payson led this party. David
Lamson, a half-Indian, distinguished himself in the affair. Percy's
brigade met the harassed and retreating troops about two o'clock, within
half a mile of Lexington Meeting-house. "They were so much exhausted
with fatigue," the British historian Stedman writes, "that they were
obliged to lie down for rest on the ground, their tongues hanging out of
their mouths like those of dogs after a chase." The field-pieces from
the high ground below Monroe's Tavern played on the Provincials, and for
a short period there was, save the discharge of cannon, a cessation of
battle. From this time, however, the troops committed the most wanton
destruction. Three houses, two shops, and a barn were laid in ashes in
Lexington; buildings on the route were defaced and plundered, and
individuals were grossly abused.

At this time, Dr. Warren and General Heath were active in the field,
directing and encouraging the militia. General Heath was one of the
generals who were authorized to take the command when the minute-men
should be called out. On his way to the scene of action he ordered the
militia of Cambridge to make a barricade of the planks of the bridge,
take post there, and oppose the retreat of the British in that direction
from Boston. At Lexington, when the minute-men were somewhat checked and
scattered by Percy's field-pieces, he labored to form them into military
order. Dr. Warren, about ten o'clock, rode on horseback through
Charlestown. He had received by express intelligence of the events of
the morning, and told the citizens of Charlestown that the news of the
firing was true. Among others he met Dr. Welsh, who said, "Well, they
are gone out." "Yes," replied the doctor, "and we'll be up with them
before night."

Lord Percy had now under his command about eighteen hundred troops of
undoubted bravery and of veteran discipline. He evinced no disposition,
however, to turn upon his assailants and make good the insulting boasts
of his associates. After a short interval of rest and refreshment the
British recommenced their retreat. Then the Provincials renewed their
attack. In West Cambridge the skirmishing again became sharp and bloody
and the troops increased their atrocities. Jason Russell, an invalid and
a noncombatant, was barbarously butchered in his own house. In this town
a mother was killed while nursing her child. Others were driven from
their dwellings, and their dwellings were pillaged. Here the Danvers
company, which marched in advance of the Essex regiment, met the enemy.
Some took post in a walled enclosure, and made a breastwork of bundles
of shingles; others planted themselves behind trees on the side of the
hill west of the meeting-house. The British came along in solid column
on their right, while a large flank guard came up on their left. The
Danvers men were surrounded, and many were killed and wounded. Here
Samuel Whittemore was shot and bayoneted, and left for dead. Here Dr.
Eliphalet Downer, in single combat with a soldier, killed him with a
bayonet. Here a musket-ball struck a pin out of the hair of Dr. Warren's
earlock.

The wanton destruction of life and property that marked the course of
the invaders added revenge to the natural bravery of the minute-men.
"Indignation and outraged humanity struggled on the one hand; veteran
discipline and desperation on the other." The British had many struck in
West Cambridge, and left an officer wounded in the house still standing
at the rail-road depot. The British troops took the road that winds
round Prospect hill. When they entered this part of Charlestown their
situation was critical. The large numbers of the wounded proved a
distressing obstruction to their progress, while they had but few rounds
of ammunition left. Their field-pieces had lost their terror. The main
body of the Provincials hung closely on their rear; a strong force was
advancing upon them from Roxbury, Dorchester, and Milton; while Colonel
Pickering, with the Essex militia, seven hundred strong, threatened to
cut off their retreat to Charlestown.

Near Prospect hill the fire again became sharp and the British again had
recourse to their field-pieces. James Miller, of Charlestown, was killed
here. Along its base, Lord Percy, it is stated, received the hottest
fire he had during his retreat. General Gage, about sunset, might have
beheld his harassed troops, almost on the run, coming down the old
Cambridge road to Charlestown Neck, anxious to get under the protection
of the guns of the ships-of-war. The minute-men closely followed, but,
when they reached the Charlestown Common, General Heath ordered them to
stop the pursuit.

Charlestown, throughout the day, presented a scene of intense excitement
and great confusion. It was known early in the morning that the regulars
were out. Rumors soon arrived of the events that had occurred at
Lexington. The schools were dismissed, and citizens gathered in groups
in the streets. After Dr. Warren rode through the town, and gave the
certain intelligence of the slaughter at Lexington, a large number went
out to the field, and the greater part who remained were women and
children. Hon. James Russell received, in the afternoon, a note from
General Gage to the effect that he had been informed that citizens had
gone out armed to oppose his majesty's troops, and that if a single man
more went out armed the most disagreeable consequences might be
expected. It was next reported, and correctly, that Cambridge bridge had
been taken up, and that hence the regulars would be obliged to return to
Boston through the town. Many then prepared to leave, and every vehicle
was employed to carry away their most valuable effects. Others, however,
still believing the troops would return the way they went out,
determined to remain, and in either event to abide the worst. Just
before sunset the noise of distant firing was heard, and soon the
British troops were seen in the Cambridge road.

The inhabitants then rushed toward the neck. Some crossed Mystic River,
at Penny Ferry. Some ran along the marsh, toward Medford. The troops,
however, soon approached the town, firing as they came along. A lad,
Edward Barber, was killed on the neck. The inhabitants then turned back
into the town panic-stricken.

Word ran through the crowd that "the British were massacring the women
and children!" Some remained in the streets, speechless with terror;
some ran to the clay-pits, back of Breed's Hill, where they passed the
night. The troops, however, offered no injury to the inhabitants. Their
officers directed the women and children, half-distracted with fright,
to go into their houses, and they would be safe, but requested them to
hand out drink to the troops. The main body occupied Bunker Hill, and
formed a line opposite the neck. Additional troops also were sent over
from Boston. The officers flocked to the tavern in the square, where the
cry was for drink. Guards were stationed in various parts of the town.
One was placed at the neck, with orders to permit no one to go out.
Everything, during the night, was quiet. Some of the wounded were
carried over immediately, in the boats of the Somerset, to Boston.
General Pigot had the command in Charlestown the next day, when the
troops all returned to their quarters.

The Americans lost forty-nine killed, thirty-nine wounded, and five
missing. A committee of the Provincial Congress estimated the value of
the property destroyed by the ravages of the troops to be: In Lexington,
£1761 15s. 5d.; in Concord, £274 16s. 7d.; in Cambridge, £1202 8s. 7d.
Many petitions of persons who engaged the enemy on this day are on file.
They lost guns or horses or suffered other damage. The General Court
indemnified such losses.

The British lost seventy-three killed, one hundred seventy-four wounded,
and twenty-six missing--the most of whom were taken prisoners. Of these,
eighteen were officers, ten sergeants, two drummers, and two hundred
forty were rank and file. Lieutenant Hall, wounded at the North bridge,
was taken prisoner on the retreat, and died the next day. His remains
were delivered to General Gage. Lieutenant Gould was wounded at the
bridge, and taken prisoner, and was exchanged, May 28th, for Josiah
Breed, of Lynn. He had a fortune of one thousand nine hundred pounds a
year, and is said to have offered two thousand pounds for his ransom.
The prisoners were treated with great humanity, and General Gage was
notified that his own surgeons, if he desired it, might dress the
wounded.




BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL

A.D. 1775

JOHN BURGOYNE      JOHN H. JESSE      JAMES GRAHAME

     This action, which took place about two months after the
     Battle of Lexington, though resulting in the physical defeat
     of the Americans, proved for them a moral victory. As at
     Lexington and Concord, the colonial soldiers showed that
     they were prepared to stand their ground in defence of the
     cause which called them to arms, and Bunker Hill became a
     watchword of the Revolution. This event also made it clear
     that the contest must be fought out. Thenceforth the two
     sides in the war were sharply defined.

     The immediate occasion of this battle was the necessity, as
     seen by the British general, Gage, of driving the Americans
     from an eminence commanding Boston. This elevation was one
     of several hills on a peninsula just north of the town and
     running out into the harbor. It was the intention of the
     Americans to seize and fortify Bunker Hill, but for some
     unexplained reason they took Breed's Hill, much nearer
     Boston, and there the battle was mainly fought. Breed's Hill
     is now usually called Bunker Hill, and upon it stands the
     Bunker Hill monument.

     The following accounts of the battle are all from British
     writers; one is that of the English officer General
     Burgoyne, who was afterward defeated at Saratoga; another is
     by the English historical author Jesse, whose best work
     covers the reign of George III. The third is from James
     Grahame, a native of Glasgow, Scotland, who died in 1842, of
     whose _History of America_ a high authority says: "The
     thoroughly American spirit in which it is written prevented
     the success of the book in England." The historian Prescott
     gave it high praise for accuracy and fairness.


JOHN BURGOYNE

Now ensued one of the greatest scenes of war that can be conceived. If
we look to the height, Howe's corps, ascending the hill in face of
intrenchments, and in a very disadvantageous ground, was much engaged;
to the left the enemy, pouring in fresh troops by thousands over the
land; and in the arm of the sea our ships and floating batteries,
cannonading them. Straight before us a large and noble town[26] in one
great blaze; and the church-steeples, being timber, were great pyramids
of fire above the rest. Behind us the church-steeples and heights of our
own camp covered with spectators of the rest of our army which was
engaged; the hills round the country also covered with spectators; the
enemy all in anxious suspense; the roar of cannon, mortars, and
musketry; the crash of churches, ships upon the stocks, and whole
streets falling together, to fill the ear; the storm of the redoubts,
with the objects above described, to fill the eye; and the reflection
that perhaps a defeat was a final loss to the British empire of America,
to fill the mind, made the whole a picture and a complication of horror
and importance beyond anything that ever came to my lot to witness.


JOHN HENEAGE JESSE

About 11 P.M. on June 16th a detachment of about a thousand men, who had
previously joined solemnly together in prayer, ascended silently and
stealthily a part of the heights known as Bunker Hill, situated within
cannon range of Boston and commanding a view of every part of the town.
This brigade was composed chiefly of husbandmen, who wore no uniform,
and who were armed with fowling-pieces only, unequipped with bayonets.
The person selected to command them on this daring service was one of
the lords of the soil of Massachusetts, William Prescott, of Pepperell,
the colonel of a Middlesex regiment of militia. "For myself," he said to
his men, "I am resolved never to be taken alive." Preceded by two
sergeants bearing dark-lanterns, and accompanied by his friends, Colonel
Gridley and Judge Winthrop, the gallant Prescott, distinguished by his
tall and commanding figure, though simply attired in his ordinary calico
smock-frock, calmly and resolutely led the way to the heights. Those who
followed him were not unworthy of their leader.

It was half-past eleven before the engineers commenced drawing the lines
of the redoubt. As the first sod was being upturned, the clocks of
Boston struck twelve. More than once during the night--which happened to
be a beautifully calm and starry one--Colonel Prescott descended to the
shore, where the sound of the British sentinels walking their rounds,
and their exclamations of "All's well!" as they relieved guard,
continued to satisfy him that they entertained no suspicion of what was
passing above their heads. Before daybreak the Americans had thrown up
an intrenchment, which extended from the Mystic to a redoubt on their
left. The astonishment of Gage, when on the following morning he found
this important site in the hands of the enemy, may be readily conceived.
Obviously not a moment was to be lost in attempting to dislodge them;
and accordingly a detachment, under General Howe, was at once ordered on
this critical service.

In the mean time a heavy cannonade, first of all from the Lively
(sloop-of-war), and afterward from a battery of heavy guns from Copp's
hill, in Boston, was opened upon the Americans. Exposed, however, as
they were to a storm of shot and shell, unaccustomed, as they also were,
to face an enemy's fire, they nevertheless pursued their operations with
the calm courage of veteran soldiers.

Late in the day, indeed, when the scorching sun rose high in the
cloudless heavens, when the continuous labors of so many hours
threatened to prostrate them, and when they waited, but waited in vain,
for provisions and refreshments, the hearts of a few began to fail them,
and the word retreat was suffered to escape from their lips. There was
among them, however, a master spirit, whose cheering words and
chivalrous example never failed to restore confidence. On the
spot--where now a lofty column, overlooking the fair landscape and calm
waters, commemorates the events of that momentous day--was then seen,
conspicuous above the rest, the form of Prescott of Pepperell, in his
calico frock, as he paced the parapet to and fro, instilling resolution
into his followers by the contempt which he manifested for danger, and
amid the hottest of the British fire delivering his orders with the same
serenity as if he had been on parade. "Who is that person?" inquired
Governor Gage of a Massachusetts gentleman, as they stood reconnoitring
the American works from the opposite side of the river Charles. "My
brother-in-law, Colonel Prescott," was the reply. "Will he fight?" asked
Gage. "Ay," said the other, "to the last drop of his blood."

It was after 3 P.M. when General Howe's detachment, consisting of about
two thousand men, landed at Charlestown and formed for the attack.
Prescott's instructions to his men, as the British approached, were
sufficiently brief. "The red-coats," he said, "will never reach the
redoubt if you will but withhold your fire till I give the order, and be
careful not to shoot over their heads." In the mean time, ascending the
hill under the protection of a heavy cannonade, the British infantry had
advanced unmolested to within a few yards of the enemy's works, when
Prescott gave the word "Fire!" So promptly and effectually were his
orders obeyed that nearly the whole front rank of the British fell.
Volley after volley was now opened upon them from behind the
intrenchments, till at length even the bravest began to waver and fall
back; some of them, in spite of the threats and passionate entreaties of
their officers, even retreating to the boats.

Minutes, many minutes apparently, elapsed before the British troops were
rallied and returned to the attack, exposed to the burning rays of the
sun, encumbered with heavy knapsacks containing provisions for three
days, compelled to toil up very disadvantageous ground with grass
reaching to their knees, clambering over rails and hedges, and led
against men who were fighting from behind intrenchments and constantly
receiving reënforcements by hundreds--few soldiers, perhaps, but British
infantry would have been prevailed upon to renew the conflict. Again,
however, they advanced to the charge; again, when within five or six
rods of the redoubt, the same tremendous discharge of musketry was
opened upon them; and again, in spite of many heroic examples of
gallantry set them by their officers, they retreated in the same
disorder as before.

By this time the grenadiers and light infantry had lost three-fourths of
their men; some companies had only eight or nine men left, one or two
had even fewer. When the Americans looked forth from their intrenchments
the ground was literally covered with the wounded and dead. According to
an American who was present, "the dead lay as thick as sheep in a fold."
For a few seconds General Howe was left almost alone. Nearly every
officer of his staff had been either killed or wounded. The Americans,
who have done honorable justice to his gallantry, remarked that,
conspicuous as he stood in his general officer's uniform, it was a
marvel that he escaped unhurt. He retired, but it was with the stern
resolve of a hero to rally his men--to return and vanquish.

The third and last attack made by General Howe upon the enemy's
intrenchments appears to have taken place after a considerably longer
interval than the previous one. This interval was employed by Prescott
in addressing words of confidence and exhortation to his followers, to
which their cheers returned an enthusiastic response. "If we drive them
back once more," he said, "they cannot rally again." General Howe, in
the mean time, by disencumbering his men of their knapsacks, and by
bringing the British artillery to play so as to rake the interior of the
American breastwork, had greatly enhanced his chances of success. Once
more, at the word of command, in steady unbroken line, the British
infantry mounted to the deadly struggle; once more the cheerful voice of
Prescott exhorted his men to reserve their fire till their enemies were
close upon them; once more the same deadly fire was poured down upon the
advancing royalists. Again on their part there was a struggle, a pause,
an indication of wavering; but on this occasion it was only momentary.
Onward and headlong against breastwork and against vastly superior
numbers dashed the British infantry, with a heroic devotion never
surpassed in the annals of chivalry. Almost in a moment of time, in
spite of a second volley as destructive as the first, the ditch was
leaped and the parapet mounted.

In that final charge fell many of the bravest of the brave. Of the
Fifty-second regiment alone, three captains, the moment they stood on
the parapet, were shot down. Still the English infantry continued to
pour forward, flinging themselves among the American militiamen, who met
them with a gallantry equal to their own. The powder of the latter
having by this time become nearly exhausted, they endeavored to force
back their assailants with the butt-ends of their muskets. But the
British bayonets carried all before them. Then it was, when further
resistance was evidently fruitless, and not till then, that the heroic
Prescott gave the order to retire. From the nature of the ground it was
necessarily more a flight than a retreat. Many of the Americans,
leaping over the walls of the parapet, attempted to fight their way
through the British troops; while the majority endeavored to escape by
the narrow entrance to the redoubt. In consequence of the fugitives
being thus huddled together, the slaughter became terrific.

"Nothing," writes a young British officer, who was engaged in the
_mêlée_, "could be more shocking than the carnage that followed the
storming of this work. We tumbled over the dead to get at the living,
who were crowding out of the gap of the redoubt, in order to form under
the defences which they had prepared to cover their retreat." Prescott
was one of the last to quit the scene of slaughter. Although more than
one British bayonet had pierced his clothes, he escaped without a wound.

That night the British intrenched themselves on the heights, lying down
in front of the recent scene of contest. The loss in killed and wounded
was ten hundred fifty-four. According to the American account their loss
was one hundred forty-five killed and three hundred four wounded; of
their six pieces of artillery, they only succeeded in carrying off one.

Such was the result of the famous Battle of Bunker Hill, a contest from
which Great Britain derived little advantage beyond the credit of having
achieved a brilliant passage of arms, but which, on the other hand,
produced the significant effect of manifesting, not only to the
Americans themselves, but to Europe, that the colonists could fight with
a steadiness and courage which ere long might render them capable of
coping with the disciplined troops of the mother-country.


JAMES GRAHAME

About the latter part of May, a great part of the reënforcements ordered
from Great Britain arrived at Boston. Three British generals, Howe,
Burgoyne, and Clinton, whose behavior in the preceding war had gained
them great reputation, arrived about the same time. General Gage, thus
reënforced, prepared for acting with more decision; but before he
proceeded to extremities, he conceived it due to ancient forms to issue
a proclamation, holding forth to the inhabitants the alternative of
peace or war. He therefore offered pardon, in the King's name, to all
who should forthwith lay down their arms and return to their respective
occupations and peaceable duties: excepting only from the benefit of
that pardon "Samuel Adams and John Hancock, whose offences were said to
be of too flagitious a nature to admit of any other consideration than
that of condign punishment." He also proclaimed that not only the
persons above named and excepted, but also all their adherents,
associates, and correspondents, should be deemed guilty of treason and
rebellion, and treated accordingly. By this proclamation it was also
declared "that as the courts of judicature were shut, martial law should
take place till a due course of justice should be reëstablished."

It was supposed that this proclamation was a prelude to hostilities; and
preparations were accordingly made by the Americans. A considerable
height, by the name of Bunker Hill, just at the entrance of the
peninsula of Charlestown, was so situated as to make the possession of
it a matter of great consequence to either of the contending parties.
Orders were therefore issued, by the provincial commanders, that a
detachment of a thousand men should intrench upon this height. By some
mistake, Breed's Hill, high and large like the other, but situated
nearer Boston, was marked out for the intrenchments, instead of Bunker
Hill. The provincials proceeded to Breed's Hill and worked with so much
diligence that between midnight and the dawn of the morning they had
thrown up a small redoubt about eight rods square. They kept such a
profound silence that they were not heard by the British, on board their
vessels, though very near. These having derived their first information
of what was going on from the sight of the works, early completed, began
an incessant firing upon them.

The provincials bore this with firmness, and, though they were only
young soldiers, continued to labor till they had thrown up a small
breastwork extending from the east side of the redoubt to the bottom of
the hill. As this eminence overlooked Boston, General Gage thought it
necessary to drive the provincials from it. About noon, therefore, he
detached Major-General Howe and Brigadier-General Pigot, with the flower
of his army, consisting of four battalions, ten companies of the
grenadiers and ten of light infantry, with a proportion of field
artillery, to effect this business. These troops landed at Moreton's
Point, and formed after landing, but remained in that position till
they were reënforced by a second detachment of light infantry and
grenadier companies, a battalion of land forces, and a battalion of
marines, making in the whole nearly three thousand men. While the troops
who first landed were waiting for this reënforcement, the provincials,
for their further security, pulled up some adjoining post and rail
fences, and set them down in two parallel lines at a small distance from
each other, and filled the space between with hay, which, having been
lately mowed, was found lying on the adjacent ground.

The King's troops formed in two lines, and advanced slowly to give their
artillery time to demolish the American works. While the British were
advancing to the attack they received orders to burn Charlestown. These
were not given because they were fired upon from the houses in that
town, but from the military policy of depriving enemies of a cover in
their approaches. In a short time this ancient town, consisting of about
five hundred buildings, chiefly of wood, was in one great blaze. The
lofty steeple of the meeting-house formed a pyramid of fire above the
rest, and struck the astonished eyes of numerous beholders with a
magnificent but awful spectacle. In Boston the heights of every kind
were covered with citizens, and such of the King's troops as were not on
duty. The hills around the adjacent country, which afforded a safe and
distinct view, were occupied by the inhabitants of the country.

Thousands, both within and without Boston, were anxious spectators of
the bloody scene. Regard for the honor of the British army caused hearts
to beat high in the breasts of many; while others, with keener
sensibilities, sorrowed for the liberties of a great and growing
country. The British moved on slowly, which gave the provincials a
better opportunity for taking aim. The latter, in general, reserved
their fire until their adversaries were within ten or twelve rods, and
then began a furious discharge of small arms. The stream of the American
fire was so incessant, and did so great execution, that the King's
troops retreated with precipitation and disorder. Their officers rallied
them and pushed them forward with their swords; but they returned to the
attack with great reluctance. The Americans again reserved their fire
till their adversaries were near, and then put them a second time to
flight. General Howe and the officers redoubled their exertions, and
were again successful, though the soldiers displayed a great aversion to
going on. By this time the powder of the Americans began so far to fail
that they were not able to keep up the same brisk fire. The British then
brought some cannon to bear, which raked the inside of the breastwork
from end to end. The fire from the ships, batteries, and field artillery
was redoubled; the soldiers in the rear were goaded on by their
officers. The redoubt was attacked on three sides at once. Under these
circumstances a retreat from it was ordered, but the provincials delayed
so long, and made resistance with their discharged muskets as if they
had been clubs, that the King's troops, who had easily mounted the
works, half filled the redoubt before it was given up to them.

While these operations were going on at the breastwork and redoubt, the
British light infantry were attempting to force the left point of the
former, that they might take the American line in flank. Though they
exhibited the most undaunted courage, they met with an opposition which
called for its greatest exertions. The provincials reserved their fire
till their adversaries were near, and then discharged it upon the light
infantry in such an incessant stream, and with so true an aim, as that
it quickly thinned their ranks. The engagement was kept up on both sides
with great resolution. The persevering exertions of the King's troops
could not compel the Americans to retreat till they observed that their
main body had left the hill. This, when begun, exposed them to new
dangers; for it could not be effected but by marching over Charlestown
Neck, every part of which was raked by the shot of the Glasgow
(man-of-war) and of two floating batteries. The incessant fire kept up
across the Neck prevented any considerable reënforcement from joining
their countrymen who were engaged; but the few who fell on their retreat
over the same ground proved that the apprehensions of those provincial
officers, who declined passing over to succor their companies, were
without any solid foundation.

The number of Americans engaged amounted only to fifteen hundred. It was
apprehended that the conquerors would push the advantage they had
gained, and march immediately to American head-quarters at Cambridge;
but they advanced no farther than Bunker Hill. There they threw up
works for their own security. The provincials did the same, on Prospect
Hill, in front of them. Both were guarding against an attack; and both
were in a bad condition to receive one. The loss of the peninsula
depressed the spirits of the Americans; and the great loss of men
produced the same effect on the British. There have been few battles in
modern wars in which, all circumstances considered, there was a greater
destruction of men than in this short engagement.

The loss of the British, as acknowledged by General Gage, amounted to
one thousand fifty-four. Nineteen commissioned officers were killed and
seventy more were wounded. The Battle of Quebec, in 1759, which gave
Great Britain the colony of Canada, was not so destructive to British
officers as this affair of a slight intrenchment, the work only of a few
hours. That the officers suffered so much must be imputed to their being
aimed at. None of the provincials in this engagement were riflemen, but
they were all good marksmen. The whole of their previous military
knowledge had been derived from hunting and the ordinary amusements of
sportsmen. The dexterity which by long habit they had acquired in
hitting beast, birds, and marks, was fatally applied to the destruction
of British officers. From their fall, much confusion was expected. They
were therefore particularly singled out. Most of those who were near the
person of General Howe were either killed or wounded; but the General,
though he greatly exposed himself, was unhurt. The light infantry and
grenadiers lost three-fourths of their men. Of one company not more than
five, and of another not more than fourteen, escaped.

The unexpected resistance of the Americans was such as wiped away the
reproach of cowardice, which had been cast upon them by their enemies in
Britain. The spirited conduct of the British officers merited and
obtained great applause; but the provincials were justly entitled to a
large share of the glory for having made the utmost exertions of their
adversaries necessary to dislodge them from lines which were the work of
only a single night.

The Americans lost five pieces of cannon. Their killed amounted to one
hundred thirty-nine; their wounded and missing, to three hundred
fourteen. Thirty of the former fell into the hands of the conquerors.
They particularly regretted the death of General Warren. To the purest
patriotism and most undaunted bravery he added the virtues of domestic
life, the eloquence of an accomplished orator, and the wisdom of an able
statesman. Only a regard for the liberty of his country induced him to
oppose the measures of Government. He aimed not at a separation from,
but a coalition with, the mother-country.

The burning of Charlestown, though a place of great trade, did not
discourage the provincials. It excited resentment and execration, but
not any disposition to submit. Such was the high-strung state of the
public mind, and so great the indifference of property when put in
competition with liberty, that military conflagrations, though they
distressed and impoverished, had no tendency to subdue, the colonists.
Such means might suffice in the Old World, but were not effectual in the
New, where the war was undertaken, not for a change of masters, but for
securing essential rights.

The action at Breed's Hill, or Bunker Hill, as it has since been
commonly called, produced many and very important consequences. It
taught the British so much respect for the Americans, intrenched behind
works, that their subsequent operations were retarded with a caution
that wasted away a whole campaign to very little purpose. It added to
the confidence the Americans began to have in their own abilities. It
inspired some of the leading members of Congress with such high ideas of
what might be done by militia, or men engaged for a short term of
enlistment, that it was long before they assented to the establishment
of a permanent army.

FOOTNOTES:

[26] Charlestown. A body of American riflemen, posted in the houses,
galled the left line as it marched; therefore, by Howe's orders, the
town was set on fire.




CANADA REMAINS LOYAL TO ENGLAND

MONTGOMERY'S INVASION

A.D. 1775

JOHN McMULLEN

     At the outbreak of the Revolutionary War there was a belief,
     or at least a hope, among the thirteen rebellious colonies
     that Canada would join them and thus enable the entire
     continent to present a united front against England. Had she
     done so the course of Canadian and perhaps of American
     destiny would have been widely changed.

     The condition of Canada was different from that of the more
     southern colonies, in that it was a conquered country,
     guarded by British soldiers. The great majority of the
     inhabitants were of French descent; until 1760 they had been
     under French rule; and it was hoped that, especially in the
     Quebec Province and along the St. Lawrence Valley, the
     French _habitants_ would seize eagerly on an opportunity for
     revolt. An expedition was therefore planned under Generals
     Montgomery and Arnold; and though it failed, so great was
     the heroism of the men who attempted it that we may leave
     their story to their foes to tell. The following account is
     by the standard Canadian historian McMullen.

     That Canada was saved to England from this, the first and
     most serious of the invasions of her independent neighbors
     to the south, was due chiefly to Sir Guy Carleton, the able
     general then governing the Province and commanding the
     British forces there. It was due also to the French clergy,
     who favored British rule and bade their parishioners stand
     neutral or even urged them to fight against the invaders.


The American Congress, in 1775, believed the Canadian people to be
favorable to their cause, and resolved to anticipate the British by
striking a decided blow in the North. They accordingly despatched a
force of nearly two thousand men, under Schuyler and Montgomery, to
penetrate into Canada by the Richelieu. After taking the forts along
that river, they were next to possess themselves of Montreal, and then
descend to Quebec, and form a junction there with Colonel Arnold, who
was to proceed up the Kennebec with eleven hundred men and surprise the
capital of Canada if possible.

On September 5th the American army arrived at the Ileaux-Noix, whence
Schuyler and Montgomery scattered a proclamation among the Canadians
stating that they came only against the British, and had no design
whatever on the lives, the properties, or religion of the inhabitants.
General Schuyler being unwell now returned to Albany, and the chief
command devolved on Montgomery, who, having received a reënforcement,
invested Fort St. John on the 17th, and at the same time sent some
troops to attack the fort at Chambly, while Ethan Allan was despatched
with a reconnoitring party toward Montreal. Allan accordingly proceeded
to the St. Lawrence, and being informed that the town was weakly
defended, and believing the inhabitants were favorable to the Americans,
he resolved to capture it by surprise, although his force was under two
hundred men. General Carleton had already arrived at Montreal to make
disposition for the protection of the frontier. Learning on the night of
the 24th that a party of Americans had crossed the river and were
marching on the town, he promptly drew together two hundred fifty of the
local militia, chiefly English and Irish, and with thirty men of the
Twenty-sixth regiment, in addition, prepared for its defence. Allan,
however, instead of proceeding to attack Montreal, becoming intimidated,
took possession of some houses and barns in the neighborhood, where he
was surrounded next day and compelled to surrender after a loss of five
killed and ten wounded. The British lost their commanding officer, Major
Carsden, Alexander Paterson, a merchant of Montreal, and two privates.
Allan and his men were sent prisoners to England, where they were
confined in Pendennis castle.

While these occurrences were transpiring at Montreal, Montgomery was
vigorously pressing forward the siege of Fort St. John, which post was
gallantly defended by Major Preston of the Twenty-sixth regiment. His
conduct was not imitated by Major Stopford, of the Seventh, who
commanded at Chambly, and who surrendered, in a cowardly manner, on two
hundred Americans appearing before the works with two six-pounders. This
was a fortunate event for Montgomery, whose powder was nearly exhausted,
and who now procured a most seasonable supply from the captured fort.
His fire was again renewed, but was bravely replied to by the garrison,
who hoped that General Carleton would advance and raise the siege. This
the latter was earnestly desirous to do, and drew together all the
militia he could collect and the few troops at his disposal for that
purpose, and pushed across the river toward Longueil on one of the last
days of October. General Montgomery had foreseen this movement, and
detached a force, with two field-pieces, to prevent it. This force took
post near the river, and allowed the British to approach within
pistol-shot of the shore, when they opened such a hot fire of musketry
and cannon that General Carleton was compelled to order a retreat on
Montreal. Montgomery duly apprized Major Preston of these occurrences,
and the garrison being now short of provisions and ammunition, and
without any hope of succor, surrendered on October 31st, and marched out
with all the honors of war.

With Fort St. John and Chambly a large portion of the regular troops in
Canada was captured, and the Governor was in no condition to resist the
American army, the main body of which now advanced upon Montreal, while
a strong detachment proceeded to Sorel, to cut off the retreat of the
British toward Quebec. General Carleton, with Brigadier Prescott and one
hundred twenty soldiers, left Montreal, after destroying all the public
stores possible, just as the American army was entering it. At Sorel,
however, their flight was effectually intercepted by an armed vessel and
some floating batteries, and Prescott, finding it impossible to force a
passage, was compelled to surrender. The night before, General Carleton
fortunately eluded the vigilance of the Americans, and passed down the
river in a boat with muffled oars. Montgomery treated the people of
Montreal with great consideration, and gained their good-will by the
affability of his manners and the nobleness and generosity of his
disposition.

While the main body of the American invading force had been completely
successful thus far, Arnold sailed up the Kennebec, and proceeded
through the vast forests lying between it and the St. Lawrence, in the
hope of surprising Quebec. The sufferings of his troops from hunger and
fatigue were of the most severe description. So great were their
necessities that they were obliged to eat dog's flesh, and even the
leather of their cartouch-boxes; still, they pressed on with unflagging
zeal and wonderful endurance, and arrived at Point Levi on November 9th.
But their approach was already known at Quebec. Arnold had enclosed a
letter for Schuyler to a friend in that city, and imprudently intrusted
its delivery to an Indian, who carried it to the Lieutenant-Governor.
The latter immediately began to make defensive preparations, and when
the Americans arrived on the opposite side of the river they found all
the shipping and boats removed, and a surprise out of the question.

On the 12th Colonel M'Clean, who had retreated from Sorel, arrived at
Quebec, with a body of Fraser's Highlanders, who had settled in the
country, were now reëmbodied, and amounted to one hundred fifty men. In
addition to these there were four hundred eighty Canadian militia, five
hundred British, and some regular troops and seamen for the defence of
the town. The Hunter (sloop-of-war) gave the garrison the command of the
river, yet, despite the vigilance exercised by her commander, Arnold
crossed over during the night of the 13th, landed at Wolfe's Cove, and
next morning appeared on the Plains of Abraham, where he gave his men
three cheers, which were promptly responded to by the besieged, who in
addition complimented them with a few discharges of grape-shot, which
compelled them to retire. Finding he could effect nothing against the
city, Arnold retired up the river to Point-aux-Trembles, to await the
arrival of Montgomery.

On the 19th, to the great joy of the garrison, General Carleton arrived
from Montreal, bringing down with him two armed schooners which had been
lying at Three Rivers. One of his first measures was to strengthen the
hands of the loyalists, by ordering those liable to serve in the
militia, and who refused to be enrolled, to quit the city within four
days. By this means several disaffected persons were got rid of, and the
garrison was speedily raised to eighteen hundred men, who had plenty of
provisions for eight months.

On December 1st Montgomery joined Arnold at Point-aux-Trembles, when
their united forces, amounting to about two thousand men, proceeded to
attack Quebec, in the neighborhood of which they arrived on the 4th, and
soon after quartered their men in the houses of the suburbs. Montgomery
now sent a flag to summon the besieged to surrender, but this was fired
upon by order of General Carleton, who refused to hold any intercourse
with the American officers. Highly indignant at this treatment, the
besiegers proceeded to construct their batteries, although the weather
was intensely cold. But their artillery was too light to make any
impression on the fortifications, the fire from which cut their fascines
to pieces and dismounted their guns; so Montgomery determined to carry
the works by escalade. He accordingly assembled his men on December 30th
and made them a very imprudent speech, in which he avowed his resolution
of attacking the city by storm. A deserter carried intelligence of his
intention that very day to General Carleton, who made the necessary
preparations for defence. On the night of the 31st the garrison pickets
were on the alert. Nothing, however, of importance occurred till next
morning, when Captain Fraser, the field officer on duty, on going his
rounds, perceived some suspicious signals at St. John's Gate, and
immediately turned out the guard, when a brisk fire was opened by a body
of the enemy, concealed by a snow-bank. This was a mere feint to draw
off attention from the true points of attack, at the southern and
northern extremities of the Lower Town. It had, however, the effect of
putting the garrison more completely on their guard, and thus was fatal
to the plans of the assailants.

Montgomery led a column of five hundred men toward the southern side of
the town, and halted to reconnoitre at a short distance from the first
battery, near the Près de Ville, defended chiefly by Canadian militia,
with nine seamen to work the guns, the whole under the command of
Captain Barnsfair. The guard were on the alert, and the sailors with
lighted matches waited the order to fire, while the strictest silence
was preserved. Presently the officer who had made the reconnoissance
returned and reported everything still. The Americans now rushed forward
to the attack, when Barnsfair gave the command to fire, and the head of
the assailing column went instantly down under the unexpected and fatal
discharge of guns and musketry. The survivors made a rapid retreat,
leaving thirteen of their dead behind to be shrouded in the falling
snow, among whom was the gallant Montgomery. Of a good family in the
north of Ireland, he had served under Wolfe with credit, married an
American lady, Miss Livingston, after the peace, and had joined the
cause of the United States with great enthusiasm.

At the other end of the Lower Town Arnold at the head of six hundred men
had assaulted the first barrier with great impetuosity, meeting with
little resistance. He was wounded in the first onset and borne to the
rear. But his place was ably supplied by Captain Morgan, who forced the
guard and drove them back to a second barrier, two hundred yards nearer
the centre of the town. Owing to the prompt arrangements, however, of
General Carleton, who soon arrived on the ground, the Americans were
speedily surrounded, driven out of a strong building by the bayonet, and
compelled to surrender to the number of four hundred twenty-six,
including twenty-eight officers. In this action the garrison had ten men
killed and thirteen wounded; the American loss in killed and wounded was
about one hundred.

The besieging force was now reduced to a few hundred men, and they were
at a loss whether to retreat toward home or continue the siege. As they
were in expectation of soon receiving aid they at length determined to
remain in the neighborhood, and elected Arnold as their general, who
contented himself with a simple blockade of the besieged, at a
considerable distance from the works. Carleton would have now gladly
proceeded to attack him, but several of the Canadians outside the city
were disaffected, as well as many persons within the defences, and he
considered, with his motley force, his wisest course was to run no risk,
and wait patiently for the succor which the opening of navigation must
give him.

During the month of February a small reënforcement from Massachusetts
and some troops from Montreal raised Arnold's force to over one thousand
men, and he now resumed the siege, but could make no impression on the
works. His men had already caught the smallpox, and the country people
becoming more and more unwilling to supply provisions, his difficulties
increased rather than diminished. When the Americans first came into the
country the habitants were disposed to sell them what they required at a
fair price, and a few hundred of the latter even joined their army. But
they soon provoked the hostility of the bulk of the people by a want of
respect for their clergy, by compelling them to furnish articles below
the current prices, and by giving them illegal certificates of payment,
which were rejected by the American quartermaster-general. In this way
the Canadians began gradually to take a deeper interest in the struggle
in progress, and to regard the British as their true friends and
protectors, while they came to look upon the Americans as a band of
armed plunderers, who made promises they had no intention of performing,
and refused to pay their just debts.

All the Canadians now required was a proper leader and a system of
organization to cause them to act vigorously against Arnold. Even in the
absence of these requisites they determined to raise the siege, and, led
by a gentleman of the name of Beajeau, a force advanced toward Quebec,
on March 25th, but was defeated by the Americans, and compelled to
retreat. This check, however, did not discourage the Canadians, who now
resolved to surprise a detachment of the enemy at Point Levi. By some
means their design became known, and they were very roughly handled.

The month of April passed without producing any events of importance.
The Americans had meanwhile been reënforced to over two thousand men,
and Major-General Thomas had arrived to take the command. The smallpox
still continued to rage among them; besides they could make no
impression on the fortifications, and the hostile attitude of the
Canadians disheartened them, so nothing was effected. On May 5th Thomas
called a council of war, at which an immediate retreat was determined
on.

On the following morning, to the great joy of the besieged, the Surprise
frigate and a sloop arrived in the harbor, with one hundred seventy men
of the Twenty-ninth regiment and some marines, who were speedily landed.
Now General Carleton at once resolved on offensive operations, and
marched out at noon with one thousand men and a few field-pieces to
attack the Americans. But the latter did not await his approach, and
fled with the utmost precipitation, leaving all their cannon, stores,
ammunition, and even their sick behind. These were treated with the
utmost attention by General Carleton, whose humanity won the esteem of
all his prisoners, who were loud in his praise on returning home. For
his services during the siege the Governor was knighted by his
sovereign.

The Americans retreated as rapidly as possible for a distance of
forty-five miles up the river, but finding they were not pursued they
halted for a few days to rest themselves. They then proceeded in a
distressed condition to Sorel, where they were joined by some
reënforcements, and where, also, their general, Thomas, died of the
smallpox, which still continued to afflict them. He was succeeded in the
chief command by General Sullivan.

Meantime some companies of the Eighth regiment, which were scattered
through the frontier posts on the Lakes, had descended to Ogdensburg.
From thence Captain Forster was detached, on May 11th, with one hundred
twenty-six soldiers and an equal number of Indians, to capture a
stockade at the Cedars, garrisoned by three hundred ninety Americans,
under the command of Colonel Bedell. The latter surrendered on the 19th,
after sustaining only a few hours' fire of musketry, and the following
day one hundred men advancing to his assistance were attacked by the
Indians and a few Canadians. A smart action ensued which lasted for ten
minutes, when the Americans laid down their arms and were marched
prisoners to the fort, where they were with difficulty saved from
massacre.

After providing for the safety of his numerous prisoners, Forster pushed
down the river toward Lachine, but, learning that Arnold was advancing
to attack him with a force treble his own number, he halted and prepared
for action. Placing his men in an advantageous position on the edge of
the river, and spreading the Indians out on his flanks, he made such a
stout defence that the Americans were compelled to retire to St. Anne's.
Forster, encumbered with his prisoners, now proposed a cartel, which
Arnold at once assented to, and an exchange was effected, on May 27th,
for two majors, nine captains, twenty subalterns, and four hundred
forty-three privates. This cartel was broken by Congress, on the ground
that the prisoners had been cruelly used, which was not the case. They
had been treated with all the humanity possible, when the difficulty of
guarding so large a number, with less than three hundred men, is taken
into consideration.

While these events were in progress above Montreal, a large body of
troops had arrived from England, under the command of Major-General
Burgoyne. Brigadier Fraser was at once sent on by the Governor with the
first division to Three Rivers. While the troops still remained on board
their transports off this place, General Thompson advanced with eighteen
hundred men to surprise the town, and would have effected his object had
not one of his Canadian guides escaped and warned the British of his
approach. General Fraser immediately landed his troops, with several
field-pieces, and posted them so advantageously that the Americans were
speedily defeated, their general, his second in command, and five
hundred men made prisoners, while, the retreat of their main body being
cut off, they were compelled to take shelter in a wood full of swamps.
Here they remained in great distress till the following day, when
General Carleton, who had meanwhile come up, humanely drew the guard
from the bridge over the Rivière du Loup, and allowed them to escape
toward Sorel. Finding themselves unable to oppose the force advancing
against them, the American army, under Sullivan, retreated to Crown
Point, whither Arnold also retired from Montreal on June 15th. Thus
terminated the invasion of Canada, which produced no advantage to the
American cause, but on the contrary aroused the hostility of the
inhabitants and drew them closer to Great Britain.




SIGNING OF AMERICAN DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE

A.D. 1776

THOMAS JEFFERSON        JOHN A. DOYLE

     Among historic acts and political deliverances there is none
     more weighty in significance and results, none more famous
     in the annals of the world, than the American Declaration of
     Independence. The document which preserves it to all ages is
     "a witness to the world that freedom, resting not on
     institutions, but on the necessities of human nature, is no
     mere abstract idea, but a vital principle of national life."

     At the beginning of 1776 the tide of public opinion in the
     colonies was setting strongly toward national independence.
     Lexington and Bunker Hill had spoken their message to
     America and to the British Government. All the other
     colonies had come into line with New England. The earliest
     declaration of independence, that of the people of
     Mecklenburg County, North Carolina (May, 1775), had preluded
     the general proclamation. The second Continental Congress
     was at work with growing legislative powers; the New England
     forces had been adopted as the Continental Army, with
     Washington as commander-in-chief; that army was besieging
     the British in Boston; and a movement was in progress
     against Canada. In March, 1776, Boston was evacuated. On
     June 28th a British attack on Sullivan's Island, off
     Charleston, South Carolina, was repulsed by Moultrie. Before
     the end of 1775 the Continental Congress had ordered the
     building of several ships--the nucleus of the American
     navy--and its sea-power was rapidly increased by privateers.
     Meanwhile King George III and his minister, Lord North, had
     continued their coercive policy and strengthened their war
     measures.

     Thomas Paine's _Common Sense_, published early in 1776, one
     of the most effective popular appeals that ever "went to the
     bosoms of a nation," completed the preparation of the public
     mind for the great step about to be taken by the Congress.

     Jefferson's account of the proceedings day by day, given in
     his own _Memoirs_, is the best contemporary record of the
     momentous deliberations and decision of this body, assembled
     in Independence Hall, Philadelphia. A quarter of a century
     before, upon the fillet of the "Liberty Bell," which hung in
     the steeple of that Old State House, had been cast the words
     of ancient Hebrew Scripture: "Proclaim liberty throughout
     all the land, unto all the inhabitants thereof."

     Doyle's reflections, as representing an enlightened English
     view of the Declaration and the great struggle which it
     lifted to its climax, is placed as a suggestive commentary
     after the uncolored narrative of the chief author of the
     great instrument itself.


THOMAS JEFFERSON

In Congress, Friday, June 7, 1776, the delegates from Virginia moved, in
obedience to instructions from their constituents, that the Congress
should declare that these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be,
free and independent states; that they are absolved from all allegiance
to the British crown, and that all political connection between them and
the state of Great Britain is, and ought to be, totally dissolved; that
measures should be immediately taken for procuring the assistance of
foreign powers, and a confederation be formed to bind the colonies more
closely together.

The House being obliged to attend at that time to some other business,
the proposition was referred to the next day, when the members were
ordered to attend punctually at ten o'clock.

Saturday, June 8th. They proceeded to take it into consideration, and
referred it to a committee of the whole, into which they immediately
resolved themselves, and passed that day and Monday, the 10th, in
debating on the subject.

It was argued by Wilson, Robert R. Livingston, E. Rutledge, Dickinson,
and others--that, though they were friends to the measures themselves,
and saw the impossibility that we should ever again be united with Great
Britain, yet they were against adopting them at this time:

That the conduct we had formerly observed was wise, and proper now, of
deferring to take any capital step till the voice of the people drove us
into it:

That they were our power, and without them our declarations could not be
carried into effect:

That the people of the middle colonies (Maryland, Delaware,
Pennsylvania, the Jerseys, and New York) were not yet ripe for bidding
adieu to British connection, but that they were fast ripening, and, in a
short time, would join in the general voice of America:

That the resolution, entered into by this House on May 15th, for
suppressing the exercise of all powers derived from the Crown, had
shown, by the ferment into which it had thrown these middle colonies,
that they had not yet accommodated their minds to a separation from the
mother-country:

That some of them had expressly forbidden their delegates to consent to
such a declaration, and others had given no instructions, and
consequently no powers to give such consent:

That if the delegates of any particular colony had no power to declare
such colony independent, certain they were the others could not declare
it for them, the colonies being as yet perfectly independent of each
other:

That the Assembly of Pennsylvania was now sitting above stairs, their
convention would sit within a few days, the convention of New York was
now sitting, and those of the Jerseys and Delaware counties would meet
on the Monday following, and it was probable these bodies would take up
the question of Independence, and would declare to their delegates the
voice of their State:

That if such a declaration should now be agreed to, these delegates must
retire, and possibly their colonies might secede from the Union:

That such a secession would weaken us more than could be compensated by
any foreign alliance:

That in the event of such a division, foreign powers would either refuse
to join themselves to our fortunes, or, having us so much in their power
as that desperate declaration would place us, they would insist on terms
proportionately more hard and prejudicial:

That we had little reason to expect an alliance with those to whom alone
as yet we had cast our eyes:

That France and Spain had reason to be jealous of that rising power,
which would one day certainly strip them of all their American
possessions:

That it was more likely they should form a connection with the British
court, who, if they should find themselves unable otherwise to extricate
themselves from their difficulties, would agree to a partition of our
territories, restoring Canada to France, and the Floridas to Spain, to
accomplish for themselves a recovery of these colonies:

That it would not be long before we should receive certain information
of the disposition of the French court, from the agent whom we had sent
to Paris for that purpose:

That if this disposition should be favorable by waiting the event of the
present campaign, which we all hoped would be successful, we should have
reason to expect an alliance on better terms:

That this would in fact work no delay of any effectual aid from such
ally, as, from the advance of the season and distance of our situation,
it was impossible we could receive any assistance during this campaign:

That it was prudent to fix among ourselves the terms on which we should
form alliance, before we declared we would form one at all events:

And that if these were agreed on, and our Declaration of Independence
ready by the time our ambassador should be prepared to sail, it would be
as well as to go into the Declaration at this day.

On the other side, it was urged by J. Adams, Lee, Wythe, and others that
no gentleman had argued against the policy or the right of separation
from Britain, nor had supposed it possible we should ever renew our
connection; that they had only opposed its being now declared:

That the question was not whether, by a Declaration of Independence, we
should make ourselves what we are not; but whether we should declare a
fact which already exists:

That, as to the people or Parliament of England, we had always been
independent of them, their restraints on our trade deriving efficacy
from our acquiescence only, and not from any rights they possessed of
imposing them, and that so far, our connection had been federal only,
and was now dissolved by the commencement of hostilities:

That, as to the King, we had been bound to him by allegiance, but that
this bond was now dissolved by his assent to the last act of Parliament,
by which he declares us out of his protection, and by his levying war on
us, a fact which had long ago proved us out of his protection; it being
a certain position in law, that allegiance and protection are
reciprocal, the one ceasing when the other is withdrawn:

That James the II never declared the people of England out of his
protection, yet his actions proved it, and the Parliament declared it:

No delegates then can be denied, or ever want, a power of declaring an
existing truth:

That the delegates from the Delaware counties having declared their
constituents ready to join, there are only two colonies, Pennsylvania
and Maryland, whose delegates are absolutely tied up, and that these
had, by their instructions, only reserved a right of confirming or
rejecting the measure:

That the instructions from Pennsylvania might be accounted for from the
times in which they were drawn, near a twelvemonth ago, since which the
face of affairs has totally changed:

That within that time it had become apparent that Britain was determined
to accept nothing less than a _carte-blanche_, and that the King's
answer to the lord mayor, aldermen and common-council of London, which
had come to hand four days ago, must have satisfied everyone of this
point:

That the people wait for us to lead the way:

That _they_ are in favor of the measure, though the instructions given
by some of their _representatives_ are not:

That the voice of the representatives is not always consonant with the
voice of the people, and that this is remarkably the case in these
middle colonies:

That the effect of the resolution of May 15th has proved this, which,
raising the murmurs of some in the colonies of Pennsylvania and
Maryland, called forth the opposing voice of the freer part of the
people, and proved them to be the majority even in these colonies:

That the backwardness of these two colonies might be ascribed, partly to
the influence of proprietary power and connections, and partly to their
having not yet been attacked by the enemy:

That these causes were not likely to be soon removed, as there seemed no
probability that the enemy would make either of these the seat of this
summer's war:

That it would be vain to wait either weeks or months for perfect
unanimity, since it was impossible that all men should ever become of
one sentiment on any question:

That the conduct of some colonies, from the beginning of this contest,
had given reason to suspect it was their settled policy to keep in the
rear of the confederacy, that their particular prospect might be better,
even in the worst event:

That, therefore, it was necessary for those colonies who had thrown
themselves forward and hazarded all from the beginning, to come forward
now also, and put all again to their own hazard:

That the history of the Dutch Revolution, of whom three states only
confederated at first, proved that a secession of some colonies would
not be so dangerous as some apprehended:

That a declaration of independence alone could render it consistent with
European delicacy, for European powers to treat with us, or even to
receive an ambassador from us:

That till this they would not receive our vessels into their ports, nor
acknowledge the adjudications of our courts of admirality to be
legitimate in cases of capture of British vessels:

That though France and Spain may be jealous of our rising power, they
must think it will be much more formidable with the addition of Great
Britain; and will therefore see it their interest to prevent a
coalition; but should they refuse, we shall never know whether they will
aid us or not:

That the present campaign may be unsuccessful, and therefore we had
better propose an alliance while our affairs wear a hopeful aspect:

That to wait the event of this campaign will certainly work delay,
because, during the summer, France may assist us effectually, by cutting
off those supplies of provisions from England and Ireland on which the
enemy's armies here are to depend; or by setting in motion the great
power they have collected in the West Indies, and calling our enemy to
the defence of the possessions they have there:

That it would be idle to lose time in settling the terms of alliance,
till we had first determined we would enter into alliance:

That it is necessary to lose no time in opening a trade for our people,
who will want clothes, and will want money too for the payment of taxes:

And that the only misfortune is that we did not enter into alliance with
France six months sooner, as, besides opening her ports for the vent of
our last year's produce, she might have marched an army into Germany,
and prevented the petty princes there from selling their unhappy
subjects to subdue us.

It appearing in the course of these debates that the colonies of New
York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Maryland, Delaware, and South Carolina
were not yet matured for falling from the parental stem, but that they
were fast advancing to that state, it was thought most prudent to wait a
while for them, and to postpone the final decision to July 1st; but,
that this might occasion as little delay as possible, a committee was
appointed to prepare a Declaration of Independence. The committee were
John Adams, Dr. Franklin, Roger Sherman, Robert R. Livingston, and
myself. Committees were also appointed, at the same time, to prepare a
plan of confederation for the colonies, and to state the terms proper to
be proposed for foreign alliance.

The committee for drawing the Declaration of Independence desired me to
do it. It was accordingly done, and, being approved by them, I reported
it to the House on Friday, June 28th, when it was read, and ordered to
lie on the table. On Monday, July 1st, the House resolved itself into a
committee of the whole, and resumed the consideration of the original
motion made by the delegates of Virginia, which, being again debated
through the day, was carried in the affirmative by the votes of New
Hampshire, Connecticut, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, New Jersey,
Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina, and Georgia. South Carolina and
Pennsylvania voted against it. Delaware had but two members present, and
they were divided. The delegates of New York declared they were for it
themselves, and were assured their constituents were for it; but that
their instructions having been drawn near a twelvemonth before, when
reconciliation was still the general object, they were enjoined by them
to do nothing which should impede that object. They, therefore, thought
themselves not justifiable in voting on either side, and asked leave to
withdraw from the question; which was given them.

The committee rose and reported their resolution to the House. Mr.
Edward Rutledge, of South Carolina, then requested the determination
might be put off to the next day, as he believed his colleagues, though
they disapproved of the resolution, would then join in it for the sake
of unanimity. The ultimate question, whether the House would agree to
the resolution of the committee, was accordingly postponed to the next
day, when it was again moved, and South Carolina concurred in voting for
it.

In the mean time a third member had come post from the Delaware
counties, and turned the vote of that colony in favor of the resolution.
Members of a different sentiment attending that morning from
Pennsylvania also, her vote was changed, so that the whole twelve
colonies who were authorized to vote at all, gave their voices for it;
and, within a few days, the convention of New York approved of it; and
thus supplied the void occasioned by the withdrawing of her delegates
from the vote.

Congress proceeded the same day to consider the Declaration of
Independence, which had been reported and laid on the table the Friday
preceding, and on Monday referred to a committee of the whole. The
pusillanimous idea that we had friends in England worth keeping terms
with still haunted the minds of many. For this reason, those passages
which conveyed censures on the people of England were struck out, lest
they should give them offence. The clause, too, reprobating the
enslaving the inhabitants of Africa, was struck out in complaisance to
South Carolina and Georgia, who had never attempted to restrain the
importation of slaves, and who, on the contrary, still wished to
continue it.

Our northern brethren also, I believe, felt a little tender under those
censures; for though their people had very few slaves themselves, yet
they had been pretty considerable carriers of them to others. The
debates, having taken up the greater parts of July 2d, 3d, and 4th,
were, on the evening of the last, closed; the Declaration was reported
by the committee, agreed to by the House, and signed by every member
present except Mr. Dickinson.


JOHN ANDREW DOYLE

Before this it had become evident that to defer any longer the formation
of an independent government was to keep up an unnecessary source of
weakness. Already the voice of the nation had protested unmistakably
against the longer continuance of anarchy. The first definite step
toward such a change had been taken in 1775 by New Hampshire. On October
11th their delegates had petitioned Congress to allow them to establish
a government, but Congress, having still hopes of the success of the
petition, had deferred answering their appeal. The majority of Congress
saw at last that independence was only a question of time. An answer was
sent to the Convention of New Hampshire, recommending it to form a
government. Similar advice was sent the next day to South Carolina, and
a little later to Virginia. Yet New Hampshire shrank from so decisive a
step, and coupled the formation of their new government with a studious
expression of their allegiance. Virginia showed a nobler spirit.

In January the convention passed a motion, instructing their delegates
to recommend Congress to throw their ports open to all nations, and thus
to cast off the commercial supremacy of England. But the mere
establishment of independent State governments was not enough. An
imperial government, also independent of England, was essential. To
establish independence without confederation would be only doing half
the work. In the words of Franklin, "We must all hang together, unless
we would all hang separately." About this time Franklin's scheme for a
confederation was laid before Congress. The scheme did not include, but
it evidently implied, independence. Franklin had been throughout a
strenuous advocate of reconciliation, as long as reconciliation was
possible, and his opinion ought to have convinced all that the time for
separation had come. But the timid counsels of his colleague, Dickinson,
overruled the motion, and the scheme of a confederation was not even
formally considered. On February 16th the question of opening the ports
was formally laid before Congress. In the next month measures were taken
which clearly showed that independence was at hand. A private agent was
sent to France by the authority of the committee of secret
correspondence, and the instructions of the commissioners sent to Canada
contained a clause inviting the people of Canada to "set up such a form
of government as will be most likely in their judgment to produce their
happiness." The clause was objected to as implying independence, and
gave rise to a debate, but was ultimately carried. At last, after seven
weeks' deliberation, the Congress resolved to emancipate the colonies
from all commercial restrictions, and on April 6th the ports of America
were thrown open to the world.

On March 27th South Carolina proceeded to construct a government. They
asserted as their principle of action that the good of the people is the
origin and end of all government, and they set forth the misconduct of
the King, the Parliament, and the officers of the English Government. At
the same time they introduced no change into the system of
representation or the qualification of voters. On May 4th the Assembly
of Rhode Island passed an act discharging the inhabitants of the colony
from allegiance to the King, and at the same time authorized its
delegates in Congress to conclude a treaty with any independent power
for the security of the colonies. On May 6th the Assembly of Virginia
met at Williamsburg. After a declaration that all pacific measures were
useless, and that "they had no alternative left but an abject submission
to the will of those overbearing tyrants, or a total separation from the
Crown and Government of Great Britain," they passed two resolutions; the
first empowering their delegates at the convention to propose a
declaration of independence and a confederation of the colonies; the
second appointing a committee to draw up a declaration of rights and a
scheme of government for the colony. On June 12th the Declaration of
Rights was laid before the Assembly, and on the 29th a constitution was
produced.

The Assembly then proceeded to elect a governor. The choice fell on
Patrick Henry. Rightly was he, who had first foreseen independence and
bidden his countrymen look the danger of it in the face, deemed worthy
to be the first to govern the State which he had called into being. All
the colonies except Pennsylvania and Maryland followed the example of
Virginia, and when, on July 1st, the motion for independence was laid
before the Congress, the delegates of nine colonies were pledged to vote
in its favor. The delegates of Pennsylvania and Maryland were divided,
those of South Carolina unanimously opposed independence. The New York
delegates were all in favor of independence, and represented the opinion
of the colony, but could not vote, as their convention had not yet been
duly elected. When the question came forward for decision next day,
Dickinson, who had opposed it on the first day with great earnestness,
stayed away, as did one of his colleagues, and the vote of Pennsylvania
was altered. Another delegate arrived from Delaware, whose vote turned
the scale, and South Carolina, rather than stand alone, withdrew its
opposition. New York alone was unable to vote, and on July 2d, by the
decision of twelve colonies, without one adverse vote, it was resolved
"that these united colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and
independent states; that they are absolved from all allegiance to the
British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the
state of Great Britain is, and ought to be, totally dissolved." Seldom
was the irony of history more strikingly illustrated than when Hancock,
a rebel specially selected for proscription by the English government,
put the question to the vote, and declared the American colonies forever
independent.

Thomas Jefferson, of Virginia, was selected to draw up the Declaration
which had been resolved upon. His pen had already served his country. In
1774 he had published _A Summary View of the Rights of British America_,
setting forth the dangers which menaced the country, and encouraging the
people in defence of their liberties. He had signalized himself in his
own colony by his opposition to slavery. "Wherever he was, there was
found a soul devoted to the cause of liberty, power to defend and
maintain it, and willingness to incur all its hazards."

On July 4th the Declaration was produced. It declared the abstract
principles on which their secession was justified; it then drew up an
indictment against the King, in eighteen heads, setting forth the
various ways in which he had proved himself "a tyrant unfit to be the
ruler of a free people." Finally it declared that the united colonies
were free and independent states; that the connection with Great Britain
was and ought to be totally dissolved, and that as free and independent
states, they had full power to "levy war, conclude peace, contract
alliances, establish commerce, and to do all other acts and things which
independent states may of right do."

Seldom in human events do the facts of history carry their own
explanation so clearly with them. A people who had grown up gradually,
almost unconsciously, under democratic institutions, at last saw those
institutions subverted. To preserve the spirit of them, they changed
their form. We must not be misled into the error of underrating the
importance of the American struggle by any idea of the insignificance of
the issue at stake. We must not suppose that it was, as an earnest and
eloquent writer has called it, "a war for the vindication of the
principle of representative taxation." Its immediate origin, it is true,
involved no vital interest, such as often has been at stake when nations
have risen against their rulers. But "rebellions may fall out on small
occasions; they do not spring from small causes," was said by the first
and wisest of political philosophers. Taxation was, as Burke says, that
by which the colonists felt the pulse of liberty, "and as they found
that beat, they thought themselves sick or sound."

The whole key to the American Revolution lies in two facts; it was a
democratic and a conservative revolution. It was the work of the people,
and its end was to preserve, not to destroy or to construct afresh. The
policy of an early father of New England, "In a revolution burn all, and
build afresh," was far from being that of his descendants. Throughout
the whole War of Independence the colonists had a fixed known end in
view. More than that, they had already within themselves the means for
effecting that end, and making it enduring, as far as what is human can
endure. The future that they proposed to themselves was not independent
of their past: it was a fuller development of it. There was no need for
beginning with the year one, or for throwing aside as worn out anything
that their ancestors had left them. And it was essentially a democratic
revolution. Throughout, the movement came from the people. The very
blunders made by the hesitation and timidity of Congress were the
mistakes of an assembly of delegates, not of representative statesmen.
When the final step was taken, the Congress was not the originator of
it, but was little more than a mouthpiece giving expression to the
declared wishes of the nation.




DEFEAT OF BURGOYNE AT SARATOGA

A.D. 1777

SIR EDWARD SHEPHERD CREASY

     Viewed by itself, the victory over Burgoyne might have
     little appearance of being one of the decisive battles of
     the world, among which Creasy reckons it. That it acquired
     such importance was due, as Creasy himself shows, to its
     direct consequences, especially its influence upon the
     French. It led them to espouse the American cause, and by
     their aid the Revolution was brought to a successful ending.

     Since the Declaration of Independence the American forces
     had met with varying fortunes. They had been defeated in the
     Battle of Long Island, August 27, 1776, and at White Plains,
     October 28th. Forts Washington and Lee, defences of the
     Hudson, were both lost, and the Americans retreated through
     New Jersey. By a masterly return movement Washington
     retrieved the situation, winning the Battle of Trenton,
     December 26, 1776, and that of Princeton, January 3, 1777.
     On August 16, 1777, Stark gained the Battle of Bennington,
     but within a month (September 11th) Washington was beaten by
     Howe on the Brandywine, and the Americans suffered defeat at
     Germantown October 4th. In this state of affairs the
     movements of Burgoyne, who had invaded New York from Canada,
     were watched with deep concern on both sides.

     The final operations between the Americans and Burgoyne's
     forces included two engagements, which are often spoken of
     as the Battles of Saratoga, also as the Battles of
     Stillwater or of Bemis' Heights, from the local names.

     The first of these actions, that of September 19, 1777, in
     which Gates, with Morgan and Arnold under him, commanded the
     Americans, was indecisive. Under the same commanders the
     Americans (October 7th) won the decisive victory which
     Creasy describes. His opening statement shows the modern
     English sentiment concerning the American Revolution, and
     this feeling finds its correlative in the gradual change of
     tone on the part of American writers.


The war which rent away the North American colonies from England is, of
all subjects in history, the most painful for an Englishman to dwell on.
It was commenced and carried on by the British ministry in iniquity and
folly, and it was concluded in disaster and shame. But the contemplation
of it cannot be evaded by the historian, however much it may be
abhorred. Nor can any military event be said to have exercised more
important influence on the future fortunes of mankind than the complete
defeat of Burgoyne's expedition in 1777; a defeat which rescued the
revolted colonists from certain subjection, and which, by inducing the
courts of France and Spain to attack England in their behalf, insured
the independence of the United States, and the formation of that
transatlantic power which not only America, but both Europe and Asia,
now see and feel.

Still, in proceeding to describe this "decisive battle of the world," a
very brief recapitulation of the earlier events of the war may be
sufficient; nor shall I linger unnecessarily on a painful theme.

The five Northern colonies of Massachusetts, Connecticut, Rhode Island,
New Hampshire, and Vermont, usually classed together as the New England
colonies, were the strongholds of the insurrection against the
mother-country. The feeling of resistance was less vehement and general
in the central settlement of New York, and still less so in
Pennsylvania, Maryland, and the other colonies of the South, although
everywhere it was formidably strong.

But it was among the descendants of the stern Puritans that the spirit
of Cromwell and Vane breathed in all its fervor; it was from the New
Englanders that the first armed opposition to the British crown had been
offered; and it was by them that the most stubborn determination to
fight to the last, rather than waive a single right or privilege, had
been displayed. In 1775 they had succeeded in forcing the British troops
to evacuate Boston; and the events of 1776 had made New York--which the
royalists captured in that year--the principal basis of operations for
the armies of the mother-country.

A glance at the map will show that the Hudson River, which falls into
the Atlantic at New York, runs down from the north at the back of the
New England States, forming an angle of about forty-five degrees with
the line of the coast of the Atlantic, along which the New England
States are situate. Northward of the Hudson we see a small chain of
lakes communicating with the Canadian frontier. It is necessary to
attend closely to these geographical points in order to understand the
plan of the operations which the English attempted in 1777, and which
the battle of Saratoga defeated.

The English had a considerable force in Canada, and in 1776 had
completely repulsed an attack which the Americans had made upon that
province. The British ministry resolved to avail themselves, in the next
year, of the advantage which the occupation of Canada gave them, not
merely for the purpose of defence, but for the purpose of striking a
vigorous and crushing blow against the revolted colonies. With this view
the army in Canada was largely reënforced. Seven thousand veteran troops
were sent out from England, with a corps of artillery, abundantly
supplied and led by select and experienced officers. Large quantities of
military stores were also furnished for the equipment of the Canadian
volunteers, who were expected to join the expedition.

It was intended that the force thus collected should march southward by
the line of the Lakes, and thence along the banks of the Hudson River.
The British army from New York--or a large detachment of it--was to make
a simultaneous movement northward, up the line of the Hudson, and the
two expeditions were to unite at Albany, a town on that river. By these
operations, all communication between the Northern colonies and those of
the Centre and South would be cut off. An irresistible force would be
concentrated, so as to crush all further opposition in New England; and
when this was done, it was believed that the other colonies would
speedily submit. The Americans had no troops in the field that seemed
able to baffle these movements.

Their principal army, under Washington, was occupied in watching over
Pennsylvania and the South. At any rate, it was believed that, in order
to oppose the plan intended for the new campaign, the insurgents must
risk a pitched battle, in which the superiority of the royalists in
numbers, in discipline, and in equipment seemed to promise to the latter
a crowning victory. Without question, the plan was ably formed; and had
the success of the execution been equal to the ingenuity of the design,
the reconquest or submission of the thirteen United States must in all
human probability have followed, and the independence which they
proclaimed in 1776 would have been extinguished before it existed a
second year.

No European power had as yet come forward to aid America. It is true
that England was generally regarded with jealousy and ill-will, and was
thought to have acquired, at the Treaty of Paris, a preponderance of
dominion which was perilous to the balance of power; but, though many
were willing to wound, none had yet ventured to strike; and America, if
defeated in 1777, would have been suffered to fall unaided.

Burgoyne had gained celebrity by some bold and dashing exploits in
Portugal during the last war; he was personally as brave an officer as
ever headed British troops, he had considerable skill as a tactician;
and his general intellectual abilities and acquirements were of a high
order. He had several very able and experienced officers under him,
among whom were Major-General Philips and Brigadier-General Frazer. His
regular troops amounted, exclusively of the corps of artillery, to about
seven thousand two hundred men, rank and file. Nearly half of these were
Germans.

He had also an auxiliary force of from two to three thousand Canadians.
He summoned the warriors of several tribes of the red Indians near the
Western Lakes to join his army. Much eloquence was poured forth both in
America and in England in denouncing the use of these savage
auxiliaries. Yet Burgoyne seems to have done no more than Montcalm,
Wolfe, and other French, American, and English generals had done before
him. But, in truth, the lawless ferocity of the Indians, their
unskilfulness in regular action, and the utter impossibility of bringing
them under any discipline made their services of little or no value in
times of difficulty; while the indignation which their outrages inspired
went far to rouse the whole population of the invaded districts into
active hostilities against Burgoyne's force.

Burgoyne assembled his troops and confederates near the River Bouquet,
on the west side of Lake Champlain. He then, on June 21, 1777, gave his
red allies a war-feast, and harangued them on the necessity of
abstaining from their usual cruel practices against unarmed people and
prisoners. At the same time he published a pompous manifesto to the
Americans, in which he threatened the refractory with all the horrors of
war, Indian as well as European.

The army proceeded by water to Crown Point, a fortification which the
Americans held at the northern extremity of the inlet, by which the
water from Lake George is conveyed to Lake Champlain. He landed here
without opposition, but the reduction of Ticonderoga--a fortification
about twelve miles to the south of Crown Point--was a more serious
matter, and was supposed to be the critical part of the expedition.
Ticonderoga commanded the passage along the lakes, and was considered to
be the key to the route which Burgoyne wished to follow. The English had
been repulsed in an attack on it in the war with the French in 1758,
with severe loss. But Burgoyne now invested it with great skill; and the
American general, St. Clair, who had only an ill-equipped army of about
three thousand men, evacuated it on July 5th.

It seems evident that a different course would have caused the
destruction or capture of his whole army, which, weak as it was, was the
chief force then in the field for the protection of the New England
States. When censured by some of his countrymen for abandoning
Ticonderoga, St. Clair truly replied "that he had lost a post, but saved
a province." Burgoyne's troops pursued the retiring Americans, gained
several advantages over them, and took a large part of their artillery
and military stores.

The loss of the British in these engagements was trifling. The army
moved southward along Lake George to Skenesborough, and thence, slowly
and with great difficulty, across a broken country, full of creeks and
marshes, and clogged by the enemy with felled trees and other obstacles,
to Fort Edward, on the Hudson River, the American troops continuing to
retire before them.

Burgoyne reached the left bank of the Hudson River on July 30th.
Hitherto he had overcome every difficulty which the enemy and the nature
of the country had placed in his way. His army was in excellent order
and in the highest spirits, and the peril of the expedition seemed over
when they were once on the bank of the river which was to be the channel
of communication between them and the British army in the South. But
their feelings, and those of the English nation in general, when their
successes were announced, may best be learned from a contemporary
writer. Burke, in the _Annual Register_ for 1777, describes them thus:

"Such was the rapid torrent of success, which swept everything away
before the Northern army in its onset. It is not to be wondered at if
both officers and private men were highly elated with their
good-fortune, and deemed that and their prowess to be irresistible; if
they regarded their enemy with the greatest contempt; considered their
own toils to be nearly at an end; Albany to be already in their hands;
and the reduction of the Northern provinces to be rather a matter of
some time than an arduous task full of difficulty and danger.

"At home the joy and exultation were extreme; not only at court, but
with all those who hoped or wished the unqualified subjugation and
unconditional submission of the colonies. The loss in reputation was
greater to the Americans, and capable of more fatal consequences, than
even that of ground, of posts, of artillery, or of men. All the
contemptuous and most degrading charges which had been made by their
enemies, of their wanting the resolution and abilities of men, even in
their defence of whatever was dear to them, were now repeated and
believed.

"Those who still regarded them as men, and who had not yet lost all
affection for them as brethren; who also retained hopes that a happy
reconciliation upon constitutional principles, without sacrificing the
dignity of the just authority of government on the one side or a
dereliction of the rights of freedmen on the other, was not even now
impossible, notwithstanding their favorable dispositions in general,
could not help feeling upon this occasion that the Americans sunk not a
little in their estimation. It was not difficult to diffuse an opinion
that the war in effect was over, and that any further resistance could
serve only to render the terms of their submission the worse. Such were
some of the immediate effects of the loss of those grand keys of North
America--Ticonderoga and the Lakes."

The astonishment and alarm which these events produced among the
Americans were naturally great; but in the midst of their disasters,
none of the colonists showed any disposition to submit. The local
governments of the New England States, as well as the Congress, acted
with vigor and firmness in their efforts to repel the enemy. General
Gates was sent to take the command of the army at Saratoga; and Arnold,
a favorite leader of the Americans, was despatched by Washington to act
under him, with reënforcements of troops and guns from the main
American army.

Burgoyne's employment of the Indians now produced the worst possible
effects. Though he labored hard to check the atrocities which they were
accustomed to commit, he could not prevent the occurrence of many
barbarous outrages, repugnant both to the feelings of humanity and to
the laws of civilized warfare. The American commanders took care that
the reports of these excesses should be circulated far and wide, well
knowing that they would make the stern New Englanders, not droop, but
rage. Such was their effect; and though, when each man looked upon his
wife, his children, his sisters, or his aged parents, and thought of the
merciless Indian "thirsting for the blood of man, woman, and child," of
"the cannibal savage torturing, murdering, roasting, and eating the
mangled victims of his barbarous battles," might raise terror in the
bravest breasts; this very terror produced a directly contrary effect to
causing submission to the royal army.

It was seen that the few friends of the royal cause, as well as its
enemies, were liable to be the victims of the indiscriminate rage of the
savages; and thus "the inhabitants of the open and frontier countries
had no choice of acting: they had no means of security left but by
abandoning their habitations and taking up arms. Every man saw the
necessity of becoming a temporary soldier, not only for his own
security, but for the protection and defence of those connections which
are dearer than life itself. Thus an army was poured forth by the woods,
mountains, and marches, which in this part were thickly sown with
plantations and villages. The Americans recalled their courage, and,
when their regular army seemed to be entirely wasted, the spirit of the
country produced a much greater and more formidable force."

While resolute recruits, accustomed to the use of fire-arms, and all
partially trained by service in the provincial militias, were thus
flocking to the standard of Gates and Arnold at Saratoga, and while
Burgoyne was engaged at Fort Edward in providing the means of the
further advance of the army through the intricate and hostile country
that still lay before him, two events occurred, in each of which the
British sustained loss and the Americans obtained advantage, the moral
effects of which were even more important than the immediate result of
the encounters. When Burgoyne left Canada, General St. Leger was
detached from that province with a mixed force of about one thousand men
and some light field-pieces across Lake Ontario against Fort Stanwix,
which the Americans held. After capturing this, he was to march along
the Mohawk River to its confluence with the Hudson, between Saratoga and
Albany, where his force and that of Burgoyne's were to unite. But, after
some successes, St. Leger was obliged to retreat, and to abandon his
tents and large quantities of stores to the garrison.

At the very time that General Burgoyne heard of this disaster he
experienced one still more severe in the defeat of Colonel Baum, with a
large detachment of German troops, at Bennington, whither Burgoyne had
sent them for the purpose of capturing some magazines of provisions, of
which the British army stood greatly in need. The Americans, augmented
by continual accessions of strength, succeeded, after many attacks, in
breaking this corps, which fled into the woods, and left its commander
mortally wounded on the field: they then marched against a force of five
hundred grenadiers and light infantry, which was advancing to Colonel
Baum's assistance under Lieutenant-Colonel Breyman, who, after a gallant
resistance, was obliged to retreat on the main army. The British loss in
these two actions exceeded six hundred men; and a party of American
loyalists, on their way to join the army, having attached themselves to
Colonel Baum's corps, were destroyed with it.

Notwithstanding these reverses, which added greatly to the spirit and
numbers of the American forces, Burgoyne determined to advance. It was
impossible any longer to keep up his communications with Canada by way
of the Lakes, so as to supply his army on his southward march; but
having, by unremitting exertions, collected provisions for thirty days,
he crossed the Hudson by means of a bridge of rafts, and, marching a
short distance along its western bank, he encamped on September 14th on
the heights of Saratoga, about sixteen miles from Albany. The Americans
had fallen back from Saratoga, and were now strongly posted near
Stillwater, about half way between Saratoga and Albany, and showed a
determination to recede no farther.

Meanwhile Lord Howe, with the bulk of the British army that had lain at
New York, had sailed away to the Delaware, and there commenced a
campaign against Washington, in which the English general took
Philadelphia, and gained other showy but unprofitable successes. But Sir
Henry Clinton, a brave and skilful officer, was left with a considerable
force at New York, and he undertook the task of moving up the Hudson to
coöperate with Burgoyne. Clinton was obliged for this purpose to wait
for reënforcements which had been promised from England, and these did
not arrive till September. As soon as he received them, Clinton embarked
about three thousand of his men on a flotilla, convoyed by some
ships-of-war under Commander Hotham, and proceeded to force his way up
the river.

The country between Burgoyne's position at Saratoga and that of the
Americans at Stillwater was rugged, and seamed with creeks and
water-courses; but, after great labor in making bridges and temporary
causeways, the British army moved forward. About four miles from
Saratoga, on the afternoon of September 19th, a sharp encounter took
place between part of the English right wing, under Burgoyne himself,
and a strong body of the enemy, under Gates and Arnold. The conflict
lasted till sunset. The British remained masters of the field; but the
loss on each side was nearly equal--from five to six hundred men--and
the spirits of the Americans were greatly raised by having withstood the
best regular troops of the English army.

Burgoyne now halted again, and strengthened his position by field-works
and redoubts; and the Americans also improved their defences. The two
armies remained nearly within cannon-shot of each other for a
considerable time, during which Burgoyne was anxiously looking for
intelligence of the promised expedition from New York, which, according
to the original plan, ought by this time to have been approaching Albany
from the south. At last a messenger from Clinton made his way, with
great difficulty, to Burgoyne's camp, and brought the information that
Clinton was on his way up the Hudson to attack the American forts which
barred the passage up that river to Albany. Burgoyne, in reply, stated
his hopes that the promised coöperation would be speedy and decisive,
and added that, unless he received assistance before October 10th, he
would be obliged to retreat to the Lakes through want of provisions.

The Indians and Canadians now began to desert Burgoyne, while, on the
other hand, Gates' army was continually reënforced by fresh bodies of
the militia. An expeditionary force was detached by the Americans, which
made a bold though unsuccessful attempt to retake Ticonderoga. And
finding the number and spirit of the enemy to increase daily, and his
own stores of provisions to diminish, Burgoyne determined on attacking
the Americans in front of him, and, by dislodging them from their
position, to gain the means of moving upon Albany, or, at least, of
relieving his troops from the straitened position in which they were
cooped up.

Burgoyne's force was now reduced to less than six thousand men. The
right of his camp was on high ground a little to the west of the river;
thence his intrenchments extended along the lower ground to the bank of
the Hudson, their line being nearly at a right angle with the course of
the stream. The lines were fortified in the centre and on the left with
redoubts and field-works. The numerical force of the Americans was now
greater than the British, even in regular troops, and the numbers of the
militia and volunteers which had joined Gates and Arnold were greater
still. The right of the American position--that is to say, the part of
it nearest to the river--was too strong to be assailed with any prospect
of success, and Burgoyne therefore determined to endeavor to force their
left. For this purpose he formed a column of fifteen hundred regular
troops, with two twelve-pounders, two howitzers, and six six-pounders.
He headed this in person, having Generals Philips, Reidesel, and Frazer
under him. The enemy's force immediately in front of his lines was so
strong that he dared not weaken the troops who guarded them by detaching
any more to strengthen his column of attack. The right of the camp was
commanded by Generals Hamilton and Spaight; the left part of it was
committed to the charge of Brigadier Goll.

It was on October 7th that Burgoyne led his column on to the attack; and
on the preceding day, the 6th, Clinton had successfully executed a
brilliant enterprise against the two American forts which barred his
progress up the Hudson. He had captured them both, with severe loss to
the American forces opposed to him; he had destroyed the fleet which the
Americans had been forming on the Hudson, under the protection of their
forts; and the upward river was laid open to his squadron. He was now
only a hundred fifty-six miles distant from Burgoyne, and a detachment
of one thousand seven hundred men actually advanced within forty miles
of Albany. Unfortunately, Burgoyne and Clinton were each ignorant of the
other's movements; but if Burgoyne had won his battle on the 7th, he
must, on advancing, have soon learned the tidings of Clinton's success,
and Clinton would have heard of his.

A junction would soon have been made of the two victorious armies, and
the great objects of the campaign might yet have been accomplished. All
depended on the fortune of the column with which Burgoyne, on the
eventful October 7, 1777, advanced against the American position. There
were brave men, both English and German, in its ranks; and, in
particular, it comprised one of the best bodies of grenadiers in the
British service.

Burgoyne pushed forward some bodies of irregular troops to distract the
enemy's attention, and led his column to within three-quarters of a mile
from the left of Gates' camp, and then deployed his men into line. The
grenadiers under Major Ackland were drawn up on the left, a corps of
Germans in the centre, and the English light infantry and the
Twenty-fourth regiment on the right. But Gates did not wait to be
attacked; and directly the British line was formed and began to advance,
the American general, with admirable skill, caused a strong force to
make a sudden and vehement rush against its left. The grenadiers under
Ackland sustained the charge of superior numbers nobly. But Gates sent
more Americans forward, and in a few minutes the action became general
along the centre, so as to prevent the Germans from sending any help to
the grenadiers.

Burgoyne's right was not yet engaged; but a mass of the enemy were
observed advancing from their extreme left, with the evident intention
of turning the British right and cutting off its retreat. The light
infantry and the Twenty-fourth now fell back, and formed an oblique
second line which enabled them to baffle this manoeuvre, and also to
succor their comrades in the left wing, the gallant grenadiers, who were
overpowered by superior numbers, and, but for this aid, must have been
cut to pieces. Arnold now came up with three American regiments and
attacked the right flanks of the English double line.

Burgoyne's whole force was soon compelled to retreat toward their camp;
the left and centre were in complete disorder; but the light infantry
and the Twenty-fourth checked the fury of the assailants, and the
remains of Burgoyne's column with great difficulty effected their return
to their camp, leaving six of their guns in the possession of the enemy,
and great numbers of killed and wounded on the field; and especially a
large proportion of the artillerymen, who had stood to their guns until
shot down or bayoneted beside them by the advancing Americans.

Burgoyne's column had been defeated, but the action was not yet over.
The English had scarcely entered the camp, when the Americans, pursuing
their success, assaulted it in several places with uncommon fierceness,
rushing to the lines through a severe fire of grape-shot and musketry
with the utmost fury. Arnold especially, who on this day appeared
maddened with the thirst of combat and carnage, urged on the attack
against a part of the intrenchments which was occupied by the light
infantry under Lord Balcarras. But the English received him with vigor
and spirit. The struggle here was obstinate and sanguinary. At length,
as it grew toward evening, Arnold having forced all obstacles, entered
the works with some of the most fearless of his followers. But in this
critical moment of glory and danger, he received a painful wound in the
same leg which had already been injured at the assault on Quebec. To his
bitter regret, he was obliged to be carried back. His party still
continued the attack; but the English also continued their obstinate
resistance and at last night fell, and the assailants withdrew from this
quarter of the British intrenchments.

But in another part the attack had been more successful. A body of the
Americans, under Colonel Brooke, forced their way in through a part of
the intrenchments on the extreme right, which was defended by the German
reserve under Colonel Breyman. The Germans resisted well, and Breyman
died in defence of his post, but the Americans made good the ground
which they had won, and captured baggage, tents, artillery, and a store
of ammunition, which they were greatly in need of. They had, by
establishing themselves on this point, acquired the means of completely
turning the right flank of the British and gaining their rear.

To prevent this calamity, Burgoyne effected during the night a complete
change of position. With great skill he removed his whole army to some
heights near the river, a little northward of the former camp, and he
there drew up his men, expecting to be attacked on the following day.
But Gates was resolved not to risk the certain triumph which his success
had already secured for him. He harassed the English with skirmishes,
but attempted no regular attack. Meanwhile he detached bodies of troops
on both sides of the Hudson to prevent the British from recrossing that
river and to bar their retreat. When night fell it became absolutely
necessary for Burgoyne to retire again, and, accordingly, the troops
were marched through a stormy and rainy night toward Saratoga,
abandoning their sick and wounded, and the greater part of their baggage
to the enemy.

Before the rear-guard quitted the camp, the last sad honors were paid to
the brave General Frazer, who had been mortally wounded on the 7th, and
expired on the following day. The funeral of this gallant soldier is
thus described by the Italian historian Botta:

"Toward midnight the body of General Frazer was buried in the British
camp. His brother-officers assembled sadly round while the funeral
service was read over the remains of their brave comrade, and his body
was committed to the hostile earth. The ceremony, always mournful and
solemn of itself, was rendered even terrible by the sense of recent
losses, of present and future dangers, and of regret for the deceased.
Meanwhile the blaze and roar of the American artillery amid the natural
darkness and stillness of the night came on the senses with startling
awe. The grave had been dug within range of the enemy's batteries, and,
while the service was proceeding, a cannon-ball struck the ground close
to the coffin, and spattered earth over the face of the officiating
chaplain."

Burgoyne now took up his last position on the heights near Saratoga; and
hemmed in by the enemy, who refused any encounter, and baffled in all
his attempts at finding a path of escape, he there lingered until famine
compelled him to capitulate. The fortitude of the British army during
this melancholy period has been justly eulogized by many native
historians, but I prefer quoting the testimony of a foreign writer, as
free from all possibility of partiality. Botta says:

"It exceeds the power of words to describe the pitiable condition to
which the British army was now reduced. The troops were worn down by a
series of toil, privation, sickness, and desperate fighting. They were
abandoned by the Indians and Canadians, and the effective force of the
whole army was now diminished by repeated and heavy losses, which had
principally fallen on the best soldiers and the most distinguished
officers, from ten thousand combatants to less than one-half that
number. Of this remnant little more than three thousand were English.

"In these circumstances, and thus weakened, they were invested by an
army of four times their own numbers whose position extended three parts
of a circle round them, who refused to fight them, as knowing their
weakness, and who, from the nature of the ground, could not be attacked
in any part. In this helpless condition, obliged to be constantly under
arms, while the enemy's cannon played on every part of their camp, and
even the American rifle-balls whistled in many parts of the lines, the
troops of Burgoyne retained their customary firmness, and, while sinking
under a hard necessity, they showed themselves worthy of a better fate.
They could not be reproached with an action or a word which betrayed a
want of temper or of fortitude."

At length October 13th arrived, and as no prospect of assistance
appeared, and the provisions were nearly exhausted, Burgoyne, by the
unanimous advice of a council of war, sent a messenger to the American
camp to treat of a convention.

General Gates in the first instance demanded that the royal army should
surrender prisoners of war. He also proposed that the British should
ground their arms. Burgoyne replied:

"This article is inadmissible in every extremity; sooner than this army
will consent to ground their arms in their encampment they will rush on
the enemy, determined to take no quarter."

After various messages, a convention for the surrender of the army was
settled, which provided that "the troops under General Burgoyne were to
march out of their camp with the honors of war, and the artillery of the
intrenchments, to the verge of the river, where the arms and artillery
were to be left. The arms to be piled by word of command from their own
officers. A free passage was to be granted to the army under
Lieutenant-General Burgoyne to Great Britain, under condition of not
serving again in North America during the present contest."

The articles of capitulation were settled on October 15th, and on that
very evening a messenger arrived from Clinton with an account of his
successes, and with the tidings that part of his force had penetrated as
far as Esopus, within fifty miles of Burgoyne's camp. But it was too
late. The public faith was pledged; and the army was indeed too
debilitated by fatigue and hunger to resist an attack, if made; and
Gates certainly would have made it if the convention had been broken
off. Accordingly, on the 17th, the Convention of Saratoga was carried
into effect. By this convention five thousand seven hundred ninety men
surrendered themselves as prisoners. The sick and wounded left in the
camp when the British retreated to Saratoga, together with the numbers
of the British, German, and Canadian troops who were killed, wounded, or
taken, and who had deserted in the preceding part of the expedition,
were reckoned to be four thousand six hundred eighty-nine.

The British sick and wounded who had fallen into the hands of the
Americans after the battle of the 7th were treated with exemplary
humanity: and when the convention was executed, General Gates showed a
notable delicacy of feeling, which deserves the highest degree of honor.
Every circumstance was avoided which could give the appearance of
triumph. The American troops remained within their lines until the
British had piled their arms; and when this was done, the vanquished
officers and soldiers were received with friendly kindness by their
victors, and their immediate wants were promptly and liberally supplied.
Discussions and disputes afterward arose as to some of the terms of the
convention, and the American Congress refused for a long time to carry
into effect the article which provided for the return of Burgoyne's men
to Europe; but no blame was imputable to General Gates or his army, who
showed themselves to be generous as they had proved themselves to be
brave.

Gates, after the victory, immediately despatched Colonel Wilkinson to
carry the happy tidings to Congress. On being introduced into the hall
he said: "The whole British army has laid down its arms at Saratoga;
our own, full of vigor and courage, expect your orders. It is for your
wisdom to decide where the country may still have need for their
service."

Honors and rewards were liberally voted by the Congress to their
conquering general and his men; and it would be difficult, says the
Italian historian, to describe the transports of joy which the news of
this event excited among the Americans. They began to flatter themselves
with a still more happy future. No one any longer felt any doubt about
their achieving their independence. All hoped, and with good reason,
that a success of this importance would at length determine France, and
the other European powers that waited for her example, to declare
themselves in favor of America. "There could no longer be any question
respecting the future, since there was no longer the risk of espousing
the cause of a people too feeble to defend themselves."

The truth of this was soon displayed in the conduct of France. When the
news arrived at Paris of the capture of Ticonderoga, and of the
victorious march of Burgoyne toward Albany, events which seemed decisive
in favor of the English, instructions had been immediately despatched to
Nantes and the other ports of the kingdom that no American privateers
should be suffered to enter them, except from indispensable necessity;
as to repair their vessels, to obtain provisions, or to escape the
perils of the sea.

The American commissioners at Paris, in their disgust and despair, had
almost broken off all negotiations with the French Government; and they
even endeavored to open communications with the British Ministry. But
the British Government, elated with the first successes of Burgoyne,
refused to listen to any overtures for accommodation. But when the news
of Saratoga reached Paris the whole scene was changed. Franklin and his
brother-commissioners found all their difficulties with the French
Government vanish. The time seemed to have arrived for the house of
Bourbon to take a full revenge for all its humiliations and losses in
previous wars. In December a treaty was arranged, and formally signed in
the February following, by which France acknowledged _the Independent
United States of America_. This was, of course, tantamount to a
declaration of war with England.

Spain soon followed France; and, before long, Holland took the same
course. Largely aided by French fleets and troops, the Americans
vigorously maintained the war against the armies which England, in spite
of her European foes, continued to send across the Atlantic. But the
struggle was too unequal to be maintained by Great Britain for many
years; and when the treaties of 1783 restored peace to the world, the
independence of the United States was reluctantly recognized by their
ancient parent and recent enemy.




FIRST VICTORY OF THE AMERICAN NAVY

A.D. 1779

ALEXANDER SLIDELL MACKENZIE

     American naval officers look back with intensest pride to
     Paul Jones, their earliest hero, the founder of those high
     traditions which have done so much to raise the navy to its
     present standard of efficiency. Decatur, Perry, Farragut,
     Dewey, these and a thousand others of their kind, have but
     followed the lead of Paul Jones, have learned their deepest
     lesson in the thrill that came to each of them in boyhood on
     hearing that proud defiance hurled at the ancient mistress
     of the seas, "I have not yet begun to fight."

     Although much greater sea-battles, in point of numbers of
     both ships and men engaged, are recorded in history, yet
     this, the first naval engagement by an American vessel, is
     counted among the most famous of all on account of its
     stubbornness. The child was matched against the parent; an
     American vessel against a British, the latter far the
     stronger. The combat was mainly between the Bonhomme
     Richard, Jones' ship, with forty guns, many of them
     unserviceable, and the British ship, Serapis, of superior
     armament, as shown below.

     John Paul Jones, commonly known as Paul Jones, was born in
     Scotland in 1747, the son of John Paul, a gardener. He
     emigrated to Virginia, and, assuming the name of Jones,
     became first lieutenant (1775) in the American navy. When in
     1778 France joined the colonies against England, Jones, who
     had already performed several noteworthy exploits, was in
     that country. Through the influence of Franklin an old
     merchant vessel, the Duc de Duras, was converted into a
     ship-of-war and, with four others, placed under the command
     of Jones. In honor of Franklin he named the Duras "Poor
     Richard," and, in compliment to the French language and
     people, she was called the Bonhomme Richard, the French
     colloquial equivalent.

     With a squadron of five ships, each except his own under a
     French commander and three of them with French crews as
     well, Jones sailed from L'Orient, France, August 14, 1779.
     He passed around the west coast of Ireland and around
     Scotland. There was much discontent among the French
     officers, and, though four of his ships were still with him
     when he sighted the Baltic fleet, Jones could not count on
     loyal service, especially from the Alliance, whose captain
     had already shown much insubordination.

     The memorable fight has never been better described than in
     the following plain and direct account of Mackenzie,
     himself an officer of the United States navy.


The battle between the Bonhomme and the Serapis is invested with a
heroic interest of the highest stamp. Jones had been cruising off the
mouth of the Humber and along the Yorkshire coast, intercepting the
colliers bound to London, many of which he destroyed (1779). On the
morning of September 23d he fell in with the Alliance.[27] This
rencounter was a real misfortune; as, in the battle which ensued, the
former disobedience and mad vagaries of Landais, her commander, were
about to be converted into absolute treason. The squadron now consisted
of the Richard, the Alliance, the Pallas, and the Vengeance.

About noon Jones despatched his second lieutenant, Henry Lunt, with
fifteen of his best men, to take possession of a brigantine which he had
chased ashore. Soon after, as the squadron was standing to the northward
toward Flamborough Head, with a light breeze from south-southwest,
chasing a ship, which was seen doubling the cape, in opening the view
beyond, they gradually came in sight of a fleet of forty-one sail
running down the coast from the northward, very close in with the land.
On questioning the pilot, the Commodore discovered that this was the
Baltic fleet, with which he had been so anxious to fall in, and that it
was under convoy of the Serapis, a new ship, of an improved
construction, mounting forty-four guns, and the Countess of Scarborough,
of twenty guns.

Signal was immediately made to form the line of battle, which the
Alliance, as usual, disregarded. The Richard crossed her royal yards,
and immediately gave chase to the northward, under all sail, to get
between the enemy and the land. At the same time signal of recall was
made to the pilot of the boat; but she did not return until after the
action. On discovering the American squadron, the headmost ships of the
convoy were seen to haul their wind suddenly and go about so as to
stretch back under the land toward Scarborough and place themselves
under cover of the cruisers; at the same time they fired signal-guns,
let fly their topgallant sheets, and showed every symptom of confusion
and alarm. Soon afterward the Serapis was seen reaching to windward to
get between the convoy and the American ships, which she soon effected.
At four o'clock the English cruisers were in sight from deck. The
Countess of Scarborough was standing out to join the Serapis, which was
lying-to for her, while the convoy continued to run for the fort, in
obedience to the signals displayed from the Serapis, which was also seen
to fire guns. At half-past five the two ships had joined company, when
the Serapis made sail by the wind; at six both vessels tacked, heading
up to the westward, across the bows of the Richard, so as to keep their
position between her and the convoy.

The opposing ships thus continued to approach each other slowly under
the light southwesterly air. The weather was beautifully serene, and the
breeze, being off the land, which was now close on board, produced no
ripple on the water, which lay still and peaceful, offering a fair field
to the combatants about to grapple in such deadly strife. The decks of
the opposing vessels were long since cleared for action, and ample
leisure remained for reflection, as the ships glided toward each other
at a rate but little in accordance with the impatience of the opponents.
From the projecting promontory of Flamborough Head, which was less than
a league distant, thousands of the inhabitants, whom the recent attempt
upon Leith had made aware of the character of the American ships, and
the reckless daring of their leader, looked down upon the scene,
awaiting the result with intense anxiety. The ships also were in sight
from Scarborough, the inhabitants of which thronged the piers. The sun
had already sunk behind the land before the ships were within gun-shot
of each other; but a full harvest-moon rising above the opposite
horizon, lighted the combatants in their search for each other, and
served to reveal the approaching scene to the spectators on the land
with a vague distinctness which rendered it only the more terrible.

We have seen that the Alliance had utterly disregarded the signal to
form the line of battle when the Baltic fleet was first discovered, and
our squadron bore down upon them. She stood for the enemy without
reference to her station, and, greatly out-sailing the other vessels,
was much sooner in a condition to engage. Captain Landais seemed for
once to be actuated by a chivalrous motive and likely to do something to
redeem the guilt of his disobedience. The officers of the Richard were
watching this new instance of eccentricity, for which Landais' past
conduct had not prepared them, with no little surprise; when after
getting near to where the Serapis lay, with her courses hauled up, and
St. George's ensign--the white cross of England--proudly displayed, he
suddenly hauled his wind, leaving the path of honor open to his
commander. While the Pallas stood for the Countess of Scarborough, the
Alliance sought a position in which she could contemplate the double
engagement without risk, as though her commander had been chosen umpire,
instead of being a party interested in the approaching battle. Soon
afterward the Serapis was seen to hoist the red ensign instead of St.
George's, and it was subsequently known that her captain had nailed it
to the flag-staff with his own hand.

About half-past seven the Bonhomme Richard hauled up her courses and
rounded-to on the weather or larboard quarter of the Serapis, and within
pistol-shot, and steered a nearly parallel course, though gradually
edging down upon her. The Serapis now triced up her lower-deck ports,
showing two complete batteries, besides her spar deck, lighted up for
action, and making a most formidable appearance. At this moment Captain
Pearson, her commander, hailed the Bonhomme Richard and demanded, "What
ship is that?" Answer was made, "I can't hear what you say." The hail
was repeated: "What ship is that? Answer immediately, or I shall be
under the necessity of firing into you!" A shot was fired in reply by
the Bonhomme Richard, which was instantly followed by a broadside from
each vessel. Two of the three old eighteen-pounders in the Richard's
gunroom burst at the first fire, spreading around an awful scene of
carnage. Jones immediately gave orders to close the lower-deck ports and
abandon that battery during the rest of the action.

The Richard, having kept her headway and becalmed the sails of the
Serapis, passed across her forefoot, when the Serapis, luffing across
the stern of the Richard, came up in turn on the weather or larboard
quarter; and, after an exchange of several broadsides from the fresh
batteries, which did great damage to the rotten sides of the Richard and
caused her to leak badly, the Serapis likewise becalmed the sails of the
Richard, passed ahead, and soon after bore up and attempted to cross her
forefoot so as to rake her from stem to stern.

Finding, however, that he had not room for the evolution, and that the
Richard would be on board of him, Captain Pearson put his helm a-lee,
which brought the two ships in a line ahead, and, the Serapis having
lost her headway by the attempted evolution, the Richard ran into her
weather or larboard quarter. While in this position, neither ship being
able to use her great guns, Jones attempted to board the Serapis, but
was repulsed, when Captain Pearson hailed him and asked, "Has your ship
struck?" to which he at once returned the immortal answer:

"_I have not yet begun to fight!_"

Jones now backed his topsails, and the sails of the Serapis remaining
full, the two ships separated. Immediately after, Pearson also laid his
topsails back, as he says in his official report, to get square with the
Richard again; Jones at the same instant filled away, which brought the
two ships once more broadside and broadside. As he had already suffered
greatly from the superior force of the Serapis, and from her being more
manageable and a faster sailer than the Richard, which had several times
given her the advantage in position, Jones now determined to lay his
ship athwart the enemy's hawse; he accordingly put his helm up, but,
some of his braces being shot away, his sails had not their full power,
and, the Serapis having sternway, the Richard fell on board of her
farther aft than Jones had intended. The Serapis' jib-boom hung her for
a few minutes, when, carrying away, the two ships swung broadside and
broadside, the muzzles of the guns touching each other. Jones sent Mr.
Stacy, the acting master, to pass up the end of a hawser to lash the two
ships together, and, while he was gone on this service, assisted with
his own hand in making fast the jib-stay of the Serapis to the Richard's
mizzen-mast.

Accident, however, unknown for the moment to either party, more
effectually secured the two vessels together; for, the anchor of the
Serapis having hooked the quarter of the Richard, the two ships lay
closely grappled. In order to escape from this close embrace, and
recover the advantage of his superior sailing and force, Captain Pearson
now let go an anchor, when the two ships tended round to the tide, which
was setting toward Scarborough. The Richard being held by the anchor of
the Serapis, and the yards being entangled fore and aft, they remained
firmly grappled. This happened about half-past eight, the engagement
having already continued an hour.

Meantime the firing had recommenced with fresh fury from the starboard
sides of both vessels. The guns of either ship actually touched the
sides of the other, and, some of them being opposite the ports, the
rammers entered those of the opposite ship when in the act of loading,
and the guns were discharged into the side or into the open decks. The
effect of this cannonade was terrible to both ships, and wherever it
could be kept up in one ship it was silenced in the other. Occasional
skirmishing with pikes and pistols took place through the ports, but
there does not appear to have been any concerted effort to board from
the lower decks of the Serapis, which had the advantage below.

The Richard had already received several eighteen-pound shot between
wind and water, causing her to leak badly; the main battery of
twelve-pounders was silenced; as for the gunroom battery of six
eighteen-pounders, we have seen that two out of the three starboard ones
burst at the first fire, killing most of their crews. During the whole
action but eight shots were fired from this heavy battery, the use of
which was so much favored by the smoothness of the water. The bursting
of these guns, and the destruction of the crew, with the partial blowing
up of the deck above, so early in the action, were discouraging
circumstances, which, with a less resolutely determined commander, might
well have been decisive of the fate of the battle.

Colonel Chamillard, who was stationed on the poop, with a party of
twenty marines, had already been driven from his post, with the loss of
a number of his men. The Alliance kept studiously aloof, and, hovering
about the Pallas and the Countess of Scarborough, until the latter
struck, after half an hour's action, Landais endeavored to get
information as to the force of the Serapis. He now ran down, under easy
sail, to where the Richard and Serapis grappled. At about half-past nine
he ranged up on the larboard quarter of the Richard, of course having
the Richard between him and the Serapis, though the brightness of the
moonlight, the greater height of the Richard, especially about the poop,
and the fact of her being painted entirely black, while the Serapis had
a yellow streak, could have left no doubt as to her identity; moreover,
the Richard displayed three lights at the larboard bow, gangway, and
stern, which was an appointed signal of recognition.

Landais now deliberately fired into the Richard's quarter, killing many
of her men. Standing on, he ranged past her larboard bow, where he
renewed his raking fire, with like fatal effect. To remove the chance of
misconception, many voices cried out that the Alliance was firing into
the wrong ship; still the raking fire continued from her. Captain
Pearson also suffered from this fire, as he states in his report to the
Admiralty, but necessarily in a much less degree than the Richard, which
lay between them. There is ample evidence of Landais having returned
there several times to fire on the Richard, and always on the larboard
side, or opposite one to that on which the Richard was grappled with the
Serapis.

While the fire of the Serapis was continued without intermission from
the whole of her lower-deck battery, the only guns that were still fired
from the Richard were two nine-pounders on the quarter-deck, commanded
by Mr. Mease, the purser. This officer having received a dangerous wound
in the head, Jones took his place, and, having collected a few men,
succeeded in shifting over one of the larboard guns; so that three guns
were now kept playing on the enemy, and these were all that were fired
from the Richard during the remainder of the action. One of these guns
was served with double-headed shot and directed at the main-mast, by
Jones' command, while the other two were loaded with grape and canister,
to clear the enemy's deck.

In this service great aid was rendered by the men stationed in the tops
of the Richard, who, having cleared the tops of the Serapis, committed
great havoc among the officers and crew upon her upper deck. Thus, the
action was carried on with decided advantage to the Serapis' men on the
lower decks, from which they might have boarded the Richard with a good
prospect of success, as nearly the whole crew of the latter had been
driven from below by the fire of the Serapis and had collected on the
upper deck. In addition to the destructive fire from the tops of the
Richard, great damage was done by the hand-grenades thrown from her tops
and yard-arms. The Serapis was set on fire as often as ten or twelve
times in various parts, and the conflagration was only with the greatest
exertions kept from becoming general.

About a quarter before ten a hand-grenade, thrown by one of the
Richard's men from the main-top of the Serapis, struck the combing of
the main-hatch, and, glancing inward upon the main deck, set fire to a
cartridge of powder. Owing to mismanagement and defective training, the
powder-boys on this deck had bought up the cartridges from the magazine
faster than they were used, and, instead of waiting for the loaders to
receive and charge them, had laid them on the deck, where some of them
were broken. The cartridge fired by the grenade now communicated to
these, and the explosion spread from the main-mast aft on the starboard
side, killing twenty men and disabling every man there stationed at the
guns, those who were not killed outright being left stripped of their
clothes and scorched frightfully.

At this conjuncture, being about ten o'clock, the gunner and the
carpenter of the Richard, who had been slightly wounded, became alarmed
at the quantity of water which entered the ship through the shot-holes
which she had received between wind and water, and which, by her
settling, had got below the surface. The carpenter expressed an
apprehension that she would speedily sink, which the gunner, mistaking
for an assertion that she was actually sinking, ran aft on the poop to
haul down the colors. Finding that the ensign was already down in
consequence of the staff having been shot away, the gunner set up the
cry, "Quarter! for God's sake, quarter! Our ship is sinking!" which he
continued until silenced by Jones, who threw at the recreant a pistol he
had just discharged at the enemy, which fractured his skull, and sent
him headlong down the hatchway. Captain Pearson, hearing the gunner's
cry, asked Jones if he called for quarter, to which, according to his
own words, he replied "in the most determined negative."

Captain Pearson now called away his boarders and sent them on board the
Richard, but, when they had reached her rail, they were met by Jones
himself, at the head of a party of pikemen, and driven back. They
immediately returned to their ship, followed by some of the Richard's
men, all of whom were cut off.

About the same time that the gunner set up his cry for quarter, the
master-at-arms, who had been in consultation with the gunner and the
carpenter in regard to the sinking condition of the ship, hearing the
cry for quarter, proceeded, without orders from Jones, and either from
treachery or the prompting of humane feelings, to release all the
prisoners, amounting to more than a hundred. One of these, being the
commander of the letter-of-marque Union, taken on August 31st, passed,
with generous self-devotion, through the lower ports of the Richard and
the Serapis, and, having reached the quarter-deck of the latter,
informed Captain Pearson that if he would hold out a little longer the
Richard must either strike or sink; he moreover informed him of the
large number of prisoners who had been released with himself, in order
to save their lives. Thus encouraged, the battle was renewed from the
Serapis with fresh ardor.

The situation of Jones at this moment was indeed hopeless beyond
anything that is recorded in the annals of naval warfare. In a sinking
ship, with a battery silenced everywhere, except where he himself
fought, more than a hundred prisoners at large in his ship, his consort,
the Alliance, sailing round and raking him deliberately, his superior
officers counselling surrender, while the inferior ones were setting up
disheartening cries of fire and sinking and calling loudly for
quarter--the chieftain still stood undismayed. He immediately ordered
the prisoners to the pumps, and took advantage of the panic they were
in, with regard to the reported sinking of the ship, to keep them from
conspiring to overcome the few efficient hands that remained of his
crew.

Meanwhile the action was continued with the three light quarter-deck
guns, under Jones' immediate inspection. In the moonlight, blended with
the flames that ascended the rigging of the Serapis, the yellow
main-mast presented a palpable mark, against which the guns were
directed with double-headed shot. Soon after ten o'clock the fire of the
Serapis began to slacken, and at half-past ten she struck.

Mr. Dale, the first lieutenant of the Richard, was now ordered on board
the Serapis to take charge of her. He was accompanied by Midshipman
Mayrant and a party of boarders. Mr. Mayrant was run through the thigh
with a boarding-pike as he touched the deck of the Serapis, and three of
the Richard's crew were killed, after the Serapis had struck, by some of
the crew of the latter who were ignorant of the surrender of their ship.

Lieutenant Dale found Captain Pearson on the quarter-deck, and told him
he was ordered to send him on board the Richard. It is a remarkable
evidence of the strange character of this engagement, and the doubt
which attended its result, that the first lieutenant of the Serapis, who
came upon deck at this moment, should have asked his commander whether
the ship alongside had struck. Lieutenant Dale immediately answered:
"No, sir; on the contrary, he has struck to us!"

The British lieutenant, like a true officer, then questioned his
commander, "Have you struck, sir?" Captain Pearson replied, "Yes, I
have!" The lieutenant replied, "I have nothing more to say," and was
about to return below, when Mr. Dale informed him that he must accompany
Captain Pearson on board the Richard. The lieutenant rejoined, "If you
will permit me to go below, I will silence the firing of the lower-deck
guns." This offer Mr. Dale very properly declined, and the two officers
went on board the Richard and surrendered themselves to Jones.

Pearson, who had risen, like Jones, from a humble station by his own
bravery, but who was as inferior officer to Jones in courtesy as he had
proved himself in obstinacy of resistance, evinced from the first a
characteristic surliness, which he maintained throughout the whole of
his intercourse with his victor. In surrendering he said that it was
painful for him to deliver up his sword to a man who had fought with a
halter around his neck. Jones did not forget himself, but replied with a
compliment, which, though addressed to Pearson, necessarily reverted to
himself, "Sir! you have fought like a hero, and I make no doubt but your
sovereign will reward you in a most ample manner."

As another evidence of the strange _mêlée_ which attended this
engagement, and of the discouraging circumstances under which the
Richard fought, it may be mentioned that eight or ten of her crew, who
were, of course, Englishmen, got into a boat, which was towing astern of
the Serapis, and escaped to Scarborough during the height of the
engagement. This defection, together with the absence of the second
lieutenant with fifteen of the best men, the loss of twenty-four men on
the coast of Ireland, added to the number who had been sent away in
prizes, reduced Jones' crew to a very small number, and greatly
diminished his chance of success, which was due at length solely to his
own indomitable courage.

Meantime the fire, which was still kept up from the lower-deck guns of
the Serapis, where the seamen were ignorant of the scene of surrender
which had taken place above, was arrested by an order from Lieutenant
Dale. The action had continued without cessation for three hours and a
half. When it at length ceased, Jones got his ship clear of the Serapis
and made sail. As the two separated, after being so long locked in
deadly struggle, the main-mast of the Serapis, which had been for some
time tottering, and which had only been sustained by the interlocking of
her yards with those of the Richard, went over the side with a
tremendous crash, carrying the mizzen-topmast with it. Soon after, the
Serapis cut her cable and followed the Richard.

The exertions of captors and captives were now necessary to extinguish
the flames which were raging furiously in both vessels. Its violence was
greatest in the Richard, where it had been communicated below from the
lower-deck guns of the Serapis. Every effort to subdue the flames seemed
for a time to be unavailing. In one place they were raging very near the
magazine, and Jones at length had all the powder taken out and brought
on deck, in readiness to be thrown overboard. In this work the officers
of the Serapis voluntarily assisted.

While the fire was raging in so terrifying a manner, the water was
entering the ship in many places. The rudder had been cut entirely
through, the transoms were driven in, and the rotten timbers of the old
ship, from the main-mast aft, were shattered and almost entirely
separated, as if the ship had been sawn through by ice; so much so that
Jones says that toward the close of the action the shot of the Serapis
passed completely through the Richard; and the stern-post and a few
timbers alone prevented the stern from falling down on the gunroom deck.
The water rushed in through all these apertures, so that at the close
of the action there were already five feet of water in the hold. The
spectacle which the old ship presented the following morning was
dreadful beyond description. Jones says in his official report: "A
person must have been eye-witness to form a just idea of the tremendous
scene of carnage, wreck, and ruin that everywhere appeared. Humanity
cannot but recoil from the prospect of such finished horror, and lament
that war should produce such fatal consequences."

Captain Pearson also notices, in his official letter to the Admiralty,
the dreadful spectacle the Richard presented. He says: "On my going on
board the Bonhomme Richard I found her to be in the greatest distress;
her counters and quarters on the lower deck entirely drove in, and the
whole of her lower-deck guns dismounted; she was also on fire in two
places, and six or seven feet of water in her hold, which kept
increasing all night and the next day till they were obliged to quit
her, and she sunk with a great number of her wounded people on board
her." The regret which he must, at any rate, have felt in surrendering,
must have been much augmented by these observations, and by what he must
have seen of the motley composition of the Richard's crew.

On the morning after the action a survey was held upon the "Poor
Richard," which was now, more than ever, entitled to her name. After a
deliberate examination, the carpenters and other surveying officers were
unanimously of opinion that the ship could not be kept afloat so as to
reach port, if the wind should increase. The task of removing the
wounded was now commenced, and completed in the course of the night and
following morning. The prisoners who had been taken in merchant-ships
were left until the wounded were all removed. Taking advantage of the
confusion, and of their superiority in numbers, they took possession of
the ship, and got her head in for the land, toward which the wind was
now blowing. A contest ensued, and, as the Englishmen had few arms, they
were speedily overcome. Two of them were shot dead, several wounded and
driven overboard, and thirteen of them got possession of a boat and
escaped to the shore.

Jones was very anxious to keep the Richard afloat, and, if possible, to
bring her into port, doubtless from the very justifiable vanity of
showing how desperately he had fought her. In order to effect this
object he kept the first lieutenant of the Pallas on board of her with a
party of men to work the pumps, having boats in waiting to remove them
in the event of her sinking. During the night of the 24th the wind had
freshened, and still continued to freshen on the morning of the 25th,
when all further efforts to save her were found unavailing. The water
was running in and out of her ports and swashing up her hatchways. About
nine o'clock it became necessary to abandon her, the water then being up
to the lower deck; an hour later, she rolled as if losing her balance,
and, settling forward, went down bows first, her stern and mizzen-mast
being last seen.

"A little after ten," says Jones in his report, "I saw, with
inexpressible grief, the last glimpse of the Bonhomme Richard." The
grief was a natural one, but, far from being destitute of consolation,
the closing scene of the "Poor Richard," like the death of Nelson on
board the Victory in the moment of winning a new title to the name, was
indeed a glorious one. Her shattered shell afforded an honorable
receptacle for the remains of the Americans who had fallen during the
action.

The Richard was called by Captain Pearson a forty-gun ship, while the
Serapis was stated by the pilot, who described her to Jones when she was
first made, to have been a forty-four. Jones and Dale also gave her the
same rate. The Richard, as we have seen, mounted six eighteen-pounders
in her gunroom on her berth deck, where port-holes had been opened near
the water; fourteen twelve, and fourteen nine-pounders on her main deck,
and eight six-pounders on her quarter-deck, gangways, and forecastle.
The weight of shot thrown by her at a single broadside would thus be two
hundred and twenty-five pounds. With regard to her crew, she started
from L'Orient with three hundred eighty men. She had manned several
prizes, which, with the desertion of the barge's crew on the coast of
Ireland, and the absence of those who went in pursuit under the master
and never returned, together with the fifteen men sent away in the
pilot-boat, under the second lieutenant, just before the action, and who
did not return until after it was over, reduced the crew, according to
Jones' statement, to three hundred forty men at its commencement.

This calculation seems a very fair one; for, by taking the statement of
those who had landed on the coast of Ireland, as given in a contemporary
English paper, at twenty-four, those who were absent in the pilot-boat
being sixteen in number, and allowing five of the nine prizes taken by
the Richard to have been manned from her, with average crews of five men
each, the total reduction from her original crew may be computed to be
seventy men. Eight or ten more escaped, during the action, in a boat
towing astern of the Serapis. To have had three hundred forty men at the
commencement of the action, as Jones states he had, he must have
obtained recruits from the crews of his prizes.

In the muster-roll of the Richard's crew in the battle, as given by Mr.
Sherburne from an official source, we find only two hundred twenty-seven
names. This can hardly have been complete; still the document is
interesting, inasmuch as it enumerates the killed and wounded by name,
there being forty-two killed and forty wounded. It also states the
country of most of the crew; by which it appears that there were
seventy-one Americans, fifty-seven acknowledged Englishmen, twenty-one
Portuguese, and the rest of the motley collection was made up of Swedes,
Norwegians, Irish, and East Indians. Many of those not named in this
imperfect muster-roll were probably Americans.

With regard to the Serapis, her battery consisted of twenty eighteens on
the lower gun-deck, twenty nines on the upper gun-deck, and ten sixes on
the quarter-deck and forecastle. She had two complete batteries, and her
construction was, in all respects, that of a line-of-battle ship. The
weight of shot thrown by her single broadside was three hundred pounds,
being seventy-five pounds more than that of the Richard. Her crew
consisted of three hundred twenty; all Englishmen except fifteen
Lascars; and as such, superior to the motley and partially disaffected
assemblage of the Richard. The superiority of the Serapis, in size and
weight, as well as efficiency of battery, was, moreover, greatly
increased by the strength of her construction. She was a new ship, built
expressly for a man-of-war, and equipped in the most complete manner by
the first of naval powers. The Richard was originally a merchantman,
worn out by long use and rotten from age. She was fitted, in a makeshift
manner, with whatever refuse guns and materials could be hastily
procured, at a small expense, from the limited means appropriated to her
armament.

The overwhelming superiority thus possessed by the Serapis was evident
in the action. Two of the three lower-deck guns of the Richard burst at
the first fire, scattering death on every side, while the guns of the
Serapis remained serviceable during the whole action, and their effect
on the decayed sides of the Richard was literally to tear her to pieces.
On the contrary, the few light guns which continued to be used in the
Richard, under the immediate direction of her commander, produced little
impression on the hull of the Serapis. They were usefully directed to
destroy her masts and clear her upper deck, which, with the aid of the
destructive and well-sustained fire from the tops, was eventually
effected. The achievement of the victory was, however, wholly and solely
due to the immovable courage of Paul Jones. The Richard was beaten more
than once; but the spirit of Jones could not be overcome. Captain
Pearson was a brave man, and well deserved the honor of knighthood which
awaited him on his arrival in England; but Paul Jones had a nature which
never could have yielded. Had Pearson been equally indomitable, the
Richard, if not boarded from below, would, at last, have gone down with
her colors still flying in proud defiance.

The wounded of the Serapis appear, by the surgeon's report accompanying
Captain Pearson's letter to the Admiralty, to have amounted to
seventy-five men, eight of whom died of their wounds. Of the wounded,
thirty-three are stated to have been "miserably scorched," doubtless by
the explosion of the cartridges on the main deck. Captain Pearson states
that there were many more, both killed and wounded, than appeared on the
list, but that he had been unable to ascertain their names. Jones gave
the number of wounded on board the Serapis as more than a hundred, and
the killed probably as numerous. The surviving prisoners, taken from the
Serapis and the Countess of Scarborough, amounted to three hundred
fifty; the whole number of prisoners, including those previously taken
from captured merchant-vessels, amounted to near five hundred.

During the engagement between the Richard and the Serapis, the Pallas,
commanded by Captain Cottineau, seems to have done her duty. She
engaged the Countess of Scarborough, and captured her after an hour's
close action. The Pallas was a frigate of thirty-two guns, and the
Countess of Scarborough a single-decked ship, mounting twenty
six-pounders. The Alliance, in the course of the night, also fired into
the Pallas and the Countess of Scarborough, while engaged, and killed
several of the Pallas' men. Subsequent to the engagement it was attested
by the mass of officers in the squadron that, about eight o'clock, the
Alliance raked the Bonhomme Richard with grape and cross-bar, killing a
number of men and dismounting several guns. He afterward made sail for
where the Pallas and the Scarborough were engaged, and after hovering
about until the latter struck, communicated by hailing with both
vessels, and then stood back to the Richard, and coming up on her
larboard quarter, about half-past nine, fired again into her; passing
along her larboard beam, he then luffed up on her lee bow, and renewed
his raking fire. It was proved that the Alliance never passed on the
larboard side of the Serapis, but always kept the Richard between her
and the enemy. The officers of the Richard were of opinion that Landais'
intention was to kill Jones and disable his ship, so as afterward to
have himself an easy victory over the Serapis. As it was, he
subsequently claimed the credit of the victory, on the plea of having
raked the Serapis. There can be little doubt that he was actuated by
jealous and treacherous feelings toward Jones, and by base cowardice.
The Vengeance also behaved badly; neither she nor the Alliance made any
prizes from among the fleet of merchantmen, and the whole escaped under
cover of Flamborough Head and the adjacent harbors. Lieutenant Henry
Lunt, who was absent in the pilot-boat with fifteen of the Richard's
best men, lay in sight of the Richard during the action, but "thought it
not prudent to go alongside in time of action." His conduct at least
involved a great error of judgment, which no doubt he lived to repent.

The conduct of Jones throughout this battle displayed great skill and
the noblest heroism. He carried his ship into action in the most gallant
style, and, while he commanded with ability, excited his followers by
his personal example. We find him, in the course of the action, himself
assisting to lash the ships together, aiding in the service of the only
battery from which a fire was still kept up, and, when the Serapis
attempted to board, rushing, pike in hand, to meet and repel the
assailants. No difficulties or perplexities seemed to appal him or
disturb his judgment, and his courage and skill were equalled by his
immovable self-composure. The achievement of this victory was solely due
to his brilliant display of all the qualities essential to the formation
of a great naval commander.

FOOTNOTES:

[27] The Alliance had deliberately separated from the squadron. As to
the other vessels, the Pallas was a French frigate weaker than the
Richard, but much stronger than the second English ship, which she
captured. The Vengeance was only a sloop of twelve guns, and took no
part in the contest.--ED.




JOSEPH II ATTEMPTS REFORM IN HUNGARY[28]

A.D. 1780

ARMINIUS VAMBERY

     As King of Hungary and Bohemia, and as Germanic Emperor,
     Joseph II, a man of ideals, found himself hampered by
     hereditary institutions and traditions. The attempted
     reforms of this ruler, though too advanced for their times,
     are justly deemed worthy of commemoration by historians.
     Like the work of all leaders who aim at improvement before
     the world is ready, they were prophetic of a better day.

     Joseph II, son of Francis I, Emperor of the Holy Roman
     Empire, and Maria Theresa, Archduchess of Austria and Queen
     of Hungary and Bohemia, was born at Vienna in 1741. He
     succeeded to the possessions of the house of Austria on the
     death of his mother in 1780. The troubles of his reign,
     especially in Hungary, were due to his own progressive and
     technically illegal acts on the one hand, and to the narrow
     conservatism of the people, and the illiberality of the
     nobles, on the other.

     By most of the historians of Hungary and Bohemia the reign
     of Joseph II is described as disastrous for both countries.
     But a more philosophical view than those historians often
     furnish is presented by Vambery, the great Hungarian writer,
     who gives to the endeavors of Joseph the credit of enduring
     significance.


The royal crown of Hungary has ever been, from the time it encircled the
brow of St. Stephen, an object of jealous solicitude and almost
superstitious veneration with the nation. It continued to loom up as a
brilliant and rallying point in the midst of the vicissitudes and
stirring events of the history of the country during all the centuries
that followed the coronation of the first king. The people looked upon
it as a hallowed relic, the glorious bequest of a long line of
generations past and gone, and as the symbol and embodiment of the unity
of the state. The different countries composing Hungary were known under
the collective name of the "Lands of the Sacred Crown," and, at the
period when the privileged nobility was still enjoying exceptional
immunities, each noble styled himself _membrum sacræ coronæ_ ("a member
of the sacred crown"). In the estimation of the people it had ceased to
be a religious symbol, and had become a cherished national and political
memorial, to which the followers of every creed and all the classes
without distinction might equally do homage. Nor was the crown an
every-day ornament to be displayed by royalty on solemn occasions of
pageant. The King wore it only once in his life, on the day of his
coronation, when he was bound solemnly to swear fidelity to the
constitution, before the high dignitaries of the state, first in church,
and to repeat afterward in the open air his vow to govern the country
within the limits of the law. Thus in Hungary it has ever been the
ancient custom, prevailing to this day, that, on the king's accession to
the throne, it is he who, on his coronation, takes the oath of fidelity
to his people, instead of the latter swearing fealty to the king. The
right of succession to the throne is hereditary, but the lawful rule of
the king begins with the ceremony of coronation only. It requires this
ceremonial, which to this day is characterized by the attributes of
mediæval pomp and splendor, to render the acts of the ruler valid and
binding upon the people; without it every public act of such ruler is a
usurpation.

During eight centuries all the kings and queens, without exception, had
been eager to place the crown on their heads, in order to come into the
full possession of their regal privileges. Joseph II was the first king
who refused to be crowned. He felt a reluctance to swear fidelity to the
constitution, and to promise, by a solemn oath, to govern the country in
accordance with its ancient usages and laws. The people, therefore,
never called him their crowned king; he was either styled "Emperor" by
them, or nicknamed the _kalapos_ ("hatted") king. His reign was but a
series of illegal and unconstitutional acts, and a succession of bitter
and envenomed struggles between the nation and her ruler. The contest
finally ended with Joseph's defeat. He retracted on his death-bed all
his arbitrary measures, and conceded to the people the tardy restoration
of their ancient constitution. The conflict, however, had left deep
traces in the minds of his Hungarian subjects. It roused them from the
dormant state into which they had been lulled by the gentle and maternal
absolutism of Maria Theresa. Thus Joseph's schemes not only failed, but,
in their effects, they were destined to bring about the triumph of
ideas, fraught with important consequences, such as he had hardly
anticipated. The nation, waking from her lethargy, gave more prominence
than ever to the idea of nationality, an idea which, as time advanced,
increased in potency and intensity.

Yet this ruler, who on ascending the throne disregarded all
constitutional obligations and waged a relentless war against the
Hungarian nationality, must be, nevertheless, ranked among the noblest
characters of his century. Thoroughly imbued with the enlightened views
of the eighteenth century, and those new ideas which had triumphed in
the War of Independence across the ocean, he was ever in pursuit of
generous and exalted aims. He sincerely desired the welfare of the
people, and in engaging in this fruitless conflict he was by no means
actuated by sinister intentions or by a despotic disposition. To
introduce reforms, called for by the spirit of the age, into the Church,
the schools, and every department of his Government, was the lofty task
he had imposed upon himself. A champion of the oppressed, he freed the
human conscience from its mediæval fetters, granted equal rights to the
persecuted creeds, protected the enslaved peasantry against their
arbitrary masters, and enlarged the liberty of the press. He endeavored
to establish order and honesty in every branch of the public service,
being mindful at the same time of all the agencies affecting the
prosperity of the people. In a word, his remarkable genius embraced
every province of human action where progress, reforms, and
ameliorations were desirable.

Unhappily for his own peace of mind and for the destinies of the nation
he was called upon to rule, he committed a fatal error in the selection
of the methods for accomplishing his humane and philanthropic objects.
He desired to render Hungary happy, yet he excluded the nation from the
direction of her own affairs. He wished to enact salutary laws, yet he
reigned as an absolute monarch, unwilling to call the Diet to his aid in
the great work of reformation, ignoring and disdaining the constitution
and laws of the country. He was impolitic enough to attack a
constitution which, thanks to the devotion of the people, had withstood
the shock of seven centuries. He was unwise enough to suppose that the
people, in whose hearts the love of their ancient constitution had taken
deep root, for the defence of which rivers of blood had been shed,
could be prevailed upon to relinquish it to satisfy a theory of royalty.

The old political organization was eminently an outgrowth of the
Hungarian nationality, and all classes of the people, including the very
peasantry to whom the ancient constitution meant only oppression, clung
to it with devoted fervor. The people were as anxious for reforms as
Joseph himself, but they wanted them by lawful methods, and with the
coöperation of the nation and their Diet. Joseph might have become the
regenerator and benefactor of Hungary if he had availed himself, for the
realization of his grand objects, of the national and lawful channels
which lay ready to his hand. But he unfortunately preferred attempting
to achieve his purpose out of the plenitude of his own power, by
imperial edicts and arbitrary measures, thus conjuring up a storm
against himself which wellnigh shook his throne, and plunging the nation
into a wild ferment of passion bordering on revolution.

The people presented a solid phalanx against Joseph's attack upon their
nationality and language, which to them were objects dearer than
everything else. They little cared for the Emperor's well-intentioned
endeavors to make them prosperous and happy as long as he asked, in
exchange, for the relinquishment of their nationality. And this, above
all, was his most ardent wish. He wanted Hungary to be Hungarian no
more, and wished its people to cast off the distinctive marks of their
individuality, and to adopt the German language, instead of their own,
in the schools, the public administration, and in judicial proceedings.
In a word, he made German the official language of the country, and was
bent on forcing it upon the people.

Henceforth every reform coming from Joseph became hateful to the people.
The oppressed classes themselves spurned relief which involved the
sacrifice of their sweet mother-tongue. By proclaiming equal rights and
equal subjection to the burdens of the state, he arrayed the privileged
classes against his person. The Protestants and the peasantry, who had
hailed him in the beginning as their new messiah, and fondly saw in his
innovations the dawn of brighter days, also turned from him as soon as
he attacked them in what they prized even more than liberty and justice.
It was not long before the whole country, without distinction of class,
social standing, or creed, combined to set at naught the Germanizing
efforts of Joseph. The hard-fought struggle roused the people, hitherto
divided by antagonisms of class and creed, to a sense of national
solidarity. It was during the critical days of these constitutional
conflicts that the foundations of the modern homogeneousness of the
Hungarian nation and society were laid down.

The privileged classes looked upon Joseph, on his advent to the throne,
with distrust. They foresaw that he would not allow himself to be
crowned, in order to avoid taking the oath of fidelity to the
Constitution of Hungary. The first measures of his reign concerned the
organization of the various churches of the country. He extended the
religious freedom of the Protestant Church. By virtue of the apostolic
rights of the Hungarian kings, he introduced signal reforms into the
Catholic Church, especially regarding the education of the clergy, which
proved, in part, exceedingly salutary.

He abolished numerous religious orders, especially those which were not
engaged either in teaching or in nursing the sick. One hundred forty
monasteries and nunneries were closed by him in Hungary. The ample
property of these convents he employed for ecclesiastical and public
purposes and for the advancement of instruction. He exerted himself
strenuously and successfully in the establishment of public schools and
in the interest of popular education. He removed the only university of
which the country could then boast from Buda to Pesth, a city which was
rapidly increasing, and added a theological department to that seat of
learning. All these innovations met with the approval of the enlightened
elements of the nation, while the privileged classes and the clergy
opposed them with sullen discontent. The opposition was all the more
successful, as the Emperor had contrived to insult the moral
susceptibilities of the common people by some of his measures.

Thus, with a view to economizing the boards required for coffins, he
ordered the dead to be sewed up in sacks and to be buried in this
apparel. This uncalled-for meddling with the prejudices of the lower
classes had the effect of creating a great indignation among them and of
driving them into the camp of the opposition. Trifling and thoughtless
measures of a similar nature impaired the credit of the most salutary
innovations. The people looked with suspicion at every change, and,
heedless of the lofty endeavors of the Emperor, everybody, including the
officials themselves, rejected the entire governmental system of Joseph.

The Emperor also wounded the national feeling of piety by his action
concerning the crown he had spurned. According to ancient custom and law
the sacred crown was kept in safety in Presburg, in a building provided
for that purpose. In 1784 the Emperor ordered the crown to be removed to
Vienna, in order to be placed there in the royal treasury side by side
with the crowns of his other lands. The nation revolted at this
profanation of their hallowed relic, and the highest official
authorities throughout the land protested against a measure which, while
it created such widespread ill-feeling, was not justified by any
necessity. A dreadful storm, accompanied by thunder and lightning, was
raging when the crown was removed to Vienna, and the people saw in this
a sign that Nature herself rebelled against the sacrilege committed by
the Emperor. The counties continued to urge the return of the crown, in
addresses which were sometimes humbly suppliant in their tone and
sometimes threatening, but Joseph did not yield either to supplications
or menaces.

When the edict which made German the official language of the country
was published, the minds of men all over the country were greatly
disturbed. It is true that hitherto the Latin, and not the Hungarian,
language had been the medium of communication employed by the state. But
the national spirit and the native tongue, which during the first
seventy years of the eighteenth century had sadly degenerated, were
awakening to new life during Joseph's reign. The literature of the
country began to be assiduously cultivated in different spheres. Royal
body-guards belonging to distinguished families, gentlemen of
refinement, clergymen of modest position, and other sons of the native
soil labored with equal zeal and enthusiasm to foster their cherished
mother-tongue.

It would, therefore, have been an easy matter for Joseph to replace the
Latin language, which had become an anachronism, by the Hungarian, and
thus to restore the latter to its natural and legal position in the
state. He was perfectly right in ridding the country of the mastery of
a dead tongue, but he committed a most fatal error in trying to
substitute for it the German, an error which avenged itself most
bitterly. Joseph entertained a special antipathy to the Hungarian
tongue, a dislike which betrayed him into omitting the teaching of the
native language from the course of public instruction, and refusing to
allow an academy of sciences to be established which had its cultivation
for its object.

The Emperor's attack upon the language of the nation irremediably broke
the last tie between him and the country, and henceforth the relations
between them could be only hostile. The counties assumed a threatening
attitude, some of them refusing obedience altogether. Thus most of them
declined to give their official coöperation to the army officers who had
been delegated by the Emperor to take the census. The count,
nevertheless, proceeded, but in many places the inhabitants escaped to
the woods, and in some there were serious riots in consequence of the
opposition to the commissioners of the census.

A rising of a different character took place among the Wallachs. The
Wallachs, smarting under abuses of long standing, buoyed up by
exaggerated expectations consequent upon the Emperor's innovations, and
stirred up by evil-minded agitators, took to arms and perpetrated the
most outrageous atrocities against their Hungarian landlords. The
ignorant common people were assured by their leaders, Hora and Kloska,
that the Emperor himself sided with them. The Wallach insurgents
assassinated the Government's commissioners sent to them, destroyed
sixty villages and one hundred eighty-two gentlemen's mansions, and
killed four thousand Hungarians before they could be checked in their
bloody work. Although they were finally crushed and punished, a strong
belief prevailed in the country that the court of Vienna had been privy
to the Wallach rising.

Joseph subsequently laid down most humane rules regulating the relations
between the bondmen and their landlords. But the country could not be
appeased by any boon, especially as the high protective tariff, just
then established for the benefit of the Austrian provinces, was
seriously damaging the prosperity of the people. Joseph's foreign policy
tended to increase the domestic disaffection. In 1788 he declared war
against Turkey, but the campaign turned out unsuccessful, and nearly
terminated with the Emperor's capture. The nation, emboldened by his
defeat, urged now more emphatically her demands, and requested the
Emperor to annul his illegal edicts, to submit to be crowned, and to
restore the ancient constitution. Joseph continuing to resist her
demands, most of the counties refused to contribute in aid of the war
either money or produce. In addition to their recalcitrant attitude,
they most energetically pressed the Emperor to convoke the Diet at Buda,
a few counties going even so far as to insist upon the chief justice's
convoking it, if the Emperor failed to do so before May, 1790.

The courage of the nation rose still higher when the news of the
Revolution in France and the revolt in Belgium reached the country. The
people refused to furnish recruits and military aid, and the Emperor was
compelled to use violence in order to obtain either. The counties
remained firm and continued to remonstrate in addresses characterized by
sharp and energetic language. Joseph yielded at last. He was prostrated
by a grave illness, and, feeling his end approaching, he wished to die
in peace with the exasperated nation he had so deeply wounded. On
January 28, 1790, he retracted all his illegal edicts, excepting those
that had reference to religious toleration, the peasantry, and the
clergy, and reëstablished the ancient constitution of the country. Soon
after he sent back the crown to Buda, where its return was celebrated
with great pomp, amid the enthusiastic shouts of the people. Before he
could yet convoke the Diet death terminated the Emperor's career on
February 20th.

The world lost in him a great and noble-minded man, a friend to
humanity, who, however, had been unable to realize all his lofty
intentions. The effect of his reign was to rouse Hungary from the apathy
into which it had sunk, and at the time of Joseph's death the minds of
the people were a prey to an excitement no less feverish than that which
had seized revolutionary France at the same period. But while in Paris
democracy was victorious over royalty, the latter had to yield in
Hungary to the privileged nobility. The restored constitution was a
charter of political privileges for the nobles only, and as such was
most jealously guarded by them. This class kept a strict watch over the
liberal tendencies of the age, preventing the importation of democratic
ideas from France from fear of harm to their exclusive immunities.

Joseph was succeeded by his brother, Leopold II, who until now had been
Grand Duke of Tuscany. The new ruler was as enlightened as his
predecessor, and had as much the welfare of the people at heart; but he
respected, at the same time, the laws and the constitution. He
immediately convoked the Diet in order to be crowned, and by this act he
solemnly sealed the peace with the nation. The people hailed with joy
this first step of their new King, and there was nothing in the way of
their now obtaining lawfully from the good-will of the King the salutary
legislation which Joseph had attempted to force arbitrarily upon them.
But the fond hopes in this direction were doomed to disappointment. The
national movement had not helped to power those who were in favor of
progress, equality of rights, and democracy.

No doubt there were people in the country who differed from the men in
authority, who were sincerely attached to the doctrines of the French
Revolution and eager to supplant the privileges of the nobles by the
broader rights belonging to all humanity. The national literature was in
the hands of men of this class. They combated the reactionary spirit of
the nobility, and contended for the recognition of the civil and
political rights of by far the largest portion of the people, the
non-nobles. They boldly and with generous enthusiasm wielded the pen in
defence of those noble ideas, and indoctrinated the people with them as
much as the restraints placed upon the press allowed it at that period.
They succeeded in obtaining recruits for their ideas from the very ranks
of the privileged classes, and many an enlightened magnate admitted that
the time had arrived for modernizing the Constitution of Hungary by an
extension of political rights.

Their number was swelled also by the more intelligent portion of the
inhabitants of the cities, and those educated patriotic people who,
although no gentle blood flowed in their veins, had either obtained
office under Joseph's reign or had imbibed the political views of that
monarch. But all of these men combined formed but an insignificant
fraction of the people compared to the numerous nobility, who, after
their enforced submission during ten years, were eager to turn to the
advantage of their own class the victory they had achieved over Joseph.
During the initial preparations for the elections to the Diet, and in
the course of the elections, sentiments were publicly uttered and
obtained a majority in the county assemblies, which caused a feverish
commotion among the common people and the peasantry.

The latter especially now eagerly clung to innovations introduced by the
Emperor Joseph, so beneficial as regarded their own class, and were
reluctant to submit to the restoration of the former arbitrary landlord
system. Their remonstrances were answered by the counties to the effect
that Providence had willed it so that some men should be kings, others
nobles, and others again bondmen. Such cruel reasoning failed to satisfy
the aggrieved peasantry. Symptoms of a dangerous revolutionary spirit
showed themselves throughout a large portion of the country, and an
outbreak could be prevented only by the timely assurance, on the part of
the counties, that the matter would be submitted to the Diet about to
assemble.

The Diet, which had not been convened for twenty-five years, opened in
Buda in the beginning of June, 1790. The coronation soon took place.
Fifty years had elapsed since the last similar pageant had been enacted
in Hungary. After a lengthy and vehement contest extending over ten
months, in the course of which the Diet was removed from Buda to
Presburg, the laws of 1790-1791, which form part of the fundamental
articles of the Hungarian Constitution, were finally passed. By them the
independence of Hungary as a state obtained the fullest recognition. The
laws, which were the result of the coõperation of the crown and the
Estates, declared that Hungary was an independent country, subject to no
other country, possessing her own constitution, by which alone she was
to be governed.

Important concessions were also made to the rights of the citizens of
the country. The privileges of the nobility were left intact, but the
extreme wing of the reactionary nobles had to rest satisfied with this
acquiescence in the former state of things, and were not allowed to push
the narrow-minded measures advocated by them. The majority of the Diet
was influenced in their wise moderation, partly by the exalted views of
the King and to a greater extent yet by the disaffected spirit rife
among the people, and especially threatening among the Serb population
of the country. The laws secured the liberties of the Protestant and the
Greek united churches, remedied the most urgent griefs of the peasantry,
and declared those who were not noble capable of holding minor offices.
Although the most important measures of reform were put off to a future
time by the Diet of 1790-1791, several preparatory royal commissions
having been appointed for their consideration, yet the work it
accomplished was the salutary beginning of a liberal legislation which
culminated, not quite sixty years later, in the declaration of the equal
rights of the people as the basis of the Hungarian commonwealth.

After the meeting of this Diet, however, very little was done in the
direction of reforms. The good work was interrupted, partly by the
premature death of Leopold II (March 1, 1792), and partly by the warlike
period, extending over twenty-five years, which, in Hungary as
throughout all Europe, claimed public attention, and diverted the minds
of the leaders of the nation from domestic topics. Francis I, the son
and successor of Leopold II, caused himself to be crowned in due form,
and much was at first hoped from his reign. But the Jacobin rule of
terror in Paris, and the dread of seeing the revolutionary scenes
repeated in his own realm, wrought a complete change in his character
and policy.

He soon stubbornly rejected every innovation, and gradually became a
pillar of strength for the European reaction, that extravagant
conservatism which expected to efface the effects of the French
Revolution by an unquestioning adherence to the old and traditional
order of things. This illiberal spirit of the monarch rendered
impossible for the time any further reform movement in Hungary. Every
question of desirable change met with the most obstinate opposition on
the part of the King, and the reforms submitted by the royal commissions
were considered by every successive Diet without ever becoming law.

The period which now followed was gloomy in the extreme, as well for
Hungary as for the Austrian provinces of Francis I. The inhabitants of
these countries were constantly called upon by the King in the course of
the wars to make sacrifices in treasure and blood, by furnishing
recruits and by paying high taxes. At the same time the Government
resorted to the most absolute and arbitrary measures to prevent the
people from being contaminated with French ideas. The press was crushed
by severe penalties. Every enlightened idea was banished from the
schools and expunged from the school-books. Only men for whose extreme
reactionary spirit the police could vouch were appointed to the
professorships or to other offices. A system of universal spying and
secret information caused everybody to be suspected and to suffer from
private vindictiveness, while those who dared to avow liberal views were
the objects of cruel persecution.

FOOTNOTES:

[28] From Vambery's _Hungary_, in Story of the Nations Series (New York:
G. P. Putnam's Sons), by permission.




SIEGE AND SURRENDER OF YORKTOWN

A.D. 1781

HENRY B. DAWSON              LORD CORNWALLIS

     After almost seven years of struggle, the American colonies,
     with the aid of France, won by the success of their arms
     that independence which they declared in 1776. The close of
     the Yorktown campaign with the surrender of Cornwallis
     virtually ended the Revolutionary War.

     While the victory of the Americans over Burgoyne at Saratoga
     (1777) produced a most encouraging effect upon the colonies,
     their scattered forces still had much arduous work before
     them. The defeat of Washington at Brandywine and at
     Germantown (September and October, 1777) left the British,
     under Howe, in possession of Philadelphia. Being in no
     condition to keep the field, Washington went into winter
     quarters at Valley Forge, twenty miles northwest of that
     city. There, in the most inhospitable surroundings, the army
     remained from the middle of December, 1777, suffering untold
     privations, while the British passed a winter of gayety in
     Philadelphia. The American camp consisted of log huts with
     windows of oiled paper. The soldiers built the huts in
     bitter weather, their only food being cakes of flour and
     water which they baked at the open fires. To the hardships
     of exposure were added the sufferings of disease; to
     scarcity of provisions, lack of clothing. The men, said
     Lafayette, "were in want of everything; they had neither
     coats, hats, shirts, nor shoes; their feet and their legs
     froze till they became black, and it was often necessary to
     amputate them."

     After such a winter it seems remarkable that Washington
     could have so strengthened his army as to win the Battle of
     Monmouth in the following June. The next considerable events
     of the war were the taking of Stony Point by the British in
     1779, and its recapture by Anthony Wayne in the same year.
     The war went on during the next two years with varying
     results, but none decisive. The defection of Benedict Arnold
     deprived the Americans of a capable soldier and gave him to
     the enemy. The American victory at the Battle of the
     Cowpens, January 17, 1781, was offset by the triumph of
     Cornwallis at Guilford Court House, March 15th, but this was
     that general's last success on American soil. His own
     account of the surrender of Yorktown, in a letter addressed
     to Sir Henry Clinton, here follows the complete narrative of
     Dawson, which covers the final year of the actual War of the
     American Revolution.


HENRY B. DAWSON

The seventh year of the War of the Revolution was productive of great
events. Opening with the mutiny of the Pennsylvania line of troops, its
progress soon developed the disaffection of the New Jersey line also,
and all the skill of General Washington was necessary to maintain that
discipline in the army on which the salvation of the country depended.
The resources of the country, from the long-continued struggle through
which it had passed during six years, had become exhausted; its currency
had become depreciated beyond precedent; and the people, weary of the
contest, were lukewarm as well as enervated.

At that time, also, the Federal Congress appeared to lack that nerve and
decision which had marked the proceedings of the same body earlier in
the war; and contenting itself with "recommendations," without
attempting to enforce its requisitions or even to advise the adoption of
compulsory measures by the States, it left the troops who were in the
field without clothing, provisions, or pay, and indirectly forced upon
them those acts of apparent insurrection which, resolved to their first
elements, might not improperly have been called "acts of necessity," and
been justified, in charity, as essential to their self-preservation.

So gloomy, indeed, were the prospects of American independence at that
time that the interposition of some foreign government was, by general
consent, considered absolutely essential; and never were the good
qualities of the Commander-in-Chief more nobly displayed than at this
period, when, amid the most pressing discouragements, referred to, he
urged the States to strengthen the bonds of the confederacy and to renew
their efforts for the great final struggle with their haughty and
determined enemy.

The enemy, still anxiously seeking to establish his power in the
Southern States, had sent General Arnold to Virginia, with a strong
detachment of troops, to coöperate with Lord Cornwallis, who was busily
engaged, in a series of movements, in measuring his strength and his
skill with General Greene; and, soon afterward, a second detachment,
under General Phillips, was sent to the same State.

Early in May the Count de Barras arrived from Europe with the welcome
intelligence of the approach of reënforcements from France; and that a
strong fleet from the West Indies, under Count de Grasse, might be
expected in the American waters within a few weeks. In view of these
facts a conference between General Washington and the Count de
Rochambeau was held at Weathersfield soon afterward, and the plans of
the campaign were discussed and determined on.

Among the principal operations proposed was an attack on the city of New
York; and in accordance with these plans the allied forces of America
and France moved against that city. Every necessary preparation had been
made for the commencement of active operations, when, on August 14th, a
letter reached General Washington in which the Count de Grasse informed
him that the entire French West Indian fleet, with more than three
thousand land forces, would shortly sail from Santo Domingo for the
Chesapeake, intimating, however, that he could not remain longer than
the middle of October, at which time it would be necessary for him to be
on his station again. As the limited period which the Count could spend
in the service of the allies was not sufficient to warrant the
supposition that he could be useful before New York, the entire plan of
the campaign was changed; and it was resolved to proceed to Virginia,
with the whole of the French troops and as many of the Americans as
could be spared from the defence of the posts on the Hudson; and instead
of besieging Sir Henry Clinton, in his head-quarters in New York, a
movement against Lord Cornwallis and the powerful detachment under his
command was resolved on.

At the period in question Lord Cornwallis had moved out of the
Carolinas, formed a junction with the force under General Phillips, and
had overrun the lower counties of Virginia, until General Lafayette, who
had been sent to the State some weeks after, by superior skill and the
most active exertions had succeeded in checking his progress. The
purpose of the allies was to prevent the escape of Lord Cornwallis from
his position near Yorktown; and General Lafayette was ordered to make
such a disposition of his army as should be best calculated to effect
that purpose. In case this purpose should be defeated, and Lord
Cornwallis succeed in effecting a retreat into North Carolina, it was
designed to pursue him with sufficient force to overawe him: while the
remainder of the armies, at the same time, should proceed, with the
French fleet, to Charleston, which was, at the same time, the enemy's
head-quarters in the South.

The marine force of the allies was composed of two fleets--that of
Admiral Count de Grasse, then on its way from the West Indies, composed
of twenty-six sail of the line and several frigates; and that of Admiral
Count de Barras, then at anchor in Newport, composed of eight sail of
the line, besides transports and victuallers: their military force
embraced the main bodies of the American and French armies, under
Generals Washington and Rochambeau, then near New York; the detachment
of American troops, under General Lafayette, then in Virginia; and more
than three thousand French troops, under General Saint-Simon, who were
then on their way from the West Indies with the Count de Grasse.

The main body of the enemy's force, under Sir Henry Clinton, was in the
city of New York and its immediate vicinity; Lord Cornwallis, with his
own command and that which, under Generals Phillips and Arnold, had
overrun some portions of Virginia, numbering in the aggregate about
seven thousand three hundred fifty men, exclusive of seamen and Tories,
was occupying the neck of land between the James and York rivers, where
General Lafayette was holding him in check; while the Southern army,
under Lieutenant-Colonel Balfour, through the successful movements of
General Greene, was mostly confined to Charleston and its immediate
vicinity. Admiral Rodney, with a large naval force, was leisurely
spending his time in securing his portion of the spoils in the West
Indies; Sir Samuel Hood, with fifteen sail of the line and six smaller
vessels, had been detached by Admiral Rodney to intercept Admiral de
Grasse, and to maintain an equality of power in the American waters; and
Admiral Graves, with part of his fleet in New York and a part before
Newport, caused the enemy to feel perfectly secure in the positions he
occupied.

As has been stated, the intelligence from Admiral de Grasse changed the
plans of the allies; and, instead of General Clinton and the main body
of the enemy in the city of New York, Lord Cornwallis and the combined
forces under his command, then at Yorktown, were made the objects of
General Washington's attention. In executing this plan, however, it was
necessary to exercise great caution, not only to prevent Sir Henry
Clinton from moving to the assistance of Lord Cornwallis, but also to
prevent Admiral Graves from joining Sir Samuel Hood, and, by occupying
the Chesapeake, keeping open the communication by sea between Yorktown
and New York.

For this purpose, on August 19th the New Jersey line and Colonel Hazen's
regiment were sent to New Jersey, by way of Dobbs Ferry, to protect a
large number of "ovens" which were ordered to be erected near
Springfield and Chatham in that State; and forage and boats, with some
efforts to display the same, were also collected on the west side of the
Hudson, by which the enemy was led to suppose that an attack was
intended from that quarter. Fictitious letters were also written and put
in the way of the enemy, by which the deception was confirmed; and Sir
Henry Clinton appears to have supposed that Staten Island, or a position
near Sandy Hook, to cover the entrance of the French fleet into the
harbor, was the real object of the movements, until the allied
forces--which had crossed the Hudson, leaving General Heath, with a
respectable force, on its eastern bank--had passed the Delaware, and
rendered the true object of the movement a matter of obvious certainty.

The body of troops with which General Washington moved to the South
embraced all the French auxiliaries, led by Count Rochambeau; the light
infantry of the Continental army, led by Colonel Alexander Scammel;
detachments of light troops from the Connecticut and New York State
troops; the Rhode Island regiment; the regiment known as "Congress'
Own," under Colonel Hazen; two New York regiments; a detachment of New
Jersey troops; and the artillery, under Colonel John Lamb, numbering in
the aggregate about two thousand Americans and a strong body of French.
It is said that the American troops, who were mostly from New England
and the Middle States, marched with reluctance to the southward, showing
"strong symptoms of discontent when they passed through Philadelphia,"
and becoming reconciled only when an advance of a month's pay, in
specie--which was borrowed from Count Rochambeau for that purpose--was
paid to them.

The allies, having thus successfully eluded the watchfulness of the
enemy in New York, pressed forward toward Annapolis and the Head of
Elk, whither transports had been despatched from the French fleet to
convey them to Virginia; and, on September 25th, the last division
reached Williamsburg, where, with General Lafayette and his command, and
the auxiliary troops, the entire army had rendezvoused.

In the mean time the enemy, as well as the French auxiliaries, had not
been inactive. Lord Cornwallis, vainly expecting reënforcements from New
York, had concentrated his army at Yorktown and Gloucester, on opposite
sides of the York River, and had been busily employed in throwing up
strong works of defence, and preparing to sustain a siege.

Admiral Graves, after a bootless cruise to the eastward for the purpose
of intercepting some French storeships, had returned to New York on
August 16th or 17th, and since that time had been employed in refitting,
taking in stores, etc., in blissful ignorance of the approach of Admiral
de Grasse. Admiral Rodney, advised of the movements of the French fleet,
had sent "early notice" to the Admiral commanding in America; but his
despatches, which were sent by the Swallow, Captain Wells, never reached
Admiral Graves. Sir Samuel Hood's squadron also had been sent to the
northward to check the movements of the French fleet or to strengthen
the fleet of Admiral Graves, after touching at the Chesapeake, before
the French fleet arrived there, had sailed for New York, and on the
afternoon of August 28th had reached that port, and communicated to the
Admiral the first intelligence of the movements of the French fleet
which he had received. On August 31st the Admiral, with five ships
belonging to his own command, and the squadron under Sir Samuel Hood,
sailed for the Chesapeake, where he found the French fleet, and on
September 5th accepted the invitation to fight which the Admiral de
Grasse extended to him; but considered it prudent to return to New York
immediately afterward.

The Admiral Count de Grasse, with a naval force of twenty-six sail of
the line and some smaller vessels, had sailed from Santo Domingo on
August 5th; on the 30th of the same month he entered the Chesapeake and
anchored at Lynn Haven; on the following day he had blockaded the mouths
of the James and York rivers, and prevented the retreat of the enemy by
water; and, as has been before stated--notwithstanding the absence of
about nineteen hundred of his men, besides three ships of the line and
two fifties with their crews--had gone out and fought with Admiral
Graves and nineteen sail of the line. General the Marquis Saint-Simon,
at the head of thirty-three hundred French troops, had been landed from
the fleet on September 2d; joined General Lafayette on the 3d; and on
the 5th, with the latter officer and his command, had moved down to
Williamsburg, fifteen miles from York, and cut off the retreat of the
enemy by land. Admiral de Barras, with his squadron and ten transports,
having on board the siege-artillery and a large body of French troops
under M. de Choisy, sailed from Newport on August 25th, and entered Lynn
Haven Bay in safety on September 10th, while Admiral de Grasse was
absent in engagement with Admiral Graves.

As before mentioned, the different divisions of the allied forces
rendezvoused at Williamsburg, in the vicinity of Yorktown, in the latter
part of September. At the same time the enemy's fleet, overawed by the
superior force of the combined fleets under Admirals de Grasse and de
Barras, had returned to New York, leaving General Cornwallis and his
army to the fortunes of war; and enabling the naval force of the allies
to coöperate with their military in all the operations of the siege.
General Heath, with two New Hampshire, ten Massachusetts, and five
Connecticut regiments, the corps of invalids, Sheldon's Legion of
Dragoons, the Third regiment of artillery, and "all such State troops
and militia as were retained in service," remained in the vicinity of
New York to protect the passes in the Highlands, and to check any
movement which Sir Henry Clinton might make for the relief of Lord
Cornwallis.

At daybreak on September 28th the entire body of the army moved from
Williamsburg, and occupied a position within two miles of the enemy's
line; the American troops occupied the right of the line; the French
auxiliaries the left. York, the scene of operations referred to, is a
small village, the seat of justice of York County, Virginia, and is
situated on the southern bank of the York River, eleven miles from its
mouth. On the opposite side of the river is Gloucester Point, on which
the enemy had also taken a position; and the communication between the
two posts was commanded by his land-batteries and by some vessels-of-war
which lay at anchor under his guns.

On September 29th the besiegers were principally employed in
reconnoitring the situation of the enemy and in arranging their plans of
attack. The main body of the enemy was found intrenched in the open
ground about Yorktown, with the intention of checking the progress of
the allies, while an inner line of works, near the village, had been
provided for his ultimate defence; Lieutenant-Colonel Simcoe, with his
legion, the Eightieth regiment of the line, and the Hereditary Prince's
regiment of Hessians, the whole under Lieutenant-Colonel Dundas, being
in possession of Gloucester Point. The only movement was an extension of
the right wing of the allied armies, and the consequent occupation of
the ground east of the Beaver-dam Creek, by the American forces.

On the evening of that day Lord Cornwallis received despatches from New
York in which Sir Henry Clinton advised his lordship that "at a meeting
of the general and flag officers, held this day (September 24, 1781) it
is determined that above five thousand men, rank and file, shall be
embarked on board the King's ships, and the joint exertions of the navy
and army made in a few days to relieve you, and afterward to operate
with you. The fleet consists of twenty-three sail of the line, three of
which are three-deckers. There is every reason to hope that we start
from hence October 5th." Gratified with this promise of assistance, and
probably confident of his ability to hold his inner position until he
could be relieved, Lord Cornwallis imprudently retired from the outer
line of works which he had occupied, and on the same night (September
29th) occupied the town, leaving the outer lines to be occupied by the
allies, without resistance, on the next day.

On September 30th the allies occupied the deserted positions, and were
thereby "enabled to shut up the enemy in a much narrower circle, giving
them the greatest advantages." Before the allies moved to the positions
which had been thus deserted, Colonel Alexander Scammell, the officer of
the day, approached them for the purpose of reconnoitring, when he was
attacked by a party of the enemy's horse, which was ambushed in the
neighborhood, and, after being mortally wounded, was taken prisoner. On
the same day the transports, having on board the battering-train, came
up to Trubell's, seven miles from York, whence they were transported to
the lines; and the lines were completely and effectively occupied. The
French extended from the river above the town, to a morass in the
centre, while the Americans continued the lines from the morass to the
river, below the town, the whole forming a semicircle, with the river
for a chord.

On the same day the Duc de Lauzun, with his legion of cavalry, and
General Weedon, with a body of Virginian militia, the whole under Sieur
de Choisy, invested Gloucester, in the course of which a party of the
Queen's Rangers, which had been sent out to observe the movements of the
allies, was driven in with considerable loss.

On the following day (October 1st) eight hundred marines were landed
from the fleet to strengthen the party which was investing Gloucester;
and from that time until the 6th both the allies and the enemy
vigorously prosecuted their several works of attack or defence, or
otherwise prepared for the great struggle which was then inevitable.

On the night of October 6th, under the command of General Lincoln, the
besiegers opened their trenches within six hundred yards of the enemy's
lines, yet with so much silence was it conducted that it appears to have
been undiscovered until daylight on the 7th, when the works were so far
completed that they afforded ample shelter for the men, and but one
officer and sixteen privates were injured. In this attack the enemy
appears to have bent his energies chiefly against the French, on the
left of the trenches; and the regiments of Bourbonnois, Soissonnois, and
Touraine, commanded by the Baron de Viomenil, were most conspicuous in
the defence of the lines.

The 7th, 8th, and 9th of October were employed in strengthening the
first parallel, and in constructing batteries somewhat in advance of it,
for the purpose of raking the enemy's works and of battering his
shipping. Communications were also made in the rear of the left of the
line, in order to secure the greater number of openings. On the night of
the 10th the trenches on the left were occupied by the regiments of
Agenois and Saintonge, under the Marquis de Chastellux; on that of the
8th by the regiments of Gatinois and Royal-Deux-Ponts, under the Marquis
de Saint-Simon.

At 5 P.M. of the 9th the American battery on the right of the line
opened its fire--General Washington in person firing the first gun--and
six eighteen and twenty-four pounders, two mortars, and two howitzers
were steadily engaged during the entire night. At an early hour on the
morning of the 10th the French battery on the left, with four
twelve-pounders and six mortars and howitzers, also opened fire; and on
the same day this fire was increased by the fire from two other French
and two American batteries--the former mounting ten eighteen and
twenty-four pounders, and six mortars and howitzers, and four
eighteen-pounders respectively; the latter mounting four
eighteen-pounders and two mortars. "The fire now became so excessively
heavy that the enemy withdrew their cannon from their embrasures, placed
them behind the merlins, and scarcely fired a shot during the whole
day." In the evening of the 10th the Charon, a frigate of forty-four
guns, and three transports were set on fire by the shells of hot shot
and entirely consumed; and the enemy's shipping was warped over the
river, as far as possible, to protect it from similar disaster.

On the night of the 11th the second parallel was opened within three
hundred yards of the enemy's lines; and, as in the former instance, it
was so far advanced before morning that the men employed in them were in
a great measure protected from injury when the enemy opened fire. The
three following days were spent in completing this parallel and the
redoubts and batteries belonging to it, during which time the enemy's
fire was well sustained and more than usually destructive. Two advanced
batteries, three hundred yards in front of the enemy's left, were
particularly annoying, inasmuch as they flanked the second parallel of
the besiegers; and as the engineers reported that they had been severely
injured by the fire of the allies it was resolved to attempt to carry
them by assault.

Accordingly, in the evening of the 14th, these redoubts were
assaulted--that on the extreme right by a detachment embracing the light
infantry of the American army, under General Lafayette; the latter by a
detachment of grenadiers and chasseurs from the French army, commanded
by Baron Viomenil. The attacks were made at 8 P.M., and in that of the
Americans the advance was led by Lieutenant-Colonel Alexander Hamilton,
with his own battalion and that of Colonel Gimat, the latter in the
van; while Lieutenant-Colonel John Laurens, at the head of eighty men,
took the garrison in reverse and cut off its retreat. Not a single
musket was loaded; and the troops rushed forward with the greatest
impetuosity--passing over the abatis and palisades--and carrying the
work with the bayonet, with the loss of nine killed, and six officers
and twenty-six rank and file wounded. The French performed their part of
the duty with equal gallantry, although from the greater strength of
their opponents it was not done so quickly as that of the Americans. The
German grenadier regiment of Deux-Ponts, led by Count William Forback de
Deux-Ponts, led the column; and Captain Henry de Kalb, of that regiment,
was the first officer who entered the work. The chasseur regiment of
Gatinois supported the attack; and, in like manner with that on the
right, the redoubt was carried at the point of the bayonet.

During the night these redoubts were connected with the second parallel;
and during the next day (October 15th) several howitzers were placed on
them and a fire opened on the town. These works, important as they had
been to the enemy, were no less so to the allies, from the fact that,
with them, the entire line of the enemy's works could be enfiladed, and
the line of communication between York and Gloucester commanded.

The situation of Lord Cornwallis had now become desperate. He "dared not
show a gun to the old batteries" of the allies, and their new ones, then
about to open fire, threatened to render his position untenable in a few
hours. "Experience has shown," he then wrote, "that our fresh earthen
works do not resist their powerful artillery, so that we shall soon be
exposed to an assault in ruined works, in a bad position, and with
weakened numbers." To retard as much as possible what now appeared to be
inevitable, at an early hour next morning (October 16th) the garrison
made a sortie; when three hundred fifty men, led by Lieutenant-Colonel
Abercrombie, attacked two batteries within the second parallel, carried
them with inconsiderable loss, and spiked the guns; but the guards and
pickets speedily assembled, and drove the assailants back into the town
before any other damage was done.

About 4 P.M. of the 16th the fire of several batteries in the second
parallel were opened on the town, while the entire line was rapidly
approaching completion. At this time the situation of the enemy was
peculiarly distressing; his defences being in ruins, his guns
dismounted, and his ammunition nearly exhausted while an irresistible
force was rapidly concentrating its powers to overwhelm and destroy him.
At this time Lord Cornwallis entertained the bold and novel design of
abandoning his sick and baggage, and by crossing the river to Gloucester
and overpowering the force under General de Choisy, which was then
guarding that position, to fly for his life, through Virginia,
Pennsylvania, and the Jerseys, to New York. As no time could be lost,
the attempt was made during the same night, but a violent storm, coming
on while the first detachment was still on the river, preventing the
landing of part of it, the movement was abandoned; and those troops who
had crossed the river returned to York during the next day.

[Illustration: The Siege of Yorktown

Painting by L. C. A. Couder.]

On the morning of the next day (October 17th) the several new batteries,
which supported the second parallel, opened fire; when Lord Cornwallis
considered it no longer incumbent on him to attempt to hold his position
at the cost of his troops, and at 10 A.M. he beat a parley and asked a
cessation of hostilities, that commissioners might meet to settle the
terms for the surrender of the posts of York and Gloucester.

A correspondence ensued between the commanders-in-chief; and on the 18th
the Viscount de Noailles and Lieutenant-Colonel John Laurens met Colonel
Dundas and Major Ross to arrange the terms of surrender. Without being
able to agree on all points, the commissioners separated; when General
Washington sent a rough copy of the articles, which had been prepared,
to Lord Cornwallis, with a note expressing his expectation that they
would be signed by 11 A.M. on the 19th, and that the garrison would be
ready to march out of the town within three hours afterward. Finding all
attempts to obtain more advantageous terms unavailing, Lord Cornwallis
yielded to the necessities of the case and surrendered, with his entire
force, military and naval, to the arms of the allies.

The army, with all its artillery, stores, military-chest, etc., was
surrendered to General Washington; the navy, with its appointments, to
Admiral de Grasse.

The terms were precisely similar to those which the enemy had granted
to the garrison of Charleston in the preceding year; and General
Lincoln, the commander of that garrison, on whom the illiberality of the
enemy then fell, was designated as the officer to whom the surrender
should be made.

"At about 12, noon," says an eye-witness, "the combined army was
arranged and drawn up in two lines extending more than a mile in length.
The Americans were drawn up in a line on the right side of the road, and
the French occupied the left. At the head of the former the great
American commander, mounted on his noble courser, took his station,
attended by his aides. At the head of the latter was posted the
excellent Count Rochambeau and his suite. The French troops, in complete
uniform, displayed a martial and noble appearance; their band of music,
of which the timbrel formed a part, was a delightful novelty, and
produced while marching to the ground a most enchanting effect. The
Americans, though not all in uniform nor their dress so neat, yet
exhibited an erect, soldierly air, and every countenance beamed with
satisfaction and joy. The concourse of spectators from the country was
prodigious, in point of numbers probably equal to the military, but
universal silence and order prevailed. It was about two o'clock when the
captive army advanced through the line formed for their reception. Every
eye was prepared to gaze on Cornwallis, the object of peculiar interest
and solicitation; but he disappointed our anxious expectations;
pretending indisposition, he made General O'Hara his substitute as the
leader of his army. This officer was followed by the conquered troops in
a slow and solemn step, with shouldered arms, colors cased, and drums
beating a British march."

"Having arrived at the head of the line, General O'Hara, elegantly
mounted, advanced to His Excellency the Commander-in-Chief, taking off
his hat, and apologizing for the non-appearance of Earl Cornwallis. With
his usual dignity and politeness, His Excellency pointed to
Major-General Lincoln for directions, by whom the British army was
conducted into a spacious field, where it was intended they should
ground their arms. The royal troops, while marching through the line
formed by the allied army, exhibited a decent and neat appearance as
respects arms and clothing, for their commander opened his stores and
directed every soldier to be furnished with a new suit complete prior
to the capitulation. But in their line of march we remarked a
disorderly and unsoldierly conduct, their step was irregular and their
ranks frequently broken. But it was in the field, when they came to the
last act of the drama, that the spirit and pride of the British soldier
was put to the severest test; here their mortification could not be
concealed. Some of the platoon officers appeared to be exceedingly
chagrined when given the order 'ground arms'; and I am a witness that
they performed this duty in a very unofficer-like manner, and that many
of the soldiers manifested a sullen temper, throwing their arms on the
pile with violence, as if determined to render them useless. This
irregularity, however, was checked by the authority of General Lincoln.
After having grounded their arms and divested themselves of their
accoutrements, the captive troops were conducted back to Yorktown and
guarded by our troops till they could be removed to the place of their
destination.

"The British troops that were stationed at Gloucester surrendered at the
same time, and in the same manner, to the command of the French general,
De Choisy. This must be a very interesting and gratifying transaction to
General Lincoln, who, having himself been obliged to surrender an army
to a haughty foe the last year, has now assigned him the pleasing duty
of giving laws to a conquered army in return, and of reflecting that the
terms which were imposed on him are adopted as a basis of the surrender
in the present instance."

The General-in-Chief on October 20th issued a "general order"
congratulating the army "upon the glorious event of yesterday"; and
after thanking the officers and troops of his ally, several of his own
officers, and Governor Nelson of Virginia and the militia under his
command, he concludes with these words: "To spread the general joy in
all hearts, the General commands that those of the army who are now held
under arrest be pardoned, set at liberty, and that they join their
respective corps.

"Divine service shall be performed in the different brigades and
divisions. The Commander-in-Chief recommends that all the troops that
are not upon duty, to assist at it with a serious deportment, and that
sensibility of heart which the recollection of the surprising and
particular interposition of Providence in our favor claims."

The intelligence of the surrender, as it spread over the country, gave
general satisfaction and filled every American heart with joy. Congress
went in procession to the Dutch Lutheran Church to return thanks to
Almighty God for the victory, and a day was set apart for general
thanksgiving and prayer; the thanks of the same body were voted to the
forces, both of America and France; and in the plenitude of its
good-feeling it "resolved" to do that which it has not yet commenced to
perform--to erect a marble column at York, in commemoration of the
event.[29]

But a greater and more enduring monument than any which the Congress has
ever "resolved" to erect, commemorates the capture of Cornwallis: the
fall of British dominion in the thirteen colonies on the Atlantic
seaboard, the disinterested self-sacrifices of General Washington and
the very few who enjoyed his confidence and regard, and the triumph of
"the true principles of government." A country which, from small things,
has become prosperous, powerful, and happy; a people, whose intelligence
and enterprise and independence have astonished the old nations and
their rulers; and the homage of admiring millions, freely and
voluntarily offered, in every quarter of the globe--these form a
monument which will commemorate the fall of Cornwallis, and the
patriotism of Washington and Greene, of Wayne and Hamilton, of the
honest yeomanry and the devoted "regulars" of that day, long after the
resolutions of the Congress--if not the Congress itself--shall have sunk
into obscurity and been entirely forgotten.


LORD CORNWALLIS

I have the mortification to inform your Excellency that I have been
forced to give up the posts of York and Gloucester, and to surrender the
troops under my command, by capitulation, on the 19th instant, as
prisoners of war to the combined forces of America and France.

I never saw this post in a very favorable light, but when I found I was
to be attacked in it in so unprepared a state, by so powerful an army
and artillery, nothing but the hopes of relief would have induced me to
attempt its defence, for I would either have endeavored to escape to
New York by rapid marches from the Gloucester side, immediately on the
arrival of General Washington's troops at Williamsburg, or I would,
notwithstanding the disparity of numbers, have attacked them in the open
field, where it might have been just possible that fortune would have
favored the gallantry of the handful of troops under my command; but
being assured by your Excellency's letters that every possible means
would be tried by the navy and army to relieve us, I could not think
myself at liberty to venture upon either of these desperate attempts;
therefore, after remaining for two days in a strong position in front of
this place in hopes of being attacked, upon observing that the enemy
were taking measures which could not fail of turning my left flank in a
short time, and receiving on the second evening your letter of September
24th informing me that the relief would sail about October 5th, I
withdrew within the works on the night of September 29th, hoping by the
labor and firmness of the soldiers to protract the defence until you
could arrive. Everything was to be expected from the spirit of the
troops, but every disadvantage attended their labor, as the works were
to be continued under the enemy's fire, and our stock of intrenching
tools, which did not much exceed four hundred when we began to work in
the latter end of August, was now much diminished.

The enemy broke ground on the night of the 30th, and constructed on that
night, and the two following days and nights, two redoubts, which, with
some works that had belonged to our outward position, occupied a gorge
between two creeks or ravines which come from the river on each side of
the town. On the night of October 6th they made their first parallel,
extending from its right on the river to a deep ravine on the left,
nearly opposite to the centre of this place, and embracing our whole
left at a distance of six hundred yards. Having perfected this parallel,
their batteries opened on the evening of the 9th against our left, and
other batteries fired at the same time against a redoubt advanced over
the creek upon our right, and defended by about a hundred twenty men of
the Twenty-third regiment and marines, who maintained that post with
uncommon gallantry. The fire continued incessant from heavy cannon, and
from mortars and howitzers throwing shells from 8 to 16 inches, until
all our guns on the left were silenced, our work much damaged, and our
loss of men considerable. On the night of the 11th they began their
second parallel, about three hundred yards nearer to us. The troops
being much weakened by sickness, as well as by the fire of the
besiegers, and observing that the enemy had not only secured their
flanks, but proceeded in every respect with the utmost regularity and
caution, I could not venture so large sorties as to hope from them any
considerable effect, but otherwise I did everything in my power to
interrupt this work by opening new embrasures for guns and keeping up a
constant fire from all the howitzers and small mortars that we could
man.

On the evening of the 14th they assaulted and carried two redoubts that
had been advanced about three hundred yards for the purpose of delaying
their approaches, and covering our left flank, and during the night
included them in their second parallel, on which they continued to work
with the utmost exertion. Being perfectly sensible that our works could
not stand many hours after the opening of the batteries of that
parallel, we not only continued a constant fire with all our mortars,
and every gun that could be brought to bear upon it, but a little before
daybreak on the morning of the 16th I ordered a sortie of about three
hundred fifty men, under the direction of Lieutenant-Colonel
Abercrombie, to attack two batteries which appeared to be in the
greatest forwardness, and to spike the guns. A detachment of guards with
the Eightieth company of grenadiers, under the command of
Lieutenant-Colonel Lake, attacked the one, and one of light infantry,
under the command of Major Armstrong, attacked the other, and both
succeeded in forcing the redoubts that covered them, spiking eleven
guns, and killing or wounding about one hundred of the French troops,
who had the guard of that part of the trenches, and with little loss on
our side. This action, though extremely honorable to the officers and
soldiers who executed it, proved of little public advantage, for the
cannon, having been spiked in a hurry, were soon rendered fit for
service again, and before dark the whole parallel and batteries appeared
to be nearly complete. At this time we knew that there was no part of
the whole front attacked on which we could show a single gun, and our
shells were nearly expended. I therefore had only to choose between
preparing to surrender next day or endeavoring to get off with the
greatest part of the troops, and I determined to attempt the latter.

In this situation, with my little force divided, the enemy's batteries
opened at daybreak. The passage between this place and Gloucester was
much exposed, but the boats, having now returned, they were ordered to
bring back the troops that had passed during the night, and they joined
us in the forenoon without much loss. Our works, in the mean time, were
going to ruin, and not having been able to strengthen them by an abatis,
nor in any other manner but by a slight fraising, which the enemy's
artillery were demolishing wherever they fired, my opinion entirely
coincided with that of the engineer and principal officers of the army,
that they were in many places assailable in the forenoon, and that by
the continuance of the same fire for a few hours longer they would be in
such a state as to render it desperate, with our numbers, to attempt to
maintain them. We at that time could not fire a single gun; only one
8-inch and little more than one hundred Cohorn shells remained. A
diversion by the French ships-of-war that lay at the mouth of York River
was to be expected.

Our numbers had been diminished by the enemy's fire, but particularly by
sickness, and the strength and spirits of those in the works were much
exhausted by the fatigue of constant watching and unremitting duty.
Under all these circumstances I thought it would have been wanton and
inhuman to the last degree to sacrifice the lives of this small body of
gallant soldiers, who had ever behaved with so much fidelity and
courage, by exposing them to an assault which, from the numbers and
precautions of the enemy, could not fail to succeed. I therefore
proposed to capitulate; and I have the honor to enclose to your
excellency the copy of the correspondence between General Washington and
me on that subject, and the terms of capitulation agreed upon. I
sincerely lament that better could not be obtained, but I have neglected
nothing in my power to alleviate the misfortune and distress of both
officers and soldiers. The men are well clothed and provided with
necessaries, and I trust will be regularly supplied by the means of the
officers that are permitted to remain with them. The treatment, in
general, that we have received from the enemy since our surrender has
been perfectly good and proper, but the kindness and attention that
have been shown to us by the French officers in particular--their
delicate sensibility of our situation--their generous and pressing offer
of money, both public and private, to any amount--has really gone beyond
what I can possibly describe, and will, I hope, make an impression in
the breast of every British officer, whenever the fortune of war should
put any of them into our power.

YORKTOWN, Virginia, October 20, 1781.

FOOTNOTES:

[29] A commemorative column, surmounted by a statue of General
Rochambeau, heroic size, was unveiled at Washington May 24, 1902.--ED.




BRITISH DEFENCE OF GIBRALTAR

A.D. 1782

FREDERICK SAYER

     To Great Britain it was of the utmost importance that, once
     having secured possession of Gibraltar, she should keep that
     famous stronghold. By successfully defending it during the
     long siege of 1779-1783, she retained it in what has proved
     a lasting tenure.

     The fortified promontory and town of Gibraltar, now a
     British crown colony, have long been objects of historical
     interest. The Rock of Gibraltar, anciently called Calpe, one
     of the Pillars of Hercules, is on the southern coast of
     Spain. Its name has been for centuries a synonyme of
     strength. Near it in the eighth century landed Tarik, the
     first Saracen invader of Spain. The Moors mainly held it
     till 1462, when it was finally taken by the Spaniards.
     Charles V fortified it; in 1704 it was captured by an
     English and Dutch force under Sir George Rooke. The
     Spaniards and French unsuccessfully besieged it in
     1704-1705, and the Spaniards again in 1727.

     No further attempt was made to capture this seemingly
     impregnable fastness until the great siege here described by
     Sayer, when once more the Spaniards and French combined
     against it. England was now somewhat weakened by the war
     with the American colonies and France. All Europe was
     unfriendly to her, and Spain, as well as France, was
     actively hostile. Gibraltar was closely invested in 1779,
     and so remained for three years, when the final assault was
     made. In 1782 Alvarez, the Spanish commander, was superseded
     by the Duc de Crillon, who had just taken Minorca from the
     British.

     George Augustus Eliot, afterward Lord Heathfield, Baron of
     Gibraltar, who made the memorable defence, was appointed
     governor of Gibraltar in 1775. Lord Howe, who went to his
     assistance, had conducted the English naval operations in
     America. He returned to England in 1778, in 1782 was made a
     viscount of Great Britain, and was sent to relieve
     Gibraltar, where he arrived too late to assist against the
     grand attack, but landed welcome troops and supplies.


Piqued at the successful defence which for three years had baffled every
effort, and burning with the desire to wipe out the stain on the
national honor, the Spaniards were urged on in this last struggle by all
the impulses of pride, ambition, and revenge. The slow and regular
operations of a siege having proved but labor lost against this
stubborn rock, rewards were offered to the most skilful engineers in
Europe for plans to subdue the fortress.

Stimulated by these liberal offers, a thousand schemes had reached
Madrid, some bold to extravagance, others too ludicrous to deserve
attention. Among them, however, was one, the invention of the Chevalier
d'Arçon, of such superior merit that it instantly arrested the attention
even of the King himself. His plan consisted of a combined attack by sea
and land upon a scale so tremendously formidable, and assisted by such
ingenious inventions of art, that it held out a prospect of certain
success.

After a brief consideration the Court of Madrid announced its
unqualified approval of the scheme, and orders were at once issued for
its adoption. Not only was the reduction of the fort now considered
certain, but so vast were the powers to be employed, and so prodigious
the armament to be brought against the walls, that the annihilation of
every stone upon the rock was not unexpected. The plan embraced two
leading features: first, a bombardment from the isthmus, upon a scale
hitherto unknown; secondly, an attack by sea along the whole length of
the line-wall. For this purpose floating batteries of such construction
that they were to be "at once incombustible and insubmergible," were to
be employed.

Each battery was clad on its fighting side with three successive layers
of squared timber, three feet in thickness; within this wall ran a body
of wet sand, and within that again was a line of cork soaked in water
and calculated to prevent the effects of splinters, the whole being
bound together by strong wooden bolts. To protect the crews from shells
or dropping shot, a hanging roof was contrived, composed of strong
rope-work netting, covered with wet hides, and shelving sufficiently to
prevent the shot from lodging.

Not the least remarkable part of these vessels was a plan for the
prevention of combustion from red-hot shot. A reservoir was placed
beneath the roof from which numerous pipes, like the veins of the human
body, circulated through the sides of the ship, giving a constant supply
of water to every part, and keeping the wood continually saturated.

To form these powerful batteries, ten ships, from six hundred to
fourteen hundred tons burden, were cut down to the proper proportions,
and upward of two hundred thousand cubic feet of timber were used in
their construction. Each battery was armed with from eight to twenty
heavy brass cannon of new manufacture, with a reserve of spare pieces.
The crews varied in number from seven hundred sixty to two hundred fifty
men. One large sail propelled each ship.

Besides this tremendous armament which was to annihilate the line of
defence from the sea, preparations of no less magnitude were being made
for the attack on the northern front. Not fewer than twelve hundred
pieces of heavy ordnance were ready for use in the artillery park,
enormous quantities of ammunition and warlike stores were in the
magazines, and the reserve of gunpowder alone was reported at
eighty-three thousand barrels. Immense works were being hurried forward
on the isthmus of a grandeur which eclipsed anything that had been
previously constructed.

In twenty-four hours a flying sap was thrown out with a rapidity of
execution unequalled. The parallel extended to a length of two hundred
thirty _toises_, with a _boyau_ of six hundred thirty toises from the
place where it joined the principal barrier of the lines. The
construction of this boyau required one million six hundred thousand
bags of sand, and thousands of casks were used in forming the parallel.
In a single night this enormous work was raised to the height of twelve
feet with eighteen feet of thickness, and it was supposed that during
the seven hours in which it was erected ten thousand men were at labor.

To assist in the assault by sea, the combined fleets of France and
Spain, amounting to fifty sail of the line, with forty gunboats,
numerous frigates, and fifty mortar-vessels, were to act in support.
Three hundred boats, fitted with hinged platforms at their prows, were
to accompany the expedition, and at the proper moment to land the
troops.

The outline of the attack having been arranged, the plan was drawn out
by the Duc de Crillon, and submitted for approval, first to the Court of
Madrid, and afterward to the King of France. Subsequently the details
were very materially altered, but the principle remained the same. The
method originally proposed was as follows:

"The plan for taking Gibraltar, presented by Crillon, with the opinion
of the minister, was imparted, by order of his majesty, to France, by
the hand of Aranda, and, it being approved of, that Court offered
twenty-seven auxiliary ships. According to this plan the assault will be
conducted in the following manner: Brigadier Don Ventura Moreno will
command the fire of the fleet. The vanguard of the combined squadron
will be commanded by Señor Cordova, and among the divisions that compose
it will be included the third of twelve fireproof ships, which will
anchor in Algeciras until Señor Alvarez completes the sixty paces of
intrenchment opposite the fortress. Our ships will then attack; four by
the Europa Point, two by the New Mole, their fire being supported by
that of the gun- and mortar-boats and bomb-ketches, which will hold
themselves in readiness to support where it may be required.

"At a given signal the fire from our whole line will open with that of
the intrenchment, which will not cease until a breach shall have been
made at the Europa Point. The battering-ships will not be allowed to
quit their respective posts till they require relief, and they will then
retire to Algeciras, whence others will proceed to supply their places,
taking up the same points. The officer who shall act counter to his
orders will be removed from his post without its being referred to the
King. The breach having been made, the commander-in-chief, the Duc de
Crillon, will notify to the governor the surrender of the fortress; and
should he consent to the capitulation, the preliminaries will be
arranged, conceding to him military honors; if he persist in the
defence, the operations will continue in the following manner:

"The fire by sea and land will protect the disembarkation of our troops
on the flanks of the advance. The boats conveying them will be covered
by large planks on hinges, which on unfolding will fall on the moles on
the right, while on the left others will rest on the transports that
follow, in order to link them to each other and adjust them to the
breach, binding them firmly together, the first boat being attached to
the ground by means of grappling-irons, which it will carry for the
purpose. The troops will advance along these in the following order: Two
companies of grenadiers of about seventy men each, and as many more of
chasseurs, with three companies of dragoons, the whole under the
command of Señor Cagigal, general of the second column, and his
subaltern officers, the brigadier Don Francesco Pacheco, Colonel of
Seville, and Señor Aviles, Colonel of Villaviciosa. Two battalions of
volunteers of Catalonia will form the flying troops to effect a support
where it may be necessary, and to strengthen either flank, or profiting
by any opportunity the enemy may offer of attacking him. This corps will
be commanded by Brigadier Don Benito Panogo.

"The army will be formed into three divisions; its right commanded by
Lieutenant-General Buch, its left by the Count of Cifuentes, and its
centre by Marshal Burghesi. The best company of grenadiers from each
regiment will be detached to cover its respective corps, and when the
disembarkation of the troops, or part of them, shall have been executed,
the boats carrying the fascines, powder-saucisses, gabions, panniers,
pickaxes, etc., will be sent forward in order that they may cover
themselves as the disembarkation proceeds, keeping up at the same time a
lively fire along with the rest of the army. Detached parties will scour
with promptitude the Campo Huevo in order to intercept the advanced
guard and to cut off the retreat of the enemy to the mountain; which
dispositions being well concerted, the enemy will be reduced to the
extremity of either surrendering or being destroyed.

"The squadron of Señor Cordova will cover the mouth of the Straits, and
the French will place itself as much within as circumstances may
require; two hundred _muheletes_ and two hundred artillerymen more have
been asked for from the camp, those that are present being required for
the intrenchment. These have been sent for from their respective corps."

The fame of the siege of Gibraltar had ere this spread to the remotest
corners of Europe. The Count d'Artois, brother to the King of France,
and the Duc de Bourbon arrived in the camp in August, impatient to
witness the fall of the invincible fortress, and they were followed by
crowds of the nobility of Spain, eager to join in an enterprise which it
was anticipated would result in a victory most glorious to their arms.

General Eliot regarded the progress of the tremendous armaments without
despondency. He prepared for the coming storm, and made every effort to
meet it manfully and with success. An experiment which had lately been
tried with red-hot shot produced such effects that he founded his hopes
of destroying the enemy's battering-ships almost solely upon that
expedient, and great numbers of furnaces for heating the shot were
immediately prepared and placed in convenient positions within the
principal batteries. The defences too were thoroughly repaired, the Land
Port was more carefully protected, and unserviceable guns were laid
across the tops of the embrasures in many of the works, as a protection
to the artillerymen when under fire.

The arrival of the Count d'Artois in the camp gave rise to an
interchange of courtesies between the governor and the Duc de Crillon,
and though the two chiefs were on the eve of a great struggle for the
mastery, letters couched in the most affable and peaceful terms passed
between them. The Count having brought with him a packet of letters for
some officers of the garrison, the Duc de Crillon took advantage of the
opportunity, and, when the parcel was sent into the fortress,
accompanied it by a letter from himself to General Eliot, in which he
expressed the highest esteem for the governor's person and character,
and assured him how anxiously he looked forward to becoming his friend;
at the same time he offered a present of a few luxuries for the
General's table. In reply to this courteous note the governor returned
his sincerest thanks for the gift, but begged that in future no such
favor might be heaped upon him, as by accepting the present he had
broken through a rule to which he had faithfully adhered since the
beginning of the war, never to receive anything for his own private use,
but to partake both of plenty and scarcity in common with the lowest of
his brave fellow-soldiers.

Toward the end of August, 1782, a grand inspection of the floating
batteries took place at Algeciras, at which the French princes were
present. To exhibit the ease and simplicity with which they could be
manoeuvred, the vessels were put through various movements, to the
admiration and surprise of the spectators. So satisfactory was this
trial considered that it became the popular opinion that twenty-four
hours would suffice for the demolition of the fortress, and the Duc de
Crillon was made the subject of the greatest ridicule when he cautiously
hinted that fourteen days might elapse ere the place fell. Crillon, in
fact had no affection for the schemes of the Chevalier d'Arçon, and, as
we shall presently see, he attributed his subsequent failure almost
entirely to the blind confidence that was placed in the floating
batteries.

As the time approached, the greatest impatience was manifested not only
by the troops, but throughout all Spain, for the commencement of the
attack, and so loud was the clamor for immediate action that D'Arçon was
ordered to hurry on the completion of the floating batteries with every
despatch.

Late in August a council of war was held in the camp, at which the
French princes were present, and it was then proposed that the command
and direction of the floating batteries should be confided to the
officer of the navy, Crillon taking upon himself the responsibility of
the attack by land. Disputes had already arisen as to the proper
dispositions for the bombardment, Crillon claiming an undivided
authority over the whole proceeding, while the Minister of Marine was
anxious that the Admiral should direct the movements of the batteries
and their mode of equipment.

When the before-mentioned proposal was conveyed to Crillon he
peremptorily refused to accede to it. Nor could any decision be arrived
at regarding the most proper point of attack; the Old Mole, which at
first appeared the weakest part of the fortress, was found to be covered
by the guns of the principal batteries on the Rock, while the New Mole
presented even greater difficulties. There was another matter too which
became the subject of discussion up to the very moment of the attack,
and this was whether it would not be expedient to supply each floating
battery with warp-anchors and the double cables, that they might
withdraw in case of accident.

These unfortunate disputes, which arose at a time when perfect unanimity
was most essential, hampered the progress of operations, and destroyed
that harmony which should have existed between Crillon and his
subordinates. D'Arçon especially was offended and annoyed; he claimed
for himself the merit of having invented the machines which were to
annihilate the place, and insisted upon his right to have the sole
direction of their movements. Crillon, on the other hand, perceived that
if the command were divided, and the attack should prove successful,
the glory of the triumph would be appropriated by the French engineer.
In the many councils of war that preceded the bombardment the Duke did
not care to conceal his jealousy of the Chevalier d'Arçon. On one
occasion, deriding the propositions of the engineer, he exclaimed: "You
have a fatherly love for your batteries, and are only anxious for their
preservation. Should the enemy attempt to take possession of them, I
will burn them before his face." On another occasion, when in the
presence of the French princes, he said: "You were summoned into Spain
to execute _my_ plan for the attack of Gibraltar by floating batteries.
_Your_ commission is performed: the rest belongs to me."

While these discussions and misunderstandings were distracting the
councils of the besiegers, a master hand was guiding the preparations
for the defence within the fortress. Every emergency that might occur
was provided for, every danger that could be foreseen averted, and the
garrison itself reënforced by a marine brigade of six hundred men under
command of Brigadier Curtis. In the first week of September the land
works of the enemy had progressed with gigantic strides, immense
batteries, some containing as many as sixty-four guns, only waited to be
unmasked, and long strings of mules streamed hourly into the trenches,
laden with shot, shell, and ammunition.

The advanced works were not, except in some instances, yet armed, and
large masses of material which had accumulated in their vicinity
cumbered the embrasures and rendered their parapets liable to
destruction by fire. Seizing upon the opportunity thus afforded by the
negligence of the Spaniards, General Boyd wrote to the governor
recommending the use of red-hot shot against these works. Though the
distance was great, and the effect of heated shot had not then been
thoroughly ascertained, Eliot acquiesced in the proposition, and Major
Lewis, commanding the artillery, was ordered to execute the attack.

On September 8th the preparations were completed, and at 7 A.M. the
guards having been relieved, a tremendous fire was opened from all the
northern batteries. Throughout the day this fiery cannonade was kept up
with unabated fury. By 10 A.M. the Mahon battery and another work of two
guns were in flames and by five in the evening were entirely consumed,
with all their gun-carriages, platforms, and magazines. The effect of
the red-hot shot exceeded the most sanguine expectations; the damage
done was extensive and for a time irreparable; the greater part of the
communication to the eastern parallel was destroyed, and the batteries
of St. Carlos and St. Martin so much injured that they were no longer
serviceable. At one moment the works were on fire in fifty places, and
the flames, lifted by the wind, spread with terrible rapidity; but by
the prodigious exertions of the enemy's troops, who, notwithstanding the
galling fire from the garrison to which they were exposed, displayed a
reckless intrepidity, the work of destruction was arrested and many of
the batteries saved from ruin. Irritated at this unexpected attack upon
works which had cost him so much labor and anxiety, Crillon was
precipitated into a premature bombardment, which, while it exposed to
view the hitherto masked batteries, and thus gave General Eliot an
opportunity of preparing counter-works upon the Rock, at the same time
did considerable damage to the unfinished lines.

On the morning of September 9th a battery of sixty-four guns opened at
daybreak and a tremendous discharge from one hundred seventy pieces of
cannon announced the commencement of the final bombardment. At the same
time a squadron of seven Spanish and two French line-of-battle ships got
under way at Orange Grove, and, dropping slowly past the sea-line wall,
delivered several broadsides against the south bastion and Ragged Staff,
until they arrived off Europa. Then, having first formed line to
eastward of the Rock, they attacked the batteries from the Point as far
as the New Mole, with some energy. On the following day this manoeuvre
was repeated, and the cannonade from the lines was renewed with all its
fierceness, six thousand five hundred shot and two thousand eighty shell
being thrown into the fortress every twenty-four hours. Notwithstanding
this overwhelming fire the loss in the garrison was exceedingly small.

On the 12th the combined fleets of Spain and France, numbering
thirty-nine ships of the line, entered the Bay of Algeciras, and having
formed a junction with the squadron already at anchor, raised the naval
force to fifty ships of the line and two second-rates; nine vessels bore
an admiral's flag.

General Eliot was conscious that the hour of trial approached, and so
ably had he conducted his preparations that during the twenty-four hours
preceding the attack not a single alteration had to be made, even in the
most minute directions that had been given to the troops. Every man knew
his place, each gun was told off for one particular duty, simple and
efficient arrangements had been made for a constant supply of
ammunition, and every bastion was furnished with its fuel and furnace
for the dreaded red-hot shot.

It was during the morning of the 12th that the governor received
information that the combined attack would commence on the following
day. Calmly as this courageous man awaited the hour of trial, he could
not but be influenced by the gravest anxiety for the result. He had
witnessed the gigantic armaments that were preparing for the assault;
and though ignorant of the exact force which was to be brought against
him, he was aware that neither France nor Spain had spared labor or
expense to accumulate a strength hitherto unknown in the history of
sieges. On the land he was threatened by two hundred forty-six pieces of
cannon, mortars, and howitzers, and an army of near forty thousand men;
while by sea fifty sail of the line, ten floating batteries, of a
construction supposed to be indestructible, with countless gun- and
mortar-boats, and three hundred smaller craft were waiting only the
signal for the attack. To this enormous armament, but seven thousand men
and ninety-six guns could be opposed. At a council of war held in the
Spanish camp on September 4th the final details for the arrangement of
the grand attack had been settled, and it was decided to open the
bombardment on the 13th of the month.

At this council M. d'Arçon vehemently protested against the precipitate
haste with which the preparations of the floating batteries had been
hurried on, and vainly pleaded for a few days' further delay, in order
that some experiments might be made upon the vessels, and especially
that the effectiveness of the water apparatus might be tested. His
arguments were met by others equally cogent. Lord Howe with a powerful
fleet was known to be on his way to relieve the fortress, and it was of
vital importance that his arrival should be anticipated. The season was
already far advanced, and the works on the land side, which had only
just been repaired, were at any moment exposed to a second partial
destruction by red-hot shot. All objections, therefore, were overruled,
and the day was named.

At about seven o'clock on the morning of September 13th the enemy's
fleet was observed to be in motion off the Orange Grove, and shortly
afterward the ten floating batteries were under way, and with a crowd of
boats standing for the southward with a light northwest breeze.

Shortly after ten o'clock they had reached their respective stations off
the line-wall, and Admiral Don Buenoventura Moreno, in the Pastora,
having taken up a position opposite the capital of the King's Bastion,
the others anchored in admirable order on his right and left flanks, at
about one thousand yards distance from the walls of the fortress.

At this time the enemy's camp and the surrounding hills were covered
with countless thousands of spectators, who had hurried from all parts
of Spain to witness the fall of Gibraltar. The batteries had no sooner
let go their anchors than a tremendous cannonade of hot and cold shot
was opened upon them all along the line; at the same instant the
ponderous vessels replied from all their guns, supported by the fire of
one hundred eighty-six pieces of ordnance from the works on the isthmus.

Never before in the annals of war had a spectacle so magnificently grand
been witnessed--four hundred cannon belched forth their volleys of fire
at the same moment, the whole heaven was obscured by the curling clouds
of smoke which clung around the rugged peaks of the rocks, while the
misty gloom was fitfully illumined by the flashes of a thousand
saucisses and shells. The whole peninsula was overwhelmed with a torrent
of shot.

For two hours this terrible cannonade continued without intermission,
and no impression had been made upon the floating batteries; so well
calculated was their construction to withstand the effects of artillery
that the heaviest shells rebounded from their roofs and the shot struck
harmless on their sides. Upward of two thousand red-hot balls had been
thrown against them, and no symptoms of combustion appeared, except here
and there a feeble flame, which ere it could spread was quenched.

At noon the enemy slackened their fire from the sea for a moment, but
seemingly only for the purpose of amending the direction of their guns,
which had previously been uncertain and too high; the pause was but for
an instant, and the artillery again burst forth with a more powerful and
better-directed fire. Showers of every missile swept over the walls, and
already the British troops, disappointed with the effects of the red-hot
shot, and fatigued with the mid-day sun, began to look gloomily upon the
issue of the fight. But about two o'clock slight wreaths of flame were
observed issuing from the Admiral's ship, and at the same time a strange
confusion was remarked among the men on board the Talla Piedra. On board
this battery was the Chevalier d'Arçon, who was present in the action as
a volunteer to watch the success of his own inventions. Several red-hot
shot had struck this ship, but one alone gave any uneasiness to those on
board; to reach the smouldering woodwork the guns were silenced, and the
smoke clearing away left the vessel exposed to such a concentrated fire
that all efforts to arrest the progress of the flames were in vain. The
blaze rapidly spread, the crew were seized with a panic, and, fearful of
an explosion, turned the water into the powder-magazines. Thus one
battery was rendered useless during the remainder of the action.

In the Admiral's ship the flames were for some hours subdued, and her
guns continued to play upon the walls until nightfall; but the disorder
which was immediately visible in the Talla Piedra and the Pastora soon
affected the whole line of attack, and by 7 P.M. the fire from the
fortress had gained a commanding superiority.

At midnight signals of distress were made from all parts of the bay. The
Admiral's ship was in flames from stem to stern, and others had been set
on fire. The enemy now determined to abandon all the ships, and those
which had hitherto resisted the effects of the red-hot shots were, by
order of the Admiral, set in flames.

As the gray morning dawned, the scene on the waters of the bay was
sublimely terrible; masses of shattered wreck, to which were clinging
the drowning crews, floated over the troubled waves; groans and cries
for help reached even to the walls, or were drowned in the thunders of
the exploding magazines, while the glaring flames of the burning vessels
cast a lurid light over the awful spectacle.

At two o'clock in the morning Brigadier Curtis, who with his squadron of
gunboats lay at the New Mole ready to take advantage of any opportunity
to harass the enemy, pushed out to the westward and with great
expedition formed line upon the flank of the battering-ships. This
sudden movement completely disconcerted the Spaniards, who were engaged
in removing the crews from the vessels, and they fled precipitately,
abandoning the wounded and leaving them to perish in the flames. As
daylight appeared two feluccas, which had not been able before to
escape, were discovered endeavoring to get away, but, a shot from one of
the gunboats killing five of their men, they both surrendered.

Hearing from the prisoners that hundreds of officers and men, some
wounded, still remained on board the batteries and must certainly
perish, Captain Curtis, at the utmost risk of his own life, made the
most heroic efforts to effect their rescue. Careless of danger from the
explosions which every instant scattered showers of _débris_ around him,
he passed from ship to ship and literally dragged from the burning decks
the miserable men who yet remained on board. With the coolest
intrepidity he pushed his pinnace close alongside one of the largest
batteries at the very moment she blew up, covering the sea with
fragments of her wreck. For a time the boat was engulfed amid the
falling ruin, and her escape was miraculous. A huge balk of timber fell
through her flooring, killing the coxswain, wounding others of the crew,
and starting a large hole in her bottom. Through this leak the water
rushed so rapidly that little hope was left of reaching the shore, but,
the sailors' jackets being stuffed into the aperture, the hole was
plugged, and the gallant men got safe to land. By the heroic and humane
exertions of Captain Curtis and his boat's crew three hundred
fifty-seven persons were saved from a horrible death.

While these disasters were occurring in the bay, the land batteries on
the isthmus never for an instant slackened the tremendous fire that had
been commenced on the previous morning; until at daybreak on the 14th
the Spaniards, having become aware of the fate of their comrades on
board the vessels, ordered the cannonade to cease.

Captain Curtis had scarcely completed his service of humanity before
eight of the remaining ships blew up and one only remained unconsumed.
At first it was hoped that she might be saved as a trophy of the
glorious action, but this was afterward found impossible, and she was
set fire to like the rest. The flag of Admiral Moreno remained flying
until his battery was totally destroyed.

Desperate had been the struggle and great was the victory. During the
hottest of the fire General Eliot took his station on the King's
Bastion, exposed to the guns of the two most powerful battering-ships.
Nothing could exceed the coolness and courage of the troops during this
trying day; the steady and incessant fire was never allowed to slacken,
the guns were served, says the governor, "with the deliberate coolness
and precision of school practice, but the exertions of the men were
infinitely superior."

The furnaces for heating the shot were found to be too few, and huge
fires were kindled in convenient corners of the streets. An immense
amount of ammunition was expended on both sides; three hundred twenty of
the enemy's cannon were in play throughout the day, and to these were
opposed only ninety-six guns from the garrison. Upward of eight thousand
shot and seven hundred sixteen barrels of gunpowder were fired away by
the garrison.

When the unparalleled force of the bombardment is considered, the
casualties among the troops were remarkably few: one officer, two
sergeants, and thirteen men only were killed, and five officers and
sixty-three men wounded. The enemy's losses, on the contrary, were very
great; on the floating batteries alone one thousand four hundred
seventy-three men were either killed, wounded, or missing.

By the evening of the 14th the bay was cleared of the shattered wrecks,
and not a vestige of the formidable armament, which the day before had
been the hope and pride of Spain, remained.

The contest was at an end, and the united strength of two ambitious and
powerful nations had been humbled by a straitened garrison of six
thousand effective men. With the destruction of the floating batteries
the siege was virtually concluded.

In Spain the news was received with consternation and despair. The
thousands who on the preceding day crowded upon the neighboring hills,
and with eager anxiety awaited the anticipated victory, returned to
their homes disappointed and chagrined. They had been taught to believe
that the attack would be crushing and invincible; that the batteries
were indestructible; that the fortress must be annihilated by their
overwhelming fire; but instead of these disasters they had seen every
ship destroyed or sunk, with all their guns, and two thousand men of
their crews either killed, wounded, or taken prisoner. In the first
moment of consternation the inventor of those vast machines, upon the
success of which the whole attack depended, could not restrain his
poignant grief and was led into confessions which he afterward
regretted. Writing to the French ambassador, Montmorin, he said: "I have
burned the Temple of Ephesus; everything is lost, and through my fault.
What comforts me under my misfortune is that the honor of the two kings
remains untarnished."

At Madrid the news of the disaster was received with dismay; and the
King, who was at the palace of Ildefonso, listened to the intelligence
in mute despair. The recovery of Gibraltar had been his unswerving aim,
and with this repulse almost his last hope was extinguished. In Paris
the intelligence was no less unexpected and unwelcome; so certain indeed
had the fall of the fortress been considered that a drama illustrative
of the destruction of Gibraltar by the floating batteries was acted
nightly to applauding thousands.

It has been before remarked that the Duc de Crillon never held that
blindly confident opinion of the inventions of D'Arçon which had turned
the heads of the two Bourbon courts. He had always urged the necessity
of a complete attack by sea, in which the whole fleet should engage, and
of which the floating batteries would form an integral part. The French
engineer ridiculed this idea, and affirmed that the ships would be
destroyed before they could inflict any damage upon the walls.

The result of the attack showed how completely D'Arçon was mistaken.
During the day the assistance of the combined fleet was urgently
required; but when its coöperation might have turned the tide of
victory, an adverse wind arose, and the vessels could not beat up within
range of the Rock.

The distinguished part which Captain Curtis had taken in the defence of
the fortress ever since he had joined the command drew from General
Eliot commendations no less merited than sincere. Writing to Lord Howe
on October 15th he says:

"Unknown to Brigadier Curtis, I must entreat your lordship to reflect
upon the unspeakable assistance he has been in the defence of this place
by his advice, and the lead he has taken in every hazardous enterprise.
You know him well, my lord, therefore such conduct on his part is no
more than you expect; but let me beg of you not to leave him unrewarded
for such signal services. You alone can influence his majesty to
consider such an officer for what he has, and what he will in future
deserve wherever employed. If Gibraltar is of the value intimated to me
from office, and to be presumed by the steps adventured to relieve it,
Brigadier Curtis is the man to whom the King will be chiefly indebted
for its security. Believe me, there is nothing affected in this
declaration on my part."

Again, when on his return to England he was created Lord Heathfield, he
expressed his indignation that Curtis only received the honor of
knighthood and a pension of five hundred pounds per annum. "It is a
shame," he said, "that I should be overloaded, and so scanty a pittance
be the lot of him who bore the greatest share of the burthen." Such was
the unaffected modesty of this great man!

When the confusion arising from their disastrous defeat had subsided in
the enemy's camp, a heavy cannonade was again opened from their lines
and advanced works. The firing generally commenced about five or six
o'clock in the morning and continued till noon, then for two hours the
batteries were silent, but again opened till seven o'clock in the
evening, when the mortars took up the fire till daybreak. During the
twenty-four hours six hundred shells and about one thousand shots were
thrown into the garrison.

Notwithstanding the ill-success which had attended the combined attack,
and the signal proof the enemy had received of the impregnable strength
of the fortress, the Spaniards did not entirely despair of eventually
reducing the place by famine, could the arrival of Lord Howe's fleet
with the convoy be prevented.

In August the English Government, being aware of the vast preparations
which had been making in Spain for the siege of Gibraltar, had collected
a fleet of thirty-four sail of the line, six frigates, and three
fire-ships, under command of Admiral Lord Howe, which was to convoy a
flotilla of merchantmen with relief for the garrison.

By September 11th the preparations were completed, and on that day Howe
set sail from Spithead with one hundred eighty-three sail, including the
convoy, under the command of Vice-Admirals Barrington and Milbank, Rear
Admirals Hood and Hughes, and Commodore Hotham.

Hampered by the difficulty of keeping the merchantmen together, and
baffled by contrary winds and violent weather, Howe's passage was
unusually slow and tedious.

The Spanish Government having gained intelligence of the approach of
this powerful force, instantly took measures to attack the expedition
before it could arrive at its destination. For this purpose the combined
fleets of Spain and France which lay in the harbor of Algeciras were
reënforced, and dispositions were made for intercepting the British
ships on their passage through the Straits.

These arrangements had scarcely been completed when, on the evening of
October 10th, a fresh westerly wind sprang up in the bay, and toward
night gradually increased in violence till it blew a hurricane. Soon the
enemy's vessels were in distress, many were dragging their anchors, and
signal-guns were fired for help in rapid succession. Throughout the
night the fury of the storm did not abate, and daybreak disclosed the
havoc among the squadrons at Algeciras; a ship of the line and a frigate
were ashore at Orange Grove, a French liner had suffered great damage to
her masts and rigging, and the St. Michael, of seventy-two guns, was
discovered close in shore off the Orange Bastion in distress. She was
immediately fired at and after having lost four men she was run ashore
on the line-wall, and taken possession of by Captain Curtis. Her
commander, Admiral Don Juan Moreno, and her crew of six hundred fifty
men were landed as prisoners. These misfortunes materially affected the
ulterior movements of the combined fleets. In the mean time Lord Howe
had on the 8th of the month arrived off Cape St. Vincent, and a frigate
was sent on from there to gain information from the consul at Faro of
the enemy's dispositions. Two days afterward she returned with the
intelligence that the combined fleets, consisting of nearly fifty sail,
lay at anchor at Algeciras.

Upon the receipt of this news a council of war was held, and clear and
stringent orders were afterward issued for the guidance of the masters
in charge of the merchantmen, that the convoy might be conducted safely
into the harbor of Gibraltar. On the 11th, the fleet passed through the
Straits in three divisions, the third and centre squadrons in line of
battle ahead, the second squadron in reserve; the Victory led ahead of
the third squadron.

By sunset the van had arrived off Europa Point, and before nightfall
four of the transports had anchored under the guns of the fortress. By
an unpardonable inattention to the orders they had received, the masters
of the other vessels failed to make the bay and were driven away to the
eastward of the Rock. To the astonishment of Howe, who had looked upon
an engagement as inevitable, the Spaniards did not attempt to intercept
the convoy.

During the two following days the British Admiral was engaged in
collecting the transports to the eastward, and preparing for action in
case the Spaniards should attack.

On the 13th the combined fleets, consisting of forty-four ships of the
line, five frigates, and twenty-nine xebec-cutters and brigs, got under
way and stood to the southward, with the apparent intention of bearing
down upon Lord Howe's force. But though the Spanish Admiral had the
weather-gauge, and notwithstanding his fleet was greatly superior in
numbers to the English, he contented himself with the execution of some
harmless manoeuvres, and permitted the whole of the transports to be
conducted safely into Gibraltar under the very muzzles of his guns. The
stores and provisions were immediately landed, and two regiments of
infantry--Twenty-fifth and Twenty-ninth--were disembarked under the
superintendence of Lord Mulgrave.

Having accomplished his mission and relieved the fortress, Lord Howe
prepared to return to England.

On October 19th, taking advantage of an easterly wind, he formed his
fleet in order of battle and sailed through the Straits. At this time
the combined fleets were cruising a few miles north-east of Ceuta, and
in view of Howe's squadron, of which they had the weather-gauge.

The two fleets remained near each other during the night, and on the
following morning, the wind having come round to the northward, the
Spaniards still held the advantage and could have closed for action at
any moment. It was Lord Howe's desire, if possible, to avoid an
engagement in the narrow and dangerous waters of the Straits, and to
entice the enemy to accept battle in the open sea; with this object he
continued on his course to the westward.

At sunset on the 20th the combined fleets, greatly superior to the
English in force and numbers, came up with the rear division, under
Admiral Barrington, and a partial action commenced, but the enemy
remained at such a respectful distance, keeping as near as they could
haul to the wind, that the firing was comparatively harmless on both
sides. The two admirals De Guichen and Cordova led the enemy's van, and
it was apparently their intention to cut off and destroy the rear
division of the British fleet; but though they had the superiority in
force and the advantage of the wind, they could not be induced to close,
and soon after midnight the firing ceased. The next morning the two
fleets were still in sight, but as the Spaniards evinced no disposition
to renew the engagement, Howe, whose orders did not permit him to
provoke the enemy, continued on his homeward voyage.

The successful passage of the British fleet through the Straits, in the
face of the combined forces, was regarded in Madrid as a glorious
victory for the Spanish arms. The despatches of Don Louis de Cordova
described the partial engagement as a complete rout, and Howe was made
to flee with all press of sail from his brave pursuers.

Seizing upon this exaggerated intelligence as a counterpoise to the
recent disastrous news from Gibraltar, the Government extolled the valor
of the navy, and spread ludicrously bombastic accounts of the "glorious
victory" throughout the country. Pamphlets descriptive of the engagement
were published and disseminated, in which the casualties of the English
were put down in numbers imposingly enormous.

Gibraltar having thus been again successfully relieved, the Spanish
government relinquished all hope of securing its possession by force of
arms; but the King still fondly retained some expectation of succeeding
by negotiation. In order to conceal the actual hopelessness of the
enterprise, and "to give a reasonable color to the formal prosecution of
the siege," private instructions were sent to Crillon to continue the
offensive. But the Spanish commander was in truth no less disheartened
than the ministers of his government, and with the exception of daily
attacks by gun- and mortar-boats, seconded by a warm fire from the
isthmus, active operations completely ceased.

On February 2, 1783, the news of the signature of the preliminaries of a
general peace reached the garrison by a flag of truce, and on March 12th
the gates of the fortress, which had been closed for nearly four years,
were once more thrown open.

The announcement of the peace was received with general joy throughout
the garrison, and this feeling was most fully reciprocated by the
disheartened and weary enemy. The two chiefs, who, since they had been
opposed to each other as antagonists in a struggle which riveted the
attention of all Europe, had learned to regret that they were foes, now
met with the cordial embrace of friendship, and no opportunity was lost
which could tend to obliterate the remembrances of former rivalry.
Friendly meetings were interchanged between them, and all memory of
previous antagonism was buried in oblivion.

Being introduced to the officers of the Royal Artillery, through whose
courage and ability his brightest hopes of victory had been destroyed,
Crillon met them with praises of their noble conduct, and remarked that
"he would rather see them there as friends than on their batteries as
enemies, where," he added, "they never spared me."

One day when inspecting the immense lines of fortification on the
northern face of the Rock, all of which had been constructed during the
progress of the siege, lost in astonishment at the magnitude of the
works, he exclaimed, "This is indeed worthy of the Romans!"

Early in April, the Spanish camp having commenced to break up, and the
lines on the isthmus having been dismantled, the Duc de Crillon handed
over his command to the Marquis de Saya, and returned to Madrid.

Thus after a duration of three years seven months and twelve days ended
this memorable siege; a siege which, in the words of Lord North, "was
one of those astonishing instances of British valor, discipline,
military skill, and humanity that no other age or country could produce
an example of." At length the devoted garrison was relieved from a
situation of suffering, peril, and privation almost unparalleled in the
annals of war.




END OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION

A.D. 1782

JOHN ADAMS     BENJAMIN FRANKLIN     JOHN JAY
     HENRY LAURENS       JOHN M. LUDLOW

     Concerning the momentous consequences of the American
     Revolution, not only for America herself but for the whole
     world, history has raised no question of doubt. Regarding
     its causes and its justification there has been substantial
     agreement of both learned and popular opinion in all
     progressive countries. But various and often contradictory
     are the judgments pronounced upon the course and conduct of
     the war itself, even among American writers.

     Until recently it has been impossible that either in the
     United States or Great Britain a wholly dispassionate view
     of the War of Independence should be shared by both critical
     students and general readers. In America it has been the
     fashion to glorify indiscriminately the actors on the
     colonial side and all their achievements. The provincial
     note of national heroics has been transmitted from one
     generation to another, and the breath of the school children
     has been carefully laden with it from tenderest years. On
     the English side, the quite natural early resentment against
     the lost colonies--mainly confined to official circles and
     hereditary interests--may be said to have been later
     softened into "a certain condescension," such as Lowell
     pointed out in foreigners generally toward America.

     But that condescension, like the earlier acrimony, is a
     thing of the past. Here, as elsewhere, history is being
     rewritten. American self-glorification, as well as wounded
     English pride, gives way to better teachings, and the larger
     lessons of humanity, which is more than nationality, are
     giving to all nations clearer visions of a federated world.

     The growth of this new historic sense, informed with clearer
     knowledge and a more discriminating love of justice, is well
     illustrated in the following critical examination, wherein
     Ludlow, a living English historian, carefully considers the
     various factors at work in the Revolution, and the personal
     forces through which its results were produced. Prefixed to
     this is the official statement of the American peace
     commissioners--John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, John Jay, and
     Henry Laurens--to Robert R. Livingston, then superintendent
     of foreign affairs, of the conditions of the preliminary
     treaty, which ended the war in 1782. This was followed by
     the definitive Treaty of Paris, September 3, 1783.


THE AMERICAN PEACE COMMISSIONERS

                                       PARIS, 14 December, 1782.

We have the honor to congratulate Congress on the signature of the
preliminaries of a peace between the Crown of Great Britain and the
United States of America, to be inserted in a definitive treaty so soon
as the terms between the crowns of France and Great Britain shall be
agreed on. A copy of the articles is here enclosed, and we cannot but
flatter ourselves that they will appear to Congress, as they do to all
of us, to be consistent with the honor and interest of the United
States, and we are persuaded Congress would be more fully of that
opinion if they were apprised of all the circumstances and reasons which
have influenced the negotiation. Although it is impossible for us to go
into that detail, we think it necessary, nevertheless, to make a few
remarks on such of the articles as appear most to require elucidation.


_Remarks on Article 2d, relative to Boundaries_

The Court of Great Britain insisted on retaining all the territories
comprehended within the Province of Quebec, by the act of Parliament
respecting it. They contended that Nova Scotia should extend to the
river Kennebec; and they claimed not only all the lands in the Western
country and on the Mississippi, which were not expressly included in our
charters and governments, but also such lands within them as remained
ungranted by the King of Great Britain. It would be endless to enumerate
all the discussions and arguments on the subject.

We knew this Court and Spain to be against our claims to the Western
country, and, having no reason to think that lines more favorable could
ever have been obtained, we finally agreed to those described in this
article; indeed, they appear to leave us little to complain of and not
much to desire. Congress will observe that, although our northern line
is in a certain part below the latitude of 45°, yet in others it extends
above it, divides the Lake Superior, and gives us access to its western
and southern waters, from which a line in that latitude would have
excluded us.


_Remarks on Article 4th, respecting Creditors_

We had been informed that some of the States had confiscated British
debts; but although each State has a right to bind its own citizens,
yet, in our opinion, it appertains solely to Congress, in whom
exclusively are vested the rights of making war and peace, to pass acts
against the subjects of a power with which the Confederacy may be at
war. It therefore only remained for us to consider whether this article
is founded in justice and good policy.

In our opinion no acts of government could dissolve the obligations of
good faith resulting from lawful contracts between individuals of the
two countries prior to the war. We knew that some of the British
creditors were making common cause with the refugees and other
adversaries of our independence; besides, sacrificing private justice to
reasons of state and political convenience is always an odious measure;
and the purity of our reputation in this respect, in all foreign
commercial countries, is of infinitely more importance to us than all
the sums in question. It may also be remarked that American and British
creditors are placed on an equal footing.


_Remarks on Articles 5th and 6th, respecting Refugees_

These articles were among the first discussed and the last agreed to.
And had not the conclusion of this business at the time of its date been
particularly important to the British administration, the respect, which
both in London and Versailles is supposed to be due to the honor,
dignity, and interest of royalty, would probably have forever prevented
our bringing this article so near to the views of Congress and the
sovereign rights of the States as it now stands. When it is considered
that it was utterly impossible to render this article perfectly
consistent, both with American and British ideas of honor, we presume
that the middle line adopted by this article is as little unfavorable to
the former as any that could in reason be expected.

As to the separate article, we beg leave to observe that it was our
policy to render the navigation of the river Mississippi so important to
Britain as that their views might correspond with ours on that subject.
Their possessing the country on the river north of the line from the
Lake of the Woods affords a foundation for their claiming such
navigation. And as the importance of West Florida to Britain was for the
same reason rather to be strengthened than otherwise, we thought it
advisable to allow them the extent contained in the separate article,
especially as before the war it had been annexed by Britain to West
Florida, and would operate as an additional inducement to their joining
with us in agreeing that the navigation of the river should forever
remain open to both. The map used in the course of our negotiations was
Mitchell's.

As we had reason to imagine that the articles respecting the boundaries,
the refugees, and fisheries did not correspond with the policy of this
court, we did not communicate the preliminaries to the minister until
after they were signed (and not even then the _separate article_). We
hope that these considerations will excuse our having so far deviated
from the spirit of our instructions. The Count de Vergennes, on perusing
the articles, appeared surprised (but not displeased) at their being so
favorable to us.

We beg leave to add our advice that copies be sent us of the accounts
directed to be taken by the different States, of the unnecessary
devastations and sufferings sustained by them from the enemy in the
course of the war. Should they arrive before the signature of the
definitive treaty, they might possibly answer very good purposes.


JOHN M. LUDLOW

Paradoxical as it may seem, two things must equally surprise the reader
on studying the history of the war of American Independence--the first,
that England should ever have considered it possible to succeed in
subduing her revolted colonies; the second, that she should not have
succeeded in doing so. At a time when steam had not yet baffled the
winds, to dream of conquering by force of arms on the other side of the
Atlantic a people of English race numbering between three millions and
four millions with something like twelve hundred miles of seaboard, was
surely an act of enormous folly. Horace Walpole had wittily said, at the
very commencement of the so-called rebellion, that "if computed by the
tract of the country it occupies, we, as so diminutive in comparison,
ought rather be called in rebellion to that."

We have seen in our own days the difficulties experienced by the far
more powerful and populous Northern States in quelling the secession of
the Southern, when between the two there was no other frontier than at
most a river, very often a mere ideal line, and when armies could be
raised by a hundred thousand men at a time. England attempted a far more
difficult task with forces which, till 1781, never reached 35,000 men,
and never exceeded 42,075, including "provincials," _i.e._, American
loyalists.

Yet it is impossible to doubt that, not once only, but repeatedly during
the course of the struggle, England was on the verge of triumph. The
American armies were perpetually melting away before the enemy directly
through the practice of short enlistments, and indirectly through
desertions. These desertions, if they might be often palliated by the
straits to which the men were reduced through arrears in pay and want of
supplies, arose in other cases, as after the retreat from New York, from
sheer loss of heart in the cause. The main army under Washington was
seldom even equal in number to that opposed to him. In the winter of
1776-1777, when his troops were only about four thousand strong, it is
difficult to understand how it was that Sir William Howe, with more than
double the number, should have failed to annihilate the American army.

In the winter of 1777-1778 the "dreadful situation of the army for want
of provisions" made Washington "admire" that they should not have been
excited to a general mutiny and desertion. In May, 1779, he hardly knew
any resource for the American cause except in reënforcements from
France, and did not know what might be the consequence if the enemy had
it in his power to press the troops hard in the ensuing campaign. In
December of that year his forces were "mouldering away daily," and he
considered that Sir Henry Clinton, with more than twice his numbers,
could "not justify remaining inactive with a force so superior." A year
later he was compelled for want of clothing to discharge levies which he
had so much trouble in obtaining, and "want of flour would have
disbanded the whole army" if he had not adopted this expedient. In
March, 1781, again, the crisis was "perilous," and, though he did not
doubt the happy issue of the contest, he considered that the period for
its accomplishment might be too far distant for a person of his years.

In April he wrote: "We cannot transport the provisions from the States
in which they are assessed to the army, because we cannot pay the
teamsters, who will no longer work for certificates. It is equally
certain that our troops are approaching fast to nakedness, and that we
have nothing to clothe them with; that our hospitals are without
medicines, and our sick without nutriment except such as well men eat;
and that our public works are at a stand and the artificers disbanding.
It may be declared in a word that we are at the end of our tether, and
that now or never our deliverance must come." Six months later, when
Yorktown capitulated, the British forces still remaining in North
America after the surrender of that garrison were more considerable than
they had been as late as February, 1779; and Sir Henry Clinton even then
declared that with a reënforcement of ten thousand men he would be
responsible for the conquest of America.

How shall we explain either puzzle--that England should have so nearly
missed success, to fail at last? or that America should have succeeded,
after having been almost constantly on the brink of failure?

The main hope of success on the English side lay in the idea that the
spirit and acts of resistance to the authority of the mother-country
were in reality only on the part of a turbulent minority; that the bulk
of the people desired to be loyal. It is certain indeed that the
struggle was, in America itself, much more of a civil war than the
Americans are now generally disposed to admit. In December, 1780, there
were eight thousand nine hundred fifty-four provincials among the
British forces in America, and on March 7, 1781, a letter from Lord
George Germain to Sir H. Clinton, intercepted by the Americans, says,
"The American levies in the King's service are more in number than the
whole of the enlisted troops in the service of Congress."

As late as September 1, 1781, there were seven thousand two hundred
forty-one. We hear of "loyal associates" in Massachusetts, Maryland, and
Pennsylvania, of "associated loyalists" in New York, of a fort built and
maintained by "associated refugees," and everywhere of "Tories," whose
arrest Washington is found suggesting to Governor Trumbull, of
Connecticut, as early as November 12, 1775. New England may indeed be
considered to have been cleared of active opposition to the American
cause when more than one thousand refugees left Boston in March, 1776,
with the British troops. But New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania
remained long full of Tories. By June 28, 1776, the disaffected on Long
Island had taken up arms, and after the evacuation of New York by
Washington a brigade of loyalists was raised on the island, and
companies were formed in two neighboring counties to join the King's
troops.

During Washington's retreat through New Jersey "the inhabitants, either
from fear or disaffection, almost to a man refused to turn out." In
Pennsylvania the militia, instead of giving any assistance in repelling
the British, exulted at their approach, and over the misfortunes of
their countrymen. On the 20th of that month the British were "daily
gathering strength from the disaffected." In 1777 the Tories who joined
Burgoyne in his invasion from the north are said to have doubled his
force. In 1778 Tories joined the Indians in the devastation of Wyoming
and Cherry Valley; and although the indiscriminate ravages of the
British, or of the Germans in their pay, seem to have roused the three
States above mentioned to self-defence, yet, as late as May, 1780,
Washington still speaks of sending a small party of cavalry to escort
Lafayette "safely through the Tory settlements" of New York. Virginia,
as late as the spring of 1776, was "alarmed at the idea of
independence."

Washington admitted that his countrymen--of that State--"from their form
of government, and steady attachment heretofore to royalty," would "come
reluctantly" to that idea, but trusted to "time and persecution." In
1781 the ground for transferring the seat of war to the Chesapeake was
the number of loyalists in that quarter. In the Southern States the
division of feeling was still greater. In the Carolinas, a Loyalist
regiment was raised in a few days in 1776, and again in 1779. In
Georgia, in South Carolina, the bitterest partisan warfare was carried
on between the Whig and Tory bands; and a body of New York Tories
contributed powerfully to the fall of Savannah in 1778 by taking the
American forces in the rear.

On the other hand it is unquestionable that in the extent and quality of
the support which they met with, the British generals were cruelly
disappointed. Up to May, 1778, General Howe had declared that in
thirteen corps raised, with a nominal strength of six thousand five
hundred men, the whole number amounted only to three thousand six
hundred nine, of whom only a small proportion were Americans, and that
"all the force that could be collected in Pennsylvania, after the most
indefatigable exertions during eight months," was only nine hundred
seventy-four men. Of the far more numerous loyalist levies in the South,
Lord Cornwallis speaks in the most disparaging terms. A whole regiment
in South Carolina marched off on one occasion in a body. Speaking of the
friends to the British cause in North Carolina he wrote, "If they are as
dastardly and pusillanimous as our friends to the southward, we must
leave them to their fate." At the time of the battle of Guilford Court
House (1781) the idea of such friends "rising in any number and to any
purpose had totally failed." No "provincial" general ever rose to
eminence on the British side, although more than one was appointed, and
it is clear that if the struggle was so long protracted it was not
through the valor or constancy of the loyalists.

The real causes of its protraction--though it may be hard to an American
to admit the fact--lay in the incapacity of American politicians, and,
it must be added, in the supineness and want of patriotism of the
American people. If, indeed, importing into the struggle views of a
later date, we look upon it as one between two nations, the
mismanagement of the war by the Americans, on all points save one--the
retention of Washington in the chief command--is seen to have been so
pitiable from first to last as to be in fact almost unintelligible. We
only understand the case when we see that there was no such thing as an
American nation in existence, but only a number of revolted colonies,
jealous of one another, and with no tie but that of a common danger.

Even in the army, divisions broke out. Washington, in a general order of
August 1, 1776, says: "It is with great concern that the general
understands that jealousies have arisen among the troops from the
different provinces, and reflections are frequently thrown out which can
only tend to irritate each other and injure the noble cause in which we
are engaged." It was seldom that much help could be obtained in troops
from any State, unless that State were immediately threatened by the
enemy; and even then these troops would be raised by that State for its
own defence, irrespectively of the general or "Continental Army."

"Those at a distance from the seat of War," wrote Washington in April,
1778, "live in such perfect tranquillity that they conceive the dispute
to be in a manner at an end; and those near it are so disaffected that
they serve only as embarrassments." In January, 1779, we find him
remonstrating with the Governor of Rhode Island because that State had
"ordered several battalions to be raised for the defence of the State
only, and this before proper measures were taken to fill the Continental
regiments." The different bounties and rates of pay allowed by the
various States were a constant source of annoyance to him. After the
first year, the best men were not returned to Congress, or did not
return to it. Whole States remained frequently unrepresented. In the
winter of 1777-1778 Congress was reduced to twenty-one members. But even
with a full representation it could do little. "One State will comply
with a requisition of Congress," writes Washington in 1780, "another
neglects to do it, a third executes it by halves, and all differ either
in the manner, the matter, or so much in point of time that we are
always working up-hill." At first Congress was really nothing more than
a voluntary committee. When the Confederation was completed--which was
only, be it remembered, on March 1, 1781--it was still, as Washington
wrote in 1785, "little more than a shadow without the substance, and the
Congress a nugatory body"; or, as it was described by a later writer,
"powerless for government, and a rope of sand for union."

Like politicians, like people. There was no doubt a brilliant display of
patriotic ardor at the first flying to arms of the colonists. Lexington
and Bunker Hill were actions decidedly creditable to their raw troops.
The expedition to Canada, foolhardy though it proved, was pursued up to
a certain point with real heroism. But with it the heroic period of the
war--individual instances excepted--may be said to have closed. There
seems little reason to doubt that the Revolution would never have been
commenced if it had been expected to cost so tough a struggle. "A false
estimate of the power and perseverance of our enemies," wrote James
Duane to Washington, "was friendly to the present revolution, and
inspired that confidence of success in all ranks of people which was
necessary to unite them in so arduous a cause."

As early as November, 1775, Washington wrote, speaking of military
arrangements, "Such a dearth of public spirit, and such want of virtue,
such stock-jobbing and fertility in all the low arts to obtain
advantages of one kind or another, I never saw before, and pray God's
mercy that I may never be witness to again." Such "a mercenary spirit"
pervaded the whole of the troops, that he should not have been "at all
surprised at any disaster."

At the same date, besides desertions of thirty or forty soldiers at a
time, he speaks of the practice of plundering as so rife that "no man is
secure in his effects, and scarcely in his person." People "were
frightened out of their houses under pretence of those houses being
ordered to be burnt, with a view of seizing the goods"; and to conceal
the villainy more effectually some houses were actually burnt down. On
February 28, 1777, "the scandalous loss, waste, and private
appropriation of public arms during the last campaign" had been "beyond
all conception." Officers drew "large sums under pretence of paying
their men," and appropriated them. In one case an officer led his men to
robbery, offered resistance to a brigade-major who ordered him to return
the goods, and was only with difficulty cashiered.

"Can we carry on the war much longer?" Washington asks in 1778--after
the treaty with France and the appearance of a French fleet off the
coast. "Certainly not, unless some measures can be devised and speedily
executed to restore the credit of our currency, restrain extortion, and
punish forestallers." A few days later, "To make and extort money in
every shape that can be devised, and at the same time to decry its
value, seem to have become a mere business and an epidemical disease."
On December 30, 1778, "speculation, peculation, and an insatiable thirst
for riches seem to have got the better of every other consideration, and
almost of every order of men; party disputes and personal quarrels are
the great business of the day; whilst the momentous concerns of an
empire, a great and accumulating debt, ruined finances, depreciated
money, and want of credit, which in its consequences is the want of
everything, are but secondary considerations."

After a first loan had been obtained from France and spent, a further
one was granted in 1782. So utterly unpatriotic and selfish was known to
be the temper of the people that the loan had to be kept secret, in
order not to diminish such efforts as might be made by the Americans
themselves. On July 10th, of that year, with New York and Charlestown
still in British hands, Washington writes: "That spirit of freedom
which at the commencement of this contest would have gladly sacrificed
everything to the attainment of its object, has long since subsided, and
every selfish passion has taken its place." But indeed the mere fact
that from the date of the battle of Monmouth (July 28, 1778), Washington
was never supplied with sufficient means, even with the assistance of
the French fleets and troops, to strike one blow at the English in New
York--though these were but sparingly reënforced during the
period--shows an absence of public spirit, one might almost say of
national shame, scarcely conceivable, and in singular contrast with the
terrible earnestness exhibited on both sides some eighty years later in
the Secession War.

Why, then, must we ask on the other side, did England fail at last? The
English were prone to attribute their ill-success to the incompetency of
their generals. Lord North, with his quaint humor, would say, "I do not
know whether our generals will frighten the enemy, but I know they
frighten me whenever I think of them." When in 1778, Lord Carlisle came
out as commissioner, in a letter speaking of the great scale of all
things in America, he says: "We have nothing on a great scale with us
but our blunders, our misconduct, our ruin, our losses, our disgraces
and misfortunes." Pitt, in a speech of 1781, aptly described the war as
having been, on the part of England, "a series of ineffective victories
or severe defeats." No doubt it is difficult to account for Gage's early
blunders; for Howe's repeated failure to follow up his own success or
profit by his enemy's weakness; and Cornwallis' movement, justly
censured by Sir Henry Clinton, in transferring the bulk of his army from
the far south to Virginia, within marching distance of Washington,
opened the way to that crowning disaster at Yorktown, without which it
is by no means impossible that Georgia and the Carolinas might have
remained British.

But no allowance for bad generalship can account for the failure of the
British. Washington and Greene appear to have been the only two American
generals of marked ability, though they unquestionably derived great
advantage from the talents of their foreign allies, Lafayette, Pulaski,
Steuben, Rochambeau--and Washington was more than once out-manoeuvred.
Gates evidently owed his one signal triumph to enormous superiority of
numbers on his own ground, and was as signally defeated, under
circumstances infinitely less creditable to him than those of Burgoyne's
surrender. Lee's vaunted abilities came to nothing.

Political incapacity was of course charged upon ministers as another
cause of disaster; and no doubt their miscalculation of the severity of
the struggle was almost childish. When Parliament met in the autumn of
1776--_i.e._, after the Declaration of Independence had gone forth to
the world--it was held out in the King's speech that another campaign
would be sufficient to end the war, while in spite of all the warnings
of the Opposition, they persisted in blinding themselves to the force of
the temptations which must inevitably bring down France, if not Spain,
into the lists against them, until the treaties of these powers with
America were actually concluded. The forces sent out were miserably
inadequate for a war on so large a scale--"too many to make peace, too
few to make war," as Lord Chatham told the Ministry. When for once a
really considerable force was sent out under Burgoyne, it failed for
want of timely coöperation by Howe, and this failure is stated, by Lord
Shelburne, to have arisen from Lord George Germain's not having had
patience to wait after signing the despatch to Burgoyne, till that to
Howe had been fair-copied; so that instead of going out together, the
second, owing to further mischances, did not leave till some time later.
The English generals complained almost as bitterly as the American of
the want of adequate reënforcements, and the best of them, Sir Henry
Clinton, is found writing (1779) in a strain which might be mistaken for
Washington's of his spirits being "worn out" by the difficulties of his
position.

But no mistakes in the management of the war by British statesmen can
account for their ultimate failure. However great British mismanagement
may have been, it was far surpassed by American. Until Robert Morris
took the finances in hand, the administration of them was beneath not
only contempt but conception. There was nothing on the British side
equal to that caricature of a recruiting system, in which different
bounties were offered by Congress, by the States, by the separate towns,
as to make it the interest of the intending soldier to delay enlistment
as long as possible in order to sell himself to the highest bidder; to
that caricature of a war establishment the main bulk of which broke up
every twelvemonth in front of the enemy, which was only paid, if at all,
in worthless paper, and left almost habitually without supplies.

To mention one fact only, commissions in British regiments on American
soil continued to be sold for large sums, while Washington's officers
were daily throwing up theirs, many from sheer starvation. On the whole,
no better idea can be had of the nature of the struggle on the American
side, after the first heat of it had cooled down, than from the words of
Count de Rochambeau, writing to Count de Vergennes, July 10, 1780: "They
have neither money nor credit; their means of resistance are only
momentary, and called forth when they are attacked in their own homes.
They then assemble for the moment of immediate danger and defend
themselves."

A far more important cause in determining the ultimate failure of the
British was the aid afforded by France to America, followed by that of
Spain and Holland. It was impossible for England to reconquer a
continent, and carry on war at the same time with the three most
powerful states of Europe. The instincts of race have tended on both the
English and the American sides to depreciate the value of the aid given
by France to the colonists. It may be true that Rochambeau's troops
which disembarked in Rhode Island in July, 1780, did not march till
July, 1781,--that they were blockaded soon after their arrival,
threatened with attack from New York, and only disengaged by a feint of
Washington's on that city. But more than two years before their arrival,
Washington wrote to a member of Congress, "France, by her supplies, has
saved us from the yoke thus far." The treaty with France alone was
considered to afford a "certain prospect of success"--to "secure"
American independence.

The arrival of D'Estaing's fleet, although no troops joined the American
army, and nothing eventually was done, determined the evacuation of
Philadelphia. The discipline of the French troops when they landed in
1780 set an example to the Americans; chickens and pigs walked between
the lines without being disturbed. The recruits of 1780 could not have
been armed without fifty tons of ammunition supplied by the French. In
September of that year, Washington, writing to the French envoy, speaks
of the "inability" of the Americans to expel the British from the South
"unassisted, or perhaps even to stop their career," and he writes in
similar terms to Congress a few days later. To depend "upon the
resources of the country, unassisted by foreign loans," he writes to a
member of Congress two months later, "will, I am confident, be to lean
upon a broken reed."

In January, 1781, writing to Colonel Laurens, the American envoy in
Paris, he presses for "an immediate, ample, and efficacious succor in
money" from France, for the maintenance of the American coasts of "a
constant naval superiority," and for "an additional succor in troops."
And since the assistance so requested was in fact granted in every
shape, and the surrender of Yorktown was obtained by the coöperation
both of the French army and fleet, we must hold that Washington's words
were justified by the event.

The real cause, however, why England yielded in 1782-1783 to her
revolted colonies was probably this: The English nation at large had
never realized the nature of the struggle; when it did, it refused to
carry it on. Enormous ignorance no doubt prevailed at the beginning of
the struggle as to the North American colonies. They had been till then
entirely overshadowed by the West Indies, which were perhaps at that
time the greatest source of English commercial wealth; and the time was
not far past when, it is said, they were supposed, like the latter, to
be chiefly inhabited by negroes. The prominence of the slave colonies
seems to have associated the idea of colonies with that of absolute
government. Englishmen did not generally realize the existence in North
America of vast countries inhabited by communities of their own race,
which enjoyed in general a larger measure of self-government than the
mother-country herself. That a colony should resist the mother-country
seemed in a manner preposterous. It appears certain, therefore, that
when the war at first broke out it was popular, and that the King and
Lord North, as has been already stated, were themselves amazed at the
loyal addresses which it called forth.

But the early resort to the aid of German mercenaries showed that this
popularity was only skin-deep--that the heart of the masses was not
engaged in the war. The very employment of these mercenaries, as well as
of the Indian auxiliaries of the royal forces, tended to lower the
character of the war in English eyes. When Chatham, in his scathing
invectives, would speak of the Ministers' "traffic and barter with every
little pitiful German prince that sells and sends his subjects to the
shambles," or of their sending "the infidel savage--against whom?
against your Protestant brethren, to lay waste their country, to
desolate their dwellings, and extirpate their race and name," he might
not carry with him the votes of the House of Lords, but his words would
burn their way into English hearts.

That the war with the American colonies themselves was repugnant to the
deepest feelings of the nation is proved by contrast through the sudden
burst of warlike spirit which followed (1778-1779) on the outbreak of
war with France and Spain. A few days before the French treaty with
America was known, Horace Walpole had written to Mason that the new
levies "don't come, consequently they will not go." By July of the same
year he writes to Sir Horace Mann, "The country is covered with camps."
In 1776 the King had reviewed the Guards on Wimbledon Common, and pulled
off his hat to them before their departure for America. He had now
(1779) to review volunteers. The passionate interest which is henceforth
taken in so much of the struggle as is carried on with foreign foes,
Keppel's scarcely deserved popularity, the riotous popular joy on his
acquittal, the outburst of universal rejoicing over Rodney's victories,
show a totally different temper to that brought out by either victory or
defeat in what was now felt to be a dread civil war with our American
kinsmen.

Hence it was, no doubt, that after the surrender of Yorktown,
hostilities were practically at an end with America, while the naval
warfare with France and Spain was carried on for another twelvemonth,
and that the signing of provisional articles of peace with the United
States preceded by two months that of similar articles with France and
Spain, the armistice with Holland being of still later date. It may even
be conjectured that the outbreak of war with France and Spain, instead
of incensing the mind of the English people against the Americans,
rather gave different objects to their angry passions, and tended to
diminish their bitterness toward the colonists. It must have been a kind
of relief to Englishmen to find themselves fighting once more against
those whom they considered hereditary enemies, against men who did not
speak their own mother-tongue; and the wholly unprovoked character of
these foreign hostilities would soften men's feelings toward the
stubbornness of those colonists of their own blood, who after all asked
only to be left alone. It is moreover observable that when peace came,
though it upset the Shelburne ministry, yet that of the coalition which
succeeded it was most unpopular, and addresses came pouring in from
counties and towns to thank the King for making the peace.

Substantially indeed--although colonial independence would no doubt have
been achieved sooner or later--the more we look into the events of the
war of 1775-1783, the more, perhaps, shall we be convinced that it
resolves itself into a duel between two men who never saw each other in
the flesh, Washington and George III.

Take Washington out of the history on the American side, and it is
impossible to conceive of American success. It is barely possible that
under Greene--the one general after Washington's own heart, who wrote to
him from his command in the South, "We fight, get beaten, and fight
again"--the army itself might have been commanded with an ability which
would enable it to withstand its British opponents. But neither Greene
nor any other general possessed that weight of personal character which
fixed the trust of Congress and people on Washington, maintained him in
authority through all reverses, and enabled him to criticise with such
unflinching frankness the measures of Congress.

Take, on the other hand, George III out of the history on the British
side, and it is beyond question that if the war had ever broken out, it
would have been put a stop to long before its ultimate failure. In him
alone is to be found the real centre of resistance to American
independence. It is now well known that at least from the beginning of
1778, if not from the end of 1775, Lord North was anxious to resign, and
desirous of conciliation, and that it was only through the King's
constant appeals to his sense of honor, not to "desert" him, that the
minister was prevailed upon to remain in office. "Till I see things
change to a more favorable position," the King wrote to Lord North as
late as May 19, 1780, "I shall not feel at liberty to grant your
resignation"; and it was only on March 20, 1781, that Lord North at
last compelled his master to accept it. Three ideas were fixed in the
King's mind, the first of which was a delusion, the second a mistake,
and the third contrary to all principles of constitutional government.

First, he had persuaded himself that the country was radically opposed
to American independence. In January, 1778, he opposes conciliatory
measures, "lest they should dissatisfy this country, which so cheerfully
and handsomely carries on the contest." In the autumn of that year he is
certain that "if ministers show that they never will consent to the
independence of America, the cry will be strong in their favor." Two
years later he "can never suppose this country so far lost to all ideas
of self-importance as to be willing to grant American independence."

Secondly, he was convinced--and this conviction, it must be admitted,
was shared by some of the strongest opponents of the war--that if the
independence of the North American colonies were acknowledged, all the
others, as well as Ireland, would be lost. If any one branch of the
empire is allowed to throw off its dependency, the others will
inevitably follow the example. "Should America succeed, the West Indies
must follow, not in independence, but dependence on America. Ireland
would soon follow, and this island reduce itself to a poor island
indeed."

Thirdly, he would not allow the Opposition to rule. "He would run any
personal risk rather than submit to the Opposition; rather than be
shackled by these desperate men he would lose his crown." If he
authorizes the attempt at a coalition (1779), it is "provided it be
understood that every means are to be employed to keep the empire
entire, to prosecute the present just and unprovoked war in all its
branches with the utmost vigor, and that his majesty's past measures be
treated with proper respect," _i.e._, provided the Opposition are ready
to stultify themselves, and do all that the King thinks right, and admit
that all for which they have contended is wrong. Before the spectacle of
such narrow obstinacy it is difficult not to sympathize with an
expression of Fox in one of his letters--"it is intolerable to think
that it should be in the power of one blockhead to do so much mischief."

Between these two men--it may be conceded, equally sincere, equally
resolute--but the one reasoning, like the madman that he was to be, from
false premises, self-deluded as to the feelings of his people,
anticipating consequences which a century sees yet unrealized and the
other with eyes at all times almost morbidly open to all the gloomier
features of this cause, void of all self-delusion--the one conceiving
himself justified in imposing dictates of his own self-will on every
minister whom he might employ, entitled alike to chain an unwilling
friend to office, and to shut the door of office to opponents except on
terms of surrendering all their principles; the other always ready to
accept the inevitable, to make the most use of the least means, to curb
himself for the sake of his cause in all things except fearless
plain-speaking--the one, finally resolved only to hinder the making of a
nation; the other resolved to make one, if anyhow possible--the issue of
the contest could not be doubtful, if both lives were prolonged. From
that contest the one emerged as the mad king who threw away half a
continent from England; the other as the father of the American nation.

The common consent of mankind has ranked Washington among its great men;
and although the title may have been fully justified by the course of
his civil life, whether in or out of office, after the termination of
the War of Independence, it is hardly to be doubted that it would freely
have been accorded to him had his career been cut short immediately
after the resignation of his military command. Yet of those who have
enjoyed the title, few, if any, have ever earned it by actions of less
brilliancy. The fame of no conspicuous victory is bound up with
Washington's name. His one dashing exploit was the surprise of Trenton.
His one victory, that of Monmouth, had no results; his most considerable
battle, that of Brandywine, was a severe defeat. His greatness as a
general consisted in doing much with little means, never missing an
opportunity, rising superior to every disaster. When he had recovered
Boston he could say, "I have been here months together with not thirty
rounds of musket cartridges to a man, and have been obliged to submit to
all insults of the enemy's cannon for want of powder, keeping what
little we had for pistol-distance. We have maintained our ground against
the enemy under this want of powder, and we have disbanded one army and
recruited another, within musket-shot of two-and-twenty regiments, the
flower of the British Army, while our force has been but little if any
superior to theirs, and at last have beaten them into a shameful and
precipitate retreat out of a place the strongest by nature on this
continent, and strengthened and fortified at an enormous expense."

The character of Washington as a commander recalls in various respects
that of Wellington. In both we see the same dogged perseverance under
all the various phases of fortune; the same strict discipline, hardening
readily into sternness, coupled with the same careful consideration for
the wants and welfare of the soldier; the same patient, constant
attention to every detail of military organization; the same ability in
maintaining a defensive warfare against an enemy superior in force, with
the same quickness to strike a blow in any unguarded quarter; the same
unflinching frankness in exposing the evils of the military
administration of the day. Many of Wellington's despatches from the
Peninsula might almost have been written by Washington. The difference
between them, while the war lasts, is mainly this: that in Wellington
the soldier is all, while in Washington the statesman and the patriot
are never merged in the soldier. Hence, while in after-life Wellington
had to serve his apprenticeship as a statesman after ceasing to be a
soldier, and often bungled over his new craft, Washington's after-life
was simply that of a statesman who had been called to take up arms and
had laid them down again.

In short, though England had never a more successful foe than
Washington, it is impossible not to feel, in studying his character,
that no more typical Englishman ever lived.

Let us now cast a final glance at the state of the world at the close of
the war. Except that an independent state had grown up for the first
time since the downfall of Aztec and Inca empires on the American
continent, and that England had been politically lessened, the balance
of power had been little affected by the war. France had one West Indian
island more, Holland one Indian settlement less. Spain had recovered
Minorca and the Floridas. But she was irrevocably shut out from one
great object of her ambition, the eastern half of the Mississippi
Basin.




SETTLEMENT OF AMERICAN LOYALISTS IN CANADA[30]

A.D. 1783

SIR JOHN G. BOURINOT

     In the American Revolutionary War there were many in the
     then new-born Republic who either refrained from
     participating or took the loyalist side in the conflict.
     These were called "United Empire Loyalists," for they clung
     to the unity of the empire and refused to ally themselves
     with their fellow-colonists in revolt. When the war was
     over, those who took up arms on the loyal side found
     themselves in a hopeless minority, loaded with obloquy, and
     subjected to indignity at the hands of the victorious
     republicans. Rather than live under these humiliating
     conditions, some of the Loyalists returned to England; but
     most of them, preferring voluntary expatriation in Western
     wilds to living in a country that had become independent
     through rebellion, sought new homes for themselves in Acadia
     and Canada.

     Their act was not lost upon the home Government, for the
     latter sent instructions to Canada to make provision for
     their reception and settlement, and for the mitigation, in
     some measure, of their trials and privations. This provision
     consisted of seed, farm implements, tools for building
     purposes, and food and clothing for a year or two after
     settling in the country. To make good in part their losses
     the British Government also voted about three millions
     sterling to be divided among the incoming settlers, and gave
     them munificent grants of land, chiefly in the western
     portion of the country, the then virgin Province of Upper
     Canada. There, as well as in desirable locations in Nova
     Scotia and New Brunswick, streamed in the Loyalists and
     their families, to begin their sad experience of exile in
     the wilderness. By their coming, Western Canada--chiefly on
     the banks of the St. Lawrence, on the Bay of Quinte, in the
     Niagara district, and round the shores of Lake
     Ontario--received that contribution of brawn and muscle so
     essential to the carving out of a new province and the
     founding of a strong and enduring community.


It was during Governor Haldimand's administration that one of the most
important events in the history of Canada occurred as a result of the
American War of Independence. This event was the coming to the Provinces
of many thousand people, known as United Empire Loyalists, who, during
the progress of the war, but chiefly at its close, left their old homes
in the thirteen colonies. When the Treaty of 1783 was under
consideration, the British representatives made an effort to obtain some
practical consideration from the new nation for the claims of this
unfortunate people who had been subject to so much loss and obloquy
during the war. All that the English envoys could obtain was the
insertion of a clause in the treaty to the effect that Congress would
recommend to the legislatures of the several States measures of
restitution--a provision which turned out, as Franklin intimated at the
time, a perfect nullity. The English Government subsequently indemnified
these people in a measure for their self-sacrifice, and among other
things gave a large number of them valuable tracts of land in the
Provinces of British North America. Many of them settled in Nova Scotia,
others founded New Brunswick and Upper Canada, now Ontario. Their
influence on the political fortunes of Canada has been necessarily very
considerable. For years they and their children were animated by a
feeling of bitter animosity against the United States, the effects of
which could be traced in later times when questions of difference arose
between England and her former colonies. They have proved with the
French Canadians a barrier to the growth of any annexation party, and as
powerful an influence in national and social life as the Puritan element
itself in the Eastern and Western States.

Among the sad stories of the past the one which tells of the exile of
the Loyalists from their homes, of their trials and struggles in the
valley of the St. Lawrence, then a wilderness, demands our deepest
sympathy. In the history of this continent it can be only compared with
the melancholy chapter which relates the removal of the French
population from their beloved Acadia. During the Revolution they
comprised a very large, intelligent, and important body of people, in
all the old colonies, especially in New York and at the South, where
they were in the majority until the peace. They were generally known as
Tories, while their opponents, who supported independence, were called
Whigs. Neighbor was arrayed against neighbor, families were divided, the
greatest cruelties were inflicted, as the war went on, upon men and
women who believed it was their duty to be faithful to king and
country.

As soon as the contest was ended, their property was confiscated in
several States. Many persons were banished and prohibited from returning
to their homes. An American writer, Sabine, tells us that previous to
the evacuation of New York, in September, 1783, "upward of twelve
thousand men, women, and children embarked at the city, at Long and
Staten islands, for Nova Scotia and the Bahamas." Very wrong impressions
were held in those days of the climate and resources of the Provinces to
which these people fled. Time was to prove that the lot of many of the
Loyalists had actually fallen in pleasant places, in Nova Scotia, New
Brunswick, and Upper Canada; that the country where most of them settled
was superior in many respects to the New England States, and equal to
the State of New York, from which so many of them came.

It is estimated that between forty and fifty thousand people reached
British North America by 1786. They commenced to leave their old homes
soon after the breaking out of the war, but the great migration took
place in 1783-1784. Many sought the shores of Nova Scotia, and founded
the town of Shelburne, which at one time held a population of ten or
twelve thousand souls, the majority of whom were entirely unsuited to
the conditions of the rough country around them and soon sought homes
elsewhere. Not a few settled in more favorable parts of Nova Scotia, and
even in Cape Breton. Considerable numbers found rest in the beautiful
valley of the St. John River, and founded the Province of New Brunswick.
As many more laid the beginnings of Upper Canada, in the present county
of Glengarry, in the neighborhood of Kingston and the Bay of Quinte, on
the Niagara River, and near the French settlements on the Detroit. A few
also settled in the country now known as the Eastern Townships of French
Canada. A great proportion of the men were officers and soldiers of the
regiments which were formed in several colonies out of the large loyal
population.

Among them were also men who had occupied positions of influence and
responsibility in their respective communities, divines, judges,
officials, and landed proprietors, whose names were among the best in
the old colonies, as they are certainly in Canada. Many among them gave
up valuable estates which had been acquired by the energy of their
ancestors. Unlike the Puritans who founded New England, they did not
take away with them their valuable property in the shape of money and
securities or household goods. A rude log hut by the side of a river or
lake, where poverty and wretchedness were their lot for months, and even
years in some cases, was the refuge of thousands, all of whom had
enjoyed every comfort in well-built houses, and not a few even luxury in
stately mansions, some of which have withstood the ravages of time and
can still be pointed out in New England. Many of the Loyalists were
quite unfitted for the rude experiences of a pioneer life, and years
passed before they and their children conquered the wilderness and made
a livelihood. The British Government was extremely liberal in its grants
of lands to this class of persons in all the Provinces.

The Government supplied these pioneers in the majority of cases with
food, clothing, and necessary farming implements. For some years they
suffered many privations; one was called "the year of famine," when
hundreds in Upper Canada had to live on roots and even the buds of trees
or anything that might sustain life. Fortunately some lived in favored
localities, where pigeons and other birds, and fish of all kinds, were
plentiful. In the summer and fall there were quantities of wild fruit
and nuts. Maple sugar was a great luxury, when the people once learned
to make it from the noble tree, whose symmetrical leaf may well be made
the Canadian national emblem. It took the people a long while to
accustom themselves to the conditions of their primitive pioneer life,
but now the results of the labors of these early settlers and their
descendants can be seen far and wide in smiling fields, richly laden
orchards, and gardens of old-fashioned flowers throughout the country
which they first made to blossom like the rose. The rivers and lakes
were the only means of communication in those early times, roads were
unknown, and the wayfarer could find his way through the illimitable
forests only by the help of the "blazed" trees and the course of
streams. Social intercourse was infrequent except in autumn and winter,
when the young managed to assemble as they always will. Love and
courtship went on even in this wilderness, though marriage was
uncertain, as the visits of clergymen were very rare in many places, and
magistrates could alone tie the nuptial knot--a very unsatisfactory
performance to the cooler lovers who loved their church, its ceremonies
and traditions, as dearly as they loved their sovereign.

The story of those days of trial has not yet been adequately written;
perhaps it never will be, for few of those pioneers have left records
behind them. As we wander among the old burying-grounds of those
founders of Western Canada and New Brunswick, and stand by the gray,
moss-covered tablets, with names effaced by the ravages of years, the
thought will come to us, what interesting stories could be told by those
who are laid beneath the sod, of sorrows and struggles, of hearts sick
with hope deferred, of expectations never realized, of memories of
misfortune and disaster in another land where they bore so much for a
stubborn and unwise king. Yet these grass-covered mounds are not simply
memorials of suffering and privation; each could tell a story of
fidelity to principle, of forgetfulness of self-interest, of devotion
and self-sacrifice--the grandest story that human annals can tell--a
story that should be ever held up to the admiration and emulation of the
young men and women of the present times, who enjoy the fruits of the
labors of those loyal pioneers.

Although no noble monument has yet been raised to the memory of these
founders of new provinces--of English-speaking Canada; although the
majority lie forgotten in old grave-yards where the grass has grown
rank, and common flowers alone nod over their resting-places, yet the
names of all are written in imperishable letters in Provincial annals.
Those Loyalists, including the children of both sexes, who joined the
cause of Great Britain before the Treaty of Peace in 1783, were allowed
the distinction of having after their name the letters U. E. to preserve
the memory of their fidelity to a United Empire. A Canadian of these
modern days, who traces his descent from such a source, is as proud of
his lineage as if he were a Derby or a Talbot of Malahide, or inheritor
of other noble names famous in the annals of the English peerage.

The records of all the provinces show the great influence exercised on
their material, political, and intellectual development by this devoted
body of immigrants. For more than a century they and their descendants
have been distinguished for the useful and important part they have
taken in every matter deeply associated with the best interests of the
country. In New Brunswick we find among those who did good service in
their day and generation the names of Wilmot, Allen, Robinson, Jarvis,
Hazen, Burpee, Chandler, Tilley, Fisher, Bliss, Odell, Botsford; in Nova
Scotia, Inglis (the first Anglican bishop in the colonies), Wentworth,
Brenton, Blowers (Chief Justice), Cunard, Cutler, Howe, Creighton,
Chipman, Marshall, Halliburton, Wilkins, Huntingdon, Jones; in Ontario,
Cartwright, Robinson, Hagerman, Stuart (the first Anglican clergyman),
Gamble, Van Alstine, Fisher, Grass, Butler, Macaulay, Wallbridge,
Chrysler, Bethune, Merritt, McNab, Crawford, Kirby, Tisdale, and
Ryerson. Among these names stand out prominently those of Wilmot, Howe,
and Huntingdon, who were among the fathers of responsible government;
those of Tilley, Tupper, Chandler, and Fisher, who were among the
fathers of confederation; of Ryerson, who exercised a most important
influence on the system of free education which Ontario now enjoys.
Among the eminent descendants of U. E. Loyalists are Sir Charles Tupper,
long a prominent figure in politics; Christopher Robinson, a
distinguished lawyer, who was counsel for Canada at the Bering Sea
arbitration; Sir Richard Cartwright, a liberal leader remarkable for his
keen, incisive style of debate, and his knowledge of financial
questions; Honorable George E. Foster, a former finance minister of
Canada. We might extend the list indefinitely did space permit. In all
walks of life we see the descendants of the Loyalists, exercising a
decided influence over the fortunes of the Dominion.

Conspicuous among the people who remained faithful to England during the
American Revolution was the famous Iroquois chief Joseph Brant, best
known by his Mohawk name of Thayendanegea, who took part in the war, and
was for many years wrongly accused of having participated in the
massacre and destruction of Wyoming, that beauteous vale of the
Susquehanna. It was he whom the poet Campbell would have consigned to
eternal infamy in the verse

    "The mammoth comes--the foe, the monster, Brandt--
      With all his howling, desolating band;
    These eyes have seen their blade and burning pine
      Awake at once, and silence half your land.
    Red is the cup they drink, but not with wine--
    Awake and watch to-night, or see no morning shine."

Posterity has, however, recognized the fact that Joseph Brant was not
present at this sad episode of the American War, and the poet in a note
to a later edition admitted that the Indian chief in his poem was "a
pure and declared character of fiction." He was a sincere friend of
English interests, a man of large and statesmanlike views, who might
have taken an important part in colonial affairs had he been educated in
these later times. When the war was ended, he and his tribe moved into
the valley of the St. Lawrence, and received from the Government fine
reserves of land on the Bay of Quinte, and on the Grand River in the
western part of the Province of Upper Canada, where the prosperous city
and county of Brantford and the township of Tyendinaga--a corruption of
Thayendanegea--illustrate the fame he has won in Canadian annals. The
descendants of his nation live in comfortable homes, till fine farms in
a beautiful section of Western Canada, and enjoy all the franchises of
white men. It is an interesting fact that the first church built in
Ontario was that of the Mohawks, who still preserve the communion
service presented to the tribe in 1710 by Queen Anne of England.

General Haldimand's administration will always be noted in Canadian
history for the coming of the Loyalists, and for the sympathetic
interest he took in settling these people on the lands of Canada, and in
alleviating their difficulties by all the means in the power of his
government. In these and other matters of Canadian interest he proved
conclusively that he was not the mere military martinet that some
Canadian writers with inadequate information would make him. When he
left Canada he was succeeded by Sir Guy Carleton, then elevated to the
peerage as Lord Dorchester.

FOOTNOTES:

[30] From _The Story of Canada_ (New York, 1896: G. P. Putnam's Sons),
by permission.




FIRST BALLOON ASCENSION

A.D. 1783

HATTON TURNOR

     Few problems of invention have ever engaged more students
     and experimenters than those which bear upon aërial
     navigation. The history of early experiments in this
     direction has a peculiar interest at present, in view of the
     numerous recent trials by aëronauts in different countries.

     At the time of the first balloon ascension, described by
     Turnor, interest in the possibilities of aërostatics was
     very active and widespread, especially among the scientific
     mechanicians of Europe. Many experiments with "aërostatical
     globes" and the like had been made in Great Britain and on
     the Continent. Leonhard Euler, to whom Turnor refers, was a
     famous Swiss mathematician who had given much study to these
     things. He was in Russia, and about to die, when in France
     the first aërostat, or balloon, was sent up by the
     inventors, the brothers Joseph and Jacques Montgolfier,
     French mechanicians, who were made corresponding members of
     the Academy. This form of air-balloon--the first successful
     one--is known as the "Montgolfier."


A shout of joy rang through Europe, and reached the ear of the aged
Euler, on the banks of the Neva, who, between attacks of vertigo, which
were soon to carry him from this scene to a better, dictated to his sons
the calculations he had made on aërostatical globes. It is said he
ceased to calculate and live at the same instant.

The cause of so great enthusiasm had better be given in the accurate
description that immediately circulated among the peoples:

"On Thursday, June 5, 1783, the States of Vivarais being assembled at
Annonay (37 miles from Lyons), Messrs. Montgolfier invited them to see
their new aërostatic experiment.

"Imagine the surprise of the Deputies and spectators on seeing in the
public square a ball, 110 feet in circumference, attached at its base to
a wooden frame of 16 feet surface. This enormous bag, with frame,
weighed 300 lbs., and could contain 22,000 feet of vapor.

"Imagine the general astonishment when the inventors announced that, as
soon as it should be filled with gas--which they had a simple means of
making--it would rise of itself to the clouds. One must here remark
that, notwithstanding the general confidence in the knowledge and wisdom
of Messrs. Montgolfier, such an experiment appeared so incredible to
those who were present, that all doubted of its success.

"But Messrs. Montgolfier, taking it in hand, proceed to make the vapors,
which gradually swell it out till it assumes a beautiful form.

"Strong arms are now required to retain it; at a given signal it is
loosed, rises with rapidity, and in ten minutes attains a height of 6000
feet; it proceeds 7668 feet in a horizontal direction, and gently falls
to the ground.

    "Just as the Omnipotent, who turns
    The system of a world's concerns,
    From mere minutiæ can educe
    Events of the most important use;
    But who can tell how vast the plan,
    Which this day's incident began?"

The effect of this letter in England was to cause a display of jealousy
at which we might now blush, if we do not remember that the sagacious
and convincing views of Adam Smith on political economy had only just
been published and had not yet had time to circulate; for, though we
were obliged to admit a discovery had been made in France, yet the
periodicals argued that all the experiments that had led to it were made
in England. Many were the caricatures which appeared.

In a discourse at the Academy of Lyons, Jacques Montgolfier says that a
French copy of Priestley's _Experiments relating to the Different Kinds
of Air_ came in his way, and was to him like light in darkness; as from
that moment he conceived the possibility of navigating the air, but,
after some experiments in gas, he again tried smoke and hot air.

In Paris this intelligence caused a meeting of savants, who, by the
advice of M. Faujas de Saint-Fond, started a public subscription for
defraying the expense of making inflammable gas (hydrogen), the
materials of which were expensive: one thousand pounds of iron filings
and four hundred ninety-eight pounds of sulphuric acid were consumed to
fill a globular bag of varnished silk, which, for the first time, was
designated a ballon, or balloon, as we call it, meaning a great ball.

The filling commenced on August 23d, in the Place des Victoires.
Bulletins were published daily of its progress, but, as the crowd was
found to be immense, it was moved on the night of the 26th to the
Champ-de-Mars, a distance of two miles. It was done secretly and in the
dark, to avoid a mob.

A description by an eye-witness is as follows: "No more wonderful scene
could be imagined than the balloon being thus conveyed, preceded by
lighted torches, surrounded by a _cortege_, and escorted by a
detachment of foot and horse-guards; the nocturnal march, the form and
capacity of the body carried with so much precaution; the silence that
reigned, the unseasonable hour, all tended to give a singularity and
mystery truly imposing to all those who were unacquainted with the
cause. The cab-drivers on the road were so astonished that they were
impelled to stop their carriages, and to kneel humbly, hat in hand,
while the procession was passing."

In the morning the Champ-de-Mars was lined with troops, every house to
its very top, and every avenue, was crowded with anxious spectators. The
discharge of a cannon at 5 P.M. was the signal for ascent, and the globe
rose, to the great surprise of the spectators, to a height of three
thousand one hundred twenty-three feet in two minutes, where it entered
the clouds. The heavy rain which descended as it rose did not impede,
and tended to increase, surprise. The idea that a body leaving the earth
was travelling in space was so sublime, and appeared to differ so
greatly from ordinary laws, that all the spectators were overwhelmed
with enthusiasm. The satisfaction was so great that ladies in the
greatest fashions allowed themselves to be drenched with rain, to avoid
losing sight of the globe for an instant.

The balloon, after remaining in the atmosphere three-quarters of an
hour, fell in a field near Gonesse, a village fifteen miles from the
Champ-de-Mars. The descent was imputed to a tear in the silk.

The effect on the inhabitants of this village well illustrates that the
human character with an unawakened intellect is the same in all
countries and ages:

"For on first sight it is supposed by many to have come from another
world; many fly; others, more sensible, think it a monstrous bird. After
it has alighted, there is yet motion in it from the gas it still
contains. A small crowd gains courage from numbers, and for an hour
approaches by gradual steps, hoping meanwhile the monster will take
flight. At length one bolder than the rest takes his gun, stalks
carefully to within shot, fires, witnesses the monster shrink, gives a
shout of triumph, and the crowd rushes in with flails and pitchforks.
One tears what he thinks to be the skin, and causes a poisonous stench;
again all retire. Shame, no doubt, now urges them on, and they tie the
cause of alarm to a horse's tail, who gallops across the country,
tearing it to shreds."

A similar tale has lately been told me as having occurred in Persia,
where a fire-balloon was let off by some French visitors to the Shah's
palace at Teheran, when it alighted. No less than three shots were fired
at it when on the ground, before anyone would venture nearer.

It is no wonder, then, that the paternal government of France deemed it
necessary to publish the following "_avertissement_" to the public:


"INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE ON THE ASCENT OF BALLOONS, OR GLOBES, IN THE
AIR


                                       "PARIS, August 27, 1783.

     "The one in question has been raised in Paris this said day,
     August 27, 1783, at 5 P.M., in the Champ-de-Mars.

     "A discovery has been made, which the Government deems it
     right to make known, so that alarm be not occasioned to the
     people.

     "On calculating the different weights of inflammable and
     common air, it has been found that a balloon filled with
     inflammable air will rise toward heaven till it is in
     equilibrium with the surrounding air; which may not happen
     till it has attained a great height.

     "The first experiment was made at Annonay, in Vivarais, by
     Messrs. Montgolfier, the inventors. A globe formed of canvas
     and paper, 105 feet in circumference, filled with
     inflammable air, reached an incalculated height.

     "The same experiment has just been renewed at Paris (August
     27th, 5 P.M.), in presence of a great crowd. A globe of
     taffeta, covered with elastic gum, thirty-six feet in
     circumference, has risen from the Champ-de-Mars, and been
     lost to view in the clouds, being borne in a northeasterly
     direction; one cannot foresee where it will descend.

     "It is proposed to repeat these experiments on a larger
     scale. Any one who shall see in the sky such a globe (which
     resembles the moon in shadow) should be aware that, far from
     being an alarming phenomenon, it is only a machine, made of
     taffeta or light canvas, covered with paper, that cannot
     possibly cause any harm, and which will some day prove
     serviceable to the wants of society.

    "Read and approved, September 3, 1783.
                                         "DE SAUVIGNY.
    "Permission for printing.             LENOIR."



Balloons made of paper and goldbeater's-skin were now sent up by
amateurs from all places which this intelligence reached; and in
September another important step was made, an account of which, and of
the ascents which followed during the next two years, I take from the
quaint but graphic _History of Aërostation_, by Tiberius Cavallo.

Tiberius Cavallo was an electrician and natural philosopher, born at
Naples, 1749. He came to England in 1771, where he devoted his time to
science and literature till his death, in 1809.

On September 19, 1783, the King, Queen,[31] the court, and innumerable
people of every rank and age assembled at Versailles, Jacques
Montgolfier being present to explain every particular. About one o'clock
the fire was lighted, in consequence of which the machine began to
swell, acquired a convex form, soon stretched itself on every side, and
in eleven minutes' time, the cords being cut, it ascended, together with
a wicker cage, which was fastened to it by a rope. In this cage they had
put a sheep, a cock, and a duck, which were the first animals that ever
ascended into the atmosphere with an aërostatic machine. When the
machine went up, its power of ascension or levity was six hundred
ninety-six pounds, allowing for the cage and animals.

The machine raised itself to the height of about one thousand four
hundred forty feet; and being carried by the wind, it fell gradually in
the wood of Vaucresson, at the distance of ten thousand two hundred feet
from Versailles, after remaining in the atmosphere only eight minutes.
Two game-keepers, who were accidentally in the wood, saw the machine
fall very gently, so that it just bent the branches of the trees upon
which it alighted. The long rope to which the cage was fastened,
striking against the wood, was broken, and the cage came to the ground
without hurting in the least the animals that were in it, so that the
sheep was even found feeding. The cock, indeed, had its right wing
somewhat hurt; but this was the consequence of a kick it had received
from the sheep, at least half an hour before, in presence of at least
ten witnesses.

It has been sufficiently demonstrated by experiments that little or no
danger is to be apprehended by a man who ascends with such an aërostatic
machine. The steadiness of the aërostat while in the air, its gradual
and gentle descent, the safety of the animals that were sent up with it
in the last-mentioned experiment, and every other observation that could
be deduced from all the experiments hitherto made in this new field of
inquiry seem more than sufficient to expel any fear for such an
enterprise; but as no man had yet ventured in it, and as most of the
attempts at flying, or of ascending into the atmosphere, on the most
plausible schemes, had from time immemorial destroyed the reputation or
the lives of the adventurers, we may easily imagine and forgive the
hesitation that men might express, of going up with one of those
machines: and history will probably record, to the remotest posterity,
the name of M. Pilâtre de Rozier, who had the courage of first venturing
to ascend with a machine, which in a few years hence the most timid
woman will perhaps not hesitate to trust herself to.

The King, aware of the difficulties, ordered that two men under sentence
of death should be sent up; but Pilâtre de Rozier was indignant, saying,
"_Eh quoi! de vils criminels auraient les premiers la gloire de s'élever
dans les airs! Non, non cela ne sera point!_" ("What! Vile criminals to
have the glory of the first aërial ascension! No, not on any account!")
He stirs up the city in his behalf, and the King at length yields to the
earnest entreaties of the Marquis d'Arlandes, who said that he would
accompany him.

Scarce ten months had elapsed since M. Montgolfier made his first
aërostatic experiment, when M. Pilâtre de Rozier publicly offered
himself to be the first adventurer in the newly invented aërial machine.
His offer was accepted; his courage remained undaunted; and on October
15, 1783, he actually ascended, to the astonishment of a gazing
multitude. The following are the particulars of this experiment:

"The accident which happened to the aërostatic machine at Versailles,
and its imperfect construction, induced M. Montgolfier to construct
another machine, of a larger size and more solid. With this intent,
sufficient time was allowed for the work to be properly done; and by
October 10th the aërostat was completed, in a garden in the Faubourg
St.-Antoine. It had an oval shape; its diameter being about forty-eight
feet, and its height about seventy-four. The outside was elegantly
painted and decorated with the signs of the zodiac, with the cipher of
the King's name in _fleurs-de-lis_, etc. The aperture or lower part of
the machine had a wicker gallery about three feet broad, with a
balustrade both within and without about three feet high. The inner
diameter of this gallery, and of the aperture of the machine, the neck
of which passed through it, was near sixteen feet. In the middle of this
aperture an iron grate or brazier was supported by chains which came
down from the sides of the machine.

"In this construction, when the machine was in the air, with a fire
lighted in the grate, it was easy for a person who stood in the gallery,
and had fuel with him, to keep up the fire in the mouth of the machine,
by throwing the fuel on the grate through port-holes made in the neck of
the machine. By this means it was expected, as indeed it was found by
experience, that the machine might have been kept up as long as the
person in its gallery thought proper, or while he had fuel to supply the
fire with. The weight of this aërostat was upward of 16,000 pounds.

"On Wednesday, October 15th, this memorable experiment was performed.
The fire being lighted, and the machine inflated, M. Pilâtre de Rozier
placed himself in the gallery, and, after a few trials close to the
ground, he desired to ascend to a great height; the machine was
accordingly permitted to rise, and it ascended as high as the ropes,
which were purposely placed to detain it, would allow, which was about
eighty-four feet from the ground. There M. de Rozier kept the machine
afloat during four minutes twenty-five seconds, by throwing straw and
wool into the grate to keep up the fire; then the machine descended very
gently; but such was its tendency to ascend, that after touching the
ground, the moment M. de Rozier came out of the gallery, it rebounded
again to a considerable height. The intrepid adventurer, returning from
the sky, assured his friends, and the multitude that gazed on him with
admiration, with wonder, and with fear, that he had not experienced the
least inconvenience, either in going up, in remaining there, or in
descending; no giddiness, no incommoding motion, no shock whatever. He
received the compliments due to his courage and audacity, having shown
the world the accomplishment of that which had been for ages desired,
but attempted in vain.

"On October 17th, M. Pilâtre de Rozier repeated the experiment with
nearly the same success as he had two days before. The machine was
elevated to about the same height, being still detained by ropes; but
the wind being strong, it did not sustain itself so well, and
consequently did not afford so fine a spectacle to the concourse of
people, which at this time was much greater than at the preceding
experiment.

"On the Sunday following, which was the 19th, the weather proving
favorable, M. Montgolfier employed his machine to make the following
experiments. At half past four o'clock the machine was filled, in five
minutes' time; then M. Pilâtre de Rozier placed himself in the gallery,
a counterpoise of 100 pounds being put in the opposite side of it, to
preserve the balance. The size of the gallery had now been diminished.
The machine was permitted to ascend to the height of about 210 feet,
where it remained during six minutes, not having any fire in the grate;
and then it descended very gently.

"Soon after, everything remaining as before, except that now a fire was
put into the grate, the machine was permitted to ascend to about 262
feet, where it remained stationary during eight minutes and a half. On
pulling it down, a gust of wind carried it over some large trees in an
adjoining garden, where it would have been in great danger had not M. de
Rozier, with great presence of mind and address, increased the fire by
throwing some straw upon it; by which means the machine was extricated
from so dangerous a situation, and rose majestically to its former
situation, among the acclamations of the spectators. On descending, M.
de Rozier threw some straw upon the fire, which made the machine ascend
once more, remaining up for about the same length of time.

"This experiment showed that the aërostat may be made to ascend and
descend at the pleasure of those who are in it; to effect which, they
have nothing more to do than to increase or diminish the fire in the
grate; which was an important point in the subject of aërostation.

"After this, the machine was raised again with two persons in its
gallery, M. Pilâtre de Rozier and M. Girond de Villette, the latter of
whom was therefore the second aërostatic adventurer. The machine
ascended to the height of about 300 feet, where it remained perfectly
steady for at least nine minutes, hovering over Paris, in sight of its
numerous inhabitants, many of whom could plainly distinguish, through
telescopes, the aërostatic adventurers, and especially M. de Rozier, who
was busy in managing the fire. When the machine came down, the Marquis
d'Arlandes, a major of infantry, took the place of M. Villette, and the
balloon was sent up once more. This last experiment was attended with
the same success as the preceding; which proved that the persons who
ascended with the machine did not suffer the least inconvenience, owing
to the gradual and gentle ascent and descent of the machine, and to its
steadiness or equilibrium while it remained in the air.

"If we consider for a moment the sensation which these first aërial
adventurers must have felt in their exalted situation, we can almost
feel the contagion of their thrilling experience ourselves. Imagine a
man elevated to such a height, into immense space, by means altogether
new, viewing under his feet, like a map, a vast tract of country, with
one of the greatest existing cities--the streets and environs of which
were crowded with spectators--attentive to him alone, and all expressing
in every possible manner their amazement and anxiety. Reflect on the
prospect, the encomiums, and the consequences; then see if your mind
remains in a state of quiet indifference.

"An instructive observation may be derived from these experiments; which
is, that when an aërostatic machine is attached to the earth by
ropes--especially when it is at a considerable height--the wind, blowing
on it, will drive it in its own horizontal direction; so that the cords
which hold the machine must make an angle with the horizon (which is
greater when the wind is stronger, and contrariwise); in consequence of
which the machine must be severely strained, it being acted on by three
forces in three different directions; namely, its power of ascension,
the tension of the ropes, which is opposite to the first, and the action
of the wind, which is across the other two. It is therefore infinitely
more judicious to abandon the machine entirely to the air, because it
will then stand perfectly balanced, and, therefore, under no strain
whatever."

In consequence of the report of the foregoing experiments, signed by the
commissaries of the Academy of Sciences, that learned and respectable
body ordered: (1) That the said report should be printed and published;
and (2) that the annual prize of six hundred livres, from the fund
provided by an anonymous citizen, be given to Messrs. Montgolfier, for
the year 1783.

FOOTNOTES:

[31] Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette.




FRAMING OF THE CONSTITUTION OF THE UNITED STATES

A.D. 1787

ANDREW W. YOUNG            JOSEPH STORY

     It was a "critical period of American history" in which the
     fundamental or organic law of the United States, the Federal
     Constitution, was formulated. That instrument has not only
     commanded the reverence of American patriots--statesmen and
     people--during a century and more; it has engaged the
     attentive study and aroused the respect and admiration of
     foreign students and critics of political institutions.
     "After all deductions," says Bryce, it "ranks above every
     other written constitution, for the intrinsic excellence of
     its scheme, its adaptation to the circumstances of the
     people, the simplicity, brevity, and precision of its
     language, its judicious mixture of definiteness in principle
     with elasticity in details."

     The story of this Constitution is as plain and simple as any
     in American annals; yet its real features have sometimes
     been missed even by friendly commentators. It is a mistake
     to say, with Gladstone, that "it is the greatest work ever
     struck off at any one time by the mind and purpose of man,"
     for the true record of its making shows how deliberate and
     difficult the process was. Equally misleading is the
     judgment of so profound a master in legal history as Sir
     Henry Sumner Maine, when he says that the "Constitution of
     the United States is a modified version of the British
     Constitution which was in existence between 1760 and 1787."

     A juster view is held by the critical scholars of America, a
     view which indeed should be deducible, without need of
     special scholarship, from the recorded history of the
     Constitutional period. "The real source of the
     Constitution," says a living American historian, "is the
     experience of Americans. They had established and developed
     admirable little commonwealths in the colonies; since the
     beginning of the Revolution they had had experience of State
     governments organized on a different basis from the
     colonial; and, finally, they had carried on two successive
     national governments, with which they had been profoundly
     discontented. The general outline of the new Constitution
     seems to be English; it was really colonial."

     From the year 1775 there was a federal union in which each
     colony regulated its internal affairs by its own
     constitution, while the general affairs of the union were
     controlled by the Continental Congress. This mode was
     substantially continued after the colonies (1776-1779)
     became States, with new State constitutions. It was not
     finally superseded until the Articles of Confederation,
     adopted by the Continental Congress in 1777, had been
     ratified by all the separate colonies or States. Under the
     articles a new government went into effect March 1, 1781.

     The Articles of Confederation proving inadequate to the
     requirements of the Federal Government, it came to be seen
     that a general revision of them was needed, and a convention
     for that purpose was called. This convention went beyond its
     original purpose, which proved impracticable, and took upon
     itself the task of framing wholly anew the present
     Constitution of the United States. The following accounts
     furnish the reader with the circumstances which directly led
     to the calling of the convention, and with a clear and
     concise report of its proceedings and the subsequent action
     thereon taken by the States.


ANDREW W. YOUNG

The day appointed for the assembling of the Convention[32] to revise the
Articles of Confederation was May 14, 1787. Delegations from a majority
of the States did not attend until the 25th, on which day the business
of the convention commenced. The delegates from New Hampshire did not
arrive until July 23d. Rhode Island did not appoint delegates.

A political body combining greater talents, wisdom, and patriotism, or
whose labors have produced results more beneficial to the cause of civil
and religious liberty, has probably never assembled. The two most
distinguished members were Washington and Franklin, to whom the eyes of
the convention were directed for a presiding officer. Washington, having
been nominated by Lewis Morris, of Pennsylvania, was elected president
of the convention. William Jackson was appointed secretary. The rules of
proceeding adopted by the convention were chiefly the same as those of
Congress. A quorum was to consist of the deputies of at least seven
States, and all questions were to be decided by the greater number of
those which were fully represented--at least two delegates being
necessary to constitute a full representation. Another rule was the
injunction of secrecy upon all their proceedings.

The first important question determined by the convention was, whether
the confederation should be amended or a new government formed? The
delegates of some States had been instructed only to amend. And the
resolution of Congress sanctioning a call for a convention recommended
it "for the sole and express purpose of revising the Articles of
Confederation." A majority, however, considering the plan of
confederation radically defective, resolved to form "a national
government, consisting of a supreme judicial, legislative, and
executive." The objection to the new system on the ground of previous
instructions was deemed of little weight, as any plan that might be
agreed on would necessarily be submitted to the people of the States for
ratification.

In conformity with this decision Edmund Randolph, of Virginia, on May
29th, offered fifteen resolutions, containing the outlines of a plan of
government for the consideration of the convention. These resolutions
proposed: That the voice of each State in the National Legislature
should be in proportion to its taxes or to its free population; that the
Legislature should consist of two branches, the members of the first to
be elected by the people of the States, those of the second to be chosen
by the members of the first, out of a proper number of persons nominated
by the State legislatures; and the National Legislature to be vested
with all the powers of "Congress under the Confederation," with the
additional power to legislate in all cases to which the separate States
were incompetent; to negative all State laws which should, in the
opinion of the National Legislature, be repugnant to the Articles of
Union or to any treaty subsisting under them; to call out the force of
the Union against any State refusing to fulfil its duty:

That there should be a national executive, to be chosen by the National
Legislature, and to be ineligible a second time. The executive, with a
convenient number of the national judiciary, was to constitute a council
of revision, with a qualified negative upon all laws, State and
national:

A national judiciary, the judges to hold their offices during good
behavior.

In discussing this plan, called the "Virginia plan," the lines of party
were distinctly drawn. We have already had occasion to allude to the
jealousy, on the part of States, of the power of the General Government.
A majority of the peculiar friends of State rights in the convention
were from the small States. These States, apprehending danger from the
overwhelming power of a strong national government, as well as from the
combined power of the large States, represented in proportion to their
wealth and population, were unwilling to be deprived of their equal vote
in Congress. Not less strenuously did the friends of the national plan
insist on a proportional representation. This opposition of sentiment,
which divided the convention into parties, did not terminate with the
proceedings of that body, but has at times marked the politics of the
nation down to the present day. It is worthy of remark, however, that
the most jealous regard for State rights now prevails in States in which
the plan of a national government then found its ablest and most zealous
advocates.

The plan suggested by Randolph's resolutions was the subject of
deliberation for about two weeks, when, having been in several respects
modified in committee, and reduced to form, it was reported to the
House. It contained the following provisions:

A national legislature to consist of two branches, the first to be
elected by the people for three years; the second to be chosen by the
State legislatures for seven years, the members of both branches to be
apportioned on the basis finally adopted; the Legislature to possess
powers nearly the same as those originally proposed by Edmund Randolph.
The executive was to consist of a single person to be chosen by the
National Legislature for seven years, and limited to a single term, and
to have a qualified veto; all bills not approved by him to be passed by
a vote of three-fourths of both Houses in order to become laws. A
national judiciary to consist of a supreme court, the judges to be
appointed by the second branch of the Legislature for the term of good
behavior, and of such inferior courts as Congress might think proper to
establish.

This plan being highly objectionable to the State rights party, a scheme
agreeable to their views was submitted by William Paterson, of New
Jersey. This scheme, called the "New Jersey plan," proposed no
alteration in the constitution of the Legislature, but simply to give it
the additional power to raise a revenue by duties on foreign goods
imported, and by stamp and postage taxes; to regulate trade with foreign
nations and among the States; and, when requisitions made upon the
States were not complied with, to collect them by its own authority.
The plan proposed a federal executive, to consist of a number of persons
selected by Congress; and a federal judiciary, the judges to be
appointed by the executive, and to hold their offices during good
behavior.

The Virginia and New Jersey plans were now (June 19th) referred to a new
committee of the whole. Another debate arose, in which the powers of the
convention was the principal subject of discussion. It was again urged
that their power had been, by express instruction, limited to an
amendment of the existing confederation, and that the new system would
not be adopted by the States. The vote was taken on the 19th, and the
propositions of William Paterson were rejected; only New York, New
Jersey, and Delaware voting in the affirmative; seven States in the
negative, and the members from Maryland equally divided.

Randolph's propositions, as modified and reported by the committee of
the whole, were now taken up and considered separately. The division of
the Legislature into two branches, a House of Representatives and a
Senate, was agreed to almost unanimously, one State only, Pennsylvania,
dissenting; but the proposition to apportion the members to the States
according to population was violently opposed. The small States insisted
strenuously on retaining an equal vote in the Legislature, but at length
consented to a proportional representation in the House on condition
that they should have an equal vote in the Senate.

Accordingly, on June 29th, Oliver Ellsworth, of Connecticut, offered a
motion, "that in the second branch, each State shall have an equal
vote." This motion gave rise to a protracted and vehement debate. It was
supported by Messrs. Ellsworth; Baldwin, of Georgia; Bradford, of
Delaware, and others. It was urged on the ground of the necessity of a
compromise between the friends of the confederation and those of a
national government, and as a measure which would secure tranquillity
and meet the objections of the larger States. Equal representation in
one branch would make the government partly federal, and a proportional
representation in the other would make it partly national. Equality in
the second branch would enable the small States to protect themselves
against the combined power of the large States. Fears were expressed
that without this advantage to the small States, it would be in the
power of a few large States to control the rest. The small States, it
was said, must possess this power of self-defence, or be ruined.

The motion was opposed by Messrs. Madison, Wilson, of Pennsylvania;
King, of Massachusetts, and Dr. Franklin. Mr. Madison thought there was
no danger from the quarter from which it was apprehended. The great
source of danger to the General Government was the opposing interests of
the North and the South, as would appear from the votes of Congress,
which had been divided by geographical lines, not according to the size
of the States. James Wilson objected to State equality; that it would
enable one-fourth of the Union to control three-fourths. Respecting the
danger of the three larger States combining together to give rise to a
monarchy or an aristocracy, he thought it more probable that a rivalship
would exist between them than that they would unite in a confederacy.
Rufus King said the rights of Scotland were secure from all danger,
though in the Parliament she had a small representation. Dr. Franklin,
now in his eighty-second year, said, as it was not easy to see what the
greater States could gain by swallowing up the smaller, he did not
apprehend they would attempt it. In voting by States--the mode then
existing--it was equally in the power of the smaller States to swallow
up the greater. He thought the number of representatives ought to bear
some proportion to the number of the represented.

On July 2d the question was taken on Mr. Ellsworth's motion, and lost:
Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Delaware, and Maryland voting in the
affirmative; Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, Virginia, North Carolina, and
South Carolina in the negative; Georgia divided. It will be remembered
that the delegates from New Hampshire were not yet present, and that
Rhode Island had appointed none. This has been regarded by some as a
fortunate circumstance, as the votes of these two small States would
probably have given an equal vote to the States in both Houses, if not
have defeated the plan of national government.

The excitement now became intense, and the convention seemed to be on
the point of dissolution. Luther Martin, of Maryland, who had taken a
leading part in advocating the views of the State rights party, said
each State must have an equal vote, or the business of the convention
was at an end. It having become apparent that this unhappy result could
be avoided only by a compromise, Roger Sherman, of Connecticut, moved
the appointment of a committee of conference, to consist of one member
from each State, and the motion prevailed. The convention then adjourned
for three days, thus giving time for consultation, and an opportunity to
celebrate the anniversary of independence.

The report of this committee, which was made on July 5th, proposed: (1)
That in the first branch of the Legislature each State should have one
representative for every forty thousand inhabitants (three-fifths of the
slaves being counted); that each State not containing that number should
be allowed one representative; and that money bills should originate in
this branch; (2) that in the second branch each State should have one
vote. These propositions were reported, it is said, at the suggestion of
Dr. Franklin, one of the committee of conference.

The report, of course, met with greater favor from the State rights
party than from their opponents. The equal vote in the Senate continued
to receive the most determined opposition from the National party. In
relation to the rule of representation in the first branch of the
Legislature, also, a great diversity of opinion prevailed. The
conflicting interests to be reconciled in the settlement of this
question, however, were those of the Northern and Southern, commercial
and planting, rather than the imaginary interests of small and large
States.

In settling a rule of apportionment, several questions were to be
considered: What should be the number of representatives in the first
branch of the Legislature? Ought the number from each State to be fixed,
or to increase with the increase of population? Ought population alone
to be the basis of apportionment, or should property be taken into
account? Whatever rule might be adopted, no apportionment founded upon
population could be made until an enumeration of the inhabitants should
have been taken. The number of representatives was, therefore, for the
time being, fixed at sixty-five, and apportioned as directed by the
Constitution.

In establishing a rule of future apportionment, great diversity of
opinion was expressed. Although slavery then existed in all the States
except Massachusetts, the great mass of the slave population was in the
Southern States. These States claimed a representation according to
numbers, bond and free, while the Northern States were in favor of a
representation according to the number of free persons only. This rule
was forcibly urged by several of the Northern delegates. Mr. Paterson
regarded slaves only as property. They were not represented in the
States; why should they be in the General Government? They were not
allowed to vote; why should they be represented? It was an encouragement
of the slave trade. Said Mr. Wilson: "Are they admitted as citizens?
Then why not on an equality with citizens? Are they admitted as
property? Then why is not other property admitted into the computation?"
A large portion of the members of the convention, from both sections of
the Union, aware that neither extreme could be carried, favored the
proposition to count the whole number of free citizens and three-fifths
of all others.

Prior to this discussion, a select committee, to whom this subject had
been referred, had reported in favor of a distribution of the members on
the basis of wealth and numbers, to be regulated by the Legislature.
Before the question was taken on this report, a proviso was moved and
agreed to that direct taxes should be in proportion to representation.
Subsequently a proposition was moved for reckoning three-fifths of the
slaves in estimating taxes, and making taxation the basis of
representation, which was adopted, New Jersey and Delaware against it,
Massachusetts and South Carolina divided; New York not represented, her
three delegates being all absent. Yates and Lansing, both of the State
rights party, considering their powers explicitly confined to a revision
of the confederation, and being chagrined at the defeat of their
attempts to secure an equal vote in the first branch of the Legislature,
had left the convention, not to return. From that time (July 11th) New
York had no vote in the convention. Alexander Hamilton had left before
the others, to be absent six weeks; and though he returned and took part
in the deliberations, the State, not having two delegates present, was
not entitled to a vote. On the 23d Gilman and Langdon, the delegates
from New Hampshire, arrived, when eleven States were again represented.

The term of service of members of the first branch was reduced to two
years, and of those of the second branch to six years; one-third of the
members of the latter to go out of office every two years; the
representation in this body to consist of two members from each State,
voting individually, as in the other branch, and not by States, as under
the confederation. Sundry other modifications were made in the
provisions relating to this department.

The reported plan of the executive department was next considered. After
much discussion, and several attempts to strike out the ineligibility of
the executive a second time, and to change the term of office and the
mode of election, these provisions were retained.

The report of the committee of the whole, as amended, was accepted by
the convention, and, together with the New Jersey plan, and a third
drawn by Charles Pinckney, of South Carolina, was referred to a
committee of detail, consisting of Messrs. Rutledge, Randolph, Gorham,
Ellsworth, and Wilson, who, on August 6th, after an adjournment of ten
days, reported the Constitution in proper form, having inserted some new
provisions and altered certain others. Our prescribed limits forbid a
particular account of the subsequent alterations which the Constitution
received before it was finally adopted by the convention. There is one
provision, however, which, as it forms one of the great "Compromises of
the Constitution," deserves notice.

To render the Constitution acceptable to the Southern States, which were
the principal exporting States, the committee of detail had inserted a
clause providing that no duties should be laid on exports, or on slaves
imported; and another, that no navigation act might be passed except by
a two-thirds vote. By depriving Congress of the power of giving any
preference to American over foreign shipping, it was designed to secure
cheap transportation to Southern exports. As the shipping was
principally owned in the Eastern States, their delegates were equally
anxious to prevent any restriction of the power of Congress to pass
navigation laws. All the States, except North Carolina, South Carolina,
and Georgia, had prohibited the importation of slaves; and North
Carolina had proceeded so far as to discourage the importation by heavy
duties. The prohibition of duties on the importation of slaves was
demanded by the delegates from South Carolina and Georgia, who declared
that, without a provision of this kind, the Constitution would not
receive the assent of these States. The support which the proposed
restriction received from other States was given to it from a
disposition to compromise, rather than from an approval of the measure
itself. The proposition not only gave rise to a discussion of its own
merits, but revived the opposition to the apportionment of
representatives according to the three-fifths ratio, and called forth
some severe denunciations of slavery.

Rufus King, in reference to the admission of slaves as a part of the
representative population, remarked: "He had not made a strenuous
opposition to it heretofore because he had hoped that this concession
would have produced a readiness, which had not been manifested, to
strengthen the General Government. The report of the committee put an
end to all these hopes. The importation of slaves could not be
prohibited; exports could not be taxed. If slaves are to be imported,
shall not the exports produced by their labor supply a revenue to help
the government defend their masters? There was so much inequality and
unreasonableness in all this that the people of the Northern States
could never be reconciled to it. He had hoped that some accommodation
would have taken place on the subject; that at least a time would have
been limited for the importation of slaves. He could never agree to let
them be imported without limitation, and then be represented in the
National Legislature. Either slaves should not be represented, or
exports should be taxable."

Gouverneur Morris pronounced slavery "a nefarious institution. It was
the curse of Heaven on the States where it prevailed. Compare the free
regions of the Middle States, where a rich and noble cultivation marks
the prosperity and happiness of the people, with the misery and poverty
which overspread the barren wastes of Virginia, Maryland, and the other
States having slaves. Travel through the whole continent, and you behold
the prospect continually varying with the appearance and disappearance
of slavery. The admission of slaves into the representation, when fairly
explained, comes to this, that the inhabitant of Georgia and South
Carolina, who goes to the coast of Africa in defiance of the most sacred
laws of humanity, tears away his fellow-creatures from their dearest
connections, and damns them to the most cruel bondage, shall have more
votes in a government instituted for the protection of the rights of
mankind, than the citizen of Pennsylvania and New Jersey, who views with
a laudable horror so nefarious a practice.

"And what is the proposed compensation to the Northern States for a
sacrifice of every principle of right, every impulse of humanity? They
are to bind themselves to march their militia for the defence of the
Southern States, against those very slaves of whom they complain. The
Legislature will have indefinite power to tax them by excises and duties
on imports, both of which will fall heavier on them than on the Southern
inhabitants; for the Bohea tea used by a Northern freeman will pay more
tax than the whole consumption of the miserable slave, which consists of
nothing more than his physical subsistence and the rag which covers his
nakedness. On the other side, the Southern States are not to be
restrained from importing fresh supplies of wretched Africans, at once
to increase the danger of attack and the difficulty of defence; nay,
they are to be encouraged to it by an assurance of having their votes in
the National Government increased in proportion, and, at the same time,
are to have their slaves and their exports exempt from all contributions
to the public service." Gouverneur Morris moved to make the free
population alone the basis of representation.

Roger Sherman, who had on other occasions manifested a disposition to
compromise, again favored the Southern side. He "did not regard the
admission of the negroes as liable to such insuperable objections. It
was the freemen of the Southern States who were to be represented
according to the taxes paid by them, and the negroes are only included
in the estimate of the taxes."

After some further discussion the question was taken upon Morris'
motion, and lost, New Jersey only voting for it.

With respect to prohibiting any restriction upon the importation of
slaves, Luther Martin, of Maryland, who moved to allow a tax upon slaves
imported, remarked: "As five slaves in the apportionment of
representatives were reckoned as equal to three freemen, such a
permission amounted to an encouragement of the slave trade. Slaves
weakened the Union which the other parts were bound to protect; the
privilege of importing them was therefore unreasonable. Such a feature
in the Constitution was inconsistent with the principles of the
Revolution, and dishonorable to the American character."

John Rutledge "did not see how this section would encourage the
importation of slaves. He was not apprehensive of insurrections, and
would readily exempt the other States from every obligation to protect
the South. Religion and humanity had nothing to do with this question.
Interest alone is the governing principle with nations. The true
question at present is, whether the Southern States shall or shall not
be parties to the Union? If the Northern States consult their interest,
they will not oppose the increase of slaves, which will increase the
commodities of which they will become the carriers."

Oliver Ellsworth said: "Let every State import what it pleases. The
morality or wisdom of slavery is a consideration belonging to the
States. What enriches a part enriches the whole, and the States are the
best judges of their particular interests."

Charles Pinckney said: "South Carolina can never receive the plan if it
prohibits the slave trade. If the States be left at liberty on this
subject, South Carolina may, perhaps, by degrees, do of herself what is
wished, as Maryland and Virginia already have done."

Roger Sherman concurred with his colleague Mr. Ellsworth. "He
disapproved of the slave trade; but as the States now possessed the
right, and the public good did not require it to be taken away, and as
it was expedient to have as few objections as possible to the proposed
scheme of government, he would leave the matter as he found it. The
abolition of slavery seemed to be going on, and the good sense of the
several States would probably, by degrees, soon complete it."

George Mason said: "Slavery discourages arts and manufactures. The poor
despise labor when performed by slaves. They prevent the immigration of
whites, who really enrich and strengthen a country. They produce a
pernicious effect on manners. Every master of slaves is born a petty
tyrant. They bring the judgment of Heaven on a country. He lamented
that some of our Eastern brethren, from a lust of gain, had embarked in
this nefarious traffic. As to the States being in possession of the
right to import, that was the case of many other rights now to be given
up. He held it essential, in every point of view, that the General
Government should have power to prevent the increase of slavery."

Ellsworth, not well pleased with this thrust at his slave-trading
friends at the North by a slaveholder, tartly replied: "As I have never
owned a slave, I cannot judge of the effects of slavery on character;
but if slavery is to be considered in a moral light, the convention
ought to go further, and free those already in the country." The
opposition of Virginia and Maryland to the importation of slaves he
attributed to the fact that, on account of their rapid increase in those
States, "it was cheaper to raise them there than to import them, while
in the sickly rice-swamps foreign supplies were necessary. If we stop
short with prohibiting their importation, we shall be unjust to South
Carolina and Georgia. Let us not intermeddle. As population increases,
poor laborers will be so plenty as to render slaves useless. Slavery, in
time, will not be a speck in our country."

Delegates from South Carolina and Georgia repeated the declaration that
"if the slave trade were prohibited, these States would not adopt the
Constitution." "Virginia," it was said, "would gain by stopping the
importation, she having slaves to sell; but it would be unjust to South
Carolina and Georgia to be deprived of the right of importing. Besides,
the importation of slaves would be a benefit to the whole Union: The
more slaves, the more produce, the greater carrying trade, the more
consumption, the more revenue."

The injustice of exempting slaves from duty, while every other import
was subject to it, having been urged by several members in the course of
the debate, Charles Pinckney expressed his consent to a tax not
exceeding the same on other imports, and moved to refer the subject to a
committee. The motion was seconded by John Rutledge, and, at the
suggestion of Gouverneur Morris, was so modified as to include the
clauses relating to navigation laws and taxes on exports. The commitment
was opposed by Messrs. Sherman and Ellsworth; the former on the ground
that taxes on slaves imported implied that they were property; the
latter from the fear of losing two States. Edmund Randolph was in favor
of the motion, hoping to find some middle ground upon which they could
unite. The motion prevailed, and the subject was referred to a committee
of one from each State. The committee retained the prohibition of duties
on exports; struck out the restriction on the enactment of navigation
laws; and left the importation of slaves unrestricted until the year
1800; permitting Congress, however, to impose a duty upon the
importation.

The debate upon this report of the "grand committee" is condensed, by
Hildreth, into the two following paragraphs:

"Williamson declared himself, both in opinion and practice, against
slavery; but he thought it more in favor of humanity, from a view of all
circumstances, to let in South Carolina and Georgia on these terms, than
to exclude them from the Union. Sherman again objected to the tax, as
acknowledging men to be property. Gorham replied that the duty ought to
be considered, not as implying that men are property, but as a
discouragement to their importation. Sherman said the duty was too small
to bear that character. Madison thought it 'wrong to admit, in the
Constitution, the idea that there could be property in man'; and the
phraseology of one clause was subsequently altered to avoid any such
implication. Gouverneur Morris objected that the clause gave Congress
power to tax freemen imported; to which George Mason replied that such a
power was necessary to prevent the importation of convicts. A motion to
extend the time from 1800 to 1808, made by Pinckney, and seconded by
Gorham, was carried against New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, and
Virginia; Massachusetts, Connecticut, and New Hampshire voting this time
with Georgia and South Carolina. That part of the report which struck
out the restriction on the enactment of navigation acts was opposed by
Charles Pinckney in a set speech, in which he enumerated five distinct
commercial interests: the fisheries and West India trade, belonging to
New England; the interest of New York in a free trade; wheat and flour,
the staples of New Jersey and Pennsylvania; tobacco, the staple of
Maryland and Virginia and partly of North Carolina; rice and indigo, the
staples of South Carolina and Georgia. The same ground was taken by
Williamson and Mason, and very warmly by Randolph, who declared that an
unlimited power in Congress to enact navigation laws would complete the
deformity of a system having already so many odious features that he
hardly knew if he could agree to it. Any restriction of the power of
Congress over commerce was warmly opposed by Gouverneur Morris, Wilson,
and Gorham. Madison also took the same side. Charles C. Pinckney did not
deny that it was the true interest of the South to have no regulation of
commerce; but considering the commercial losses of the Eastern States
during the Revolution, their liberal conduct toward the views of South
Carolina--in the vote just taken, giving eight years' further extension
to the slave trade--and the interest of the weak Southern States in
being united with the strong Eastern ones, he should go against any
restriction on the power of commercial regulation. 'He had himself
prejudices against the Eastern States before he came here, but would
acknowledge that he found them as liberal and candid as any men
whatever.' Butler and Rutledge took the same ground, and the same report
was adopted, against the votes of Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina,
and Georgia.

"Thus, by an understanding, or, as Gouverneur Morris called it, 'a
bargain,' between the commercial representatives of the Northern States
and the delegates of South Carolina and Georgia, and in spite of the
opposition of Maryland and Virginia, the unrestricted power of Congress
to pass navigation laws was conceded to the Northern merchants; and to
the Carolina rice-planters, as an equivalent, twenty years' continuance
of the African slave trade. This was the third 'Great Compromise' of the
Constitution. The other two were the concessions to the smaller States
of an equal representation in the Senate, and, to the slaveholders, the
counting of three-fifths of the slaves in determining the ratio of
representation. If this third compromise differed from the other two by
involving not only a political but a moral sacrifice, there was this
partial compensation about it, that it was not permanent, like the
others, but expired at the end of twenty years by its own limitation."

Of the important subjects remaining to be disposed of, that of the
executive department was, perhaps, the most difficult. The modified plan
of Edmund Randolph left the executive to be elected by the Legislature
for a single term of seven years. The election was subsequently given to
a college of electors, to be chosen in the States in such manner as the
legislatures of the States should direct. The term of service was
reduced from seven years to four years, and the restriction of the
office to a single term was removed. Numerous other amendments and
additions were made in going through with the draft. This amended draft
was referred, for final revision, to a committee consisting of Messrs.
Hamilton, Johnson, G. Morris, Madison, and King. Several amendments were
made even after this revision; one of which was the substitution of a
two-thirds for the three-fourths majority required to pass bills against
the veto of the President. Another was a proposition of Mr. Gorham, to
reduce the minimum ratio of representation from forty thousand, as it
stood, to thirty thousand, intended to conciliate certain members who
thought the House too small. This was offered the day on which the
Constitution was signed. General Washington having briefly addressed the
convention in favor of the proposed amendment, it was carried almost
unanimously.

The whole number of delegates who attended the convention was
fifty-five, of whom thirty-nine signed the Constitution. Of the
remaining sixteen, some had left the convention before its close; others
refused to give it their sanction. Several of the absentees were known
to be in favor of the Constitution.

Some, as has been observed, were opposed to the plan of a national
government, contending for the preservation of the confederation, with a
mere enlargement of its powers; others, though in favor of the plan
adopted, believed too much power had been given to the General
Government. Some thought that not only the powers of Congress, but those
of the executive, were too extensive; others that the executive was
"weak and contemptible," and without sufficient power to defend himself
against encroachments by the Legislature; others, still, that the
executive power of the nation ought not to be intrusted in a single
person. Although some deprecated the extensive powers of the Federal
Government as dangerous to the rights of the States, "ultra democracy"
seems to have had no representatives in the convention; while, on the
other hand, there were not a few who thought it unsafe to trust the
people with a direct exercise of power in the General Government.

Sherman and Gerry were opposed to the election of the first branch of
the Legislature by the people; as were some of the Southern delegates.
Others, among whom were Madison, Mason, and Wilson, thought no
republican government could be permanent in which the people were denied
a direct voice in the election of their representatives. Hamilton,
though in favor of making the first branch elective, proposed that the
Senate should be chosen by the people, and the executive by electors,
_chosen by electors_, who were to be chosen by the people in districts;
Senators and the President both to hold their offices during good
behavior. He was also, as were a few others, in favor of an absolute
executive veto on acts of the Legislature. He, however, signed the
Constitution, and urged others to do the same, as the only means of
preventing anarchy and confusion. While the proposed Constitution was in
every particular satisfactory to none, very few were disposed to
jeopardize the Union by the continuance of a system which _all_ admitted
to be inadequate to the objects of the Union. To the hope, therefore, of
finding the new plan an improvement on the old, and of amending its
defects if any should appear, is to be attributed the general sanction
which it received.

It is indeed remarkable that a plan of government, containing so many
provisions to which the most strenuous opposition was maintained to the
end, should have received the signatures of so large a majority of the
convention. Perhaps there never was another political body in which
views and interests more varied and opposite have been represented or a
greater diversity of opinion has prevailed. Nor is it less remarkable
that a system deemed so imperfect, not only by the mass of its framers,
but by a large portion of the eminent men who composed the State
conventions that ratified it, should have been found to answer so fully
the purpose of its formation as to require, during an experiment of more
than sixty years, no essential alteration; and that it should be
esteemed as a model form of republican government by the enlightened
friends of freedom in all countries.

Not a single provision of the Constitution, as it came from the hands of
the framers, except that which prescribed the mode of electing a
President and Vice-President, has received the slightest amendment. Of
the twelve articles styled "amendments," the first eleven are merely
additions; some of which were intended to satisfy the scruples of those
who objected to the Constitution as incomplete without a bill of rights,
supposing their common-law rights would be rendered more secure by an
express guarantee; others are explanatory of certain provisions of the
Constitution which were considered liable to misconstruction. The
twelfth article is the amendment changing the mode of electing the
President and Vice-President.

In the differences of opinion between the friends and opponents of the
Constitution originated the two great political parties into which the
people were divided during a period of about thirty years. It is
generally supposed that the term "Federalist" was first applied to those
who advocated the plan of the present Constitution. This opinion,
however, is not correct. Those members of the convention who were in
favor of the old plan of union, which was a simple confederation or
federal alliance of equal independent States, were called "Federalists,"
and their opponents "Anti-Federalists." After the new Constitution had
been submitted to the people for ratification, its friends, regarding
its adoption as indispensable to union, took the name of "Federalists,"
and bestowed upon the other party that of "Anti-Federalists," intimating
that to oppose the adoption of the Constitution was to oppose any union
of the States.

The new Constitution bears the date September 17, 1787. It was
immediately transmitted to Congress, with a recommendation to that body
to submit it to State conventions for ratification, which was
accordingly done. It was adopted by Delaware, December 7th; by
Pennsylvania, December 12th; by New Jersey, December 18th; by Georgia,
January 2d, 1788; by Connecticut, January 9th; by Massachusetts,
February 7th; by Maryland, April 28th; by South Carolina, May 23d; by
New Hampshire, June 21st, which, being the _ninth_ ratifying State, gave
effect to the Constitution. Virginia ratified June 27th; New York, July
26th; and North Carolina, conditionally, August 7th. Rhode Island did
not call a convention.

In Massachusetts, Virginia, and New York the new Constitution
encountered a most formidable opposition, which rendered its adoption
by these States for a time extremely doubtful. In their conventions were
men on both sides who had been members of the national convention,
associated with others of distinguished abilities. In Massachusetts
there were several adverse influences which would probably have defeated
the ratification in that State had it not been accompanied by certain
proposed amendments to be submitted by Congress to the several States
for ratification. The adoption of these by the convention gained for the
Constitution the support of Hancock and Samuel Adams; and the question
on ratification was carried by one hundred eighty-seven against one
hundred sixty-eight.

In the Virginia convention the Constitution was opposed by Patrick
Henry, James Monroe, and George Mason, the last of whom had been one of
the delegates to the constitutional convention. On the other side were
John Marshall, Edmund Pendleton, James Madison, George Wythe, and Edmund
Randolph, the three last also having been members of the national
convention. Randolph had refused to sign the Constitution, but had since
become one of its warmest advocates. In the convention of this State,
also, the ratification was aided by the adoption of a bill of rights and
certain proposed amendments, and was carried, eighty-eight yeas against
eighty nays.

In the convention of New York the opposition embraced a majority of its
members, among whom were Yates and Lansing, members of the general
convention, and George Clinton. The principal advocates of the
Constitution were John Jay, Robert R. Livingston, and Alexander
Hamilton. Strong efforts were made for a conditional ratification, which
were successfully opposed, though not without the previous adoption of a
bill of rights and numerous amendments. With these, the absolute
ratification was carried, thirty-one to twenty-nine.

The ratification of North Carolina was not received by Congress until
January, 1790; and that of Rhode Island not until June of the same year.

After the ratification of New Hampshire had been received by Congress,
the ratifications of the nine States were referred to a committee, who,
on July 14, 1788, reported a resolution for carrying the new government
into operation. The passage of the resolution, owing to the difficulty
of agreeing upon the place for the meeting of the first Congress, was
delayed until September 13th. The first Wednesday in January, 1789, was
appointed for choosing electors of President, and the first Wednesday in
February for the electors to meet in their respective States to vote for
President and Vice-President; and the first Wednesday, March 4th, as the
time, and New York as the place, to commence proceedings under the new
Constitution.


JOSEPH STORY

Commissioners were appointed by the Legislatures of Virginia and
Maryland, early in 1785, to form a compact relative to the navigation of
the Potomac and Pocomoke rivers and Chesapeake Bay. The commissioners,
having met in March in that year, felt the want of more enlarged powers,
and particularly of powers to provide for a local naval force, and a
tariff of duties upon imports. Upon receiving their recommendation, the
Legislature of Virginia passed a resolution for laying the subject of a
tariff before all the States composing the Union. Soon afterward, in
January, 1786, the Legislature adopted another resolution, appointing
commissioners, "who were to meet such as might be appointed by the other
States in the Union, at a time and place to be agreed on, to take into
consideration the trade of the United States; to examine the relative
situation and trade of the States; to consider how far a uniform system
in their commercial relations may be necessary to their common interest
and their permanent harmony; and to report to the several States such an
act, relative to this great object, as, when unanimously ratified by
them, will enable the United States in Congress assembled to provide for
the same."

These resolutions were communicated to the States, and a convention of
commissioners from five States only, viz., New York, New Jersey,
Pennsylvania, Delaware, and Virginia, met at Annapolis in September,
1786. After discussing the subject, they deemed more ample powers
necessary, and, as well from this consideration as because a small
number only of the States was represented, they agreed to come to no
decision, but to frame a report to be laid before the several States, as
well as before Congress. In this report they recommended the appointment
of commissioners from all the States, "to meet at Philadelphia, on the
second Monday of May next, to take into consideration the situation of
the United States; to devise such further provisions as shall appear to
them necessary to render the Constitution of the Federal Government
adequate to the exigencies of the Union; and to report such an act for
that purpose to the United States in Congress assembled as, when agreed
to by them, and afterward confirmed by the legislature of every State,
will effectually provide for the same."

On receiving this report the Legislature of Virginia passed an act for
the appointment of delegates to meet such as might be appointed by other
States, at Philadelphia. The report was also received in Congress, but
no step was taken until the Legislature of New York instructed its
delegation in Congress to move a resolution recommending to the several
States to appoint deputies to meet in convention for the purpose of
revising and proposing amendments to the Federal Constitution. On
February 21, 1787, a resolution was accordingly moved and carried in
Congress recommending a convention to meet in Philadelphia, on the
second Monday of May ensuing, "For the purpose of revising the Articles
of Confederation, and reporting to Congress and the several
legislatures, such alterations and provisions therein as shall, when
agreed to in Congress and confirmed by the States, render the Federal
Constitution adequate to the exigencies of government and the
preservation of the Union." The alarming insurrection then existing in
Massachusetts, without doubt, had no small share in producing this
result. The report of Congress on that subject at once demonstrates
their fears and their political weakness.

At the time and place appointed the representatives of twelve States
assembled. Rhode Island alone declined to appoint any on this momentous
occasion. After very protracted deliberations, the convention finally
adopted the plan of the present Constitution on September 17, 1787; and
by a contemporaneous resolution, directed it to be "laid before the
United States in Congress assembled," and declared their opinion "that
it should afterward be submitted to a convention of delegates chosen in
each State by the people thereof, under a recommendation of its
legislature for their assent and ratification"; and that each convention
assenting to and ratifying the same should give notice thereof to
Congress. The convention, by a further resolution, declared their
opinion that as soon as nine States had ratified the Constitution,
Congress should fix a day on which electors should be appointed by the
States which should have ratified the same, and a day on which the
electors should assemble and vote for the President, and the time and
place of commencing proceedings under the Constitution; and that after
such publication the electors should be appointed, and the Senators and
Representatives elected. The same resolution contained further
recommendations for the purpose of carrying the Constitution into
effect.

The convention, at the same time, addressed a letter to Congress,
expounding their reasons for their acts, from which the following
extract cannot but be interesting: "It is obviously impracticable [says
the address] in the federal government of these States, to secure all
rights of independent sovereignty to each, and yet provide for the
interest and safety of all. Individuals entering into society must give
up a share of liberty to preserve the rest. The magnitude of the
sacrifice must depend as well on situation and circumstance as on the
object to be obtained. It is at all times difficult to draw with
precision the line between those rights which must be surrendered and
those which may be reserved; and on the present occasion this difficulty
was increased by a difference among the several States as to their
situation, extent, habits, and particular interests. In all our
deliberations on this subject we kept steadily in our view that, which
appears to us the greatest interest of every true American, the
consolidation of our Union, in which is involved our prosperity,
felicity, safety, perhaps our national existence. This important
consideration, seriously and deeply impressed on our minds, led each
State in the convention to be less rigid on points of inferior magnitude
than might have been otherwise expected. And thus the Constitution which
we now present is the result of the spirit of amity, and of that mutual
deference and concession, which the peculiarity of our political
situation rendered indispensable."

Congress, having received the report of the convention on September 28,
1787, unanimously resolved "that the said report, with the resolutions
and letter accompanying the same, be transmitted to the several
legislatures in order to be submitted to a convention of delegates
chosen in each State by the people thereof in conformity to the
resolves of the convention, made and provided in that case."

Conventions in the various States which had been represented in the
general convention were accordingly called by their respective
legislatures; and the Constitution having been ratified by eleven out of
the twelve States, Congress, on September 13, 1788, passed a resolution
appointing the first Wednesday in January following for the choice of
electors of President; the first Wednesday of February following for the
assembling of the electors to vote for a President; and the first
Wednesday of March following, at the then seat of Congress (New York)
the time and place for commencing proceedings under the Constitution.
Electors were accordingly appointed in the several States, who met and
gave their votes for a President; and the other elections for Senators
and Representatives having been duly made, on Wednesday, March 4, 1789,
Congress assembled under the new Constitution and commenced proceedings
under it.

A quorum of both Houses, however, did not assemble until April 6th,
when, the votes for President being counted, it was found that George
Washington was unanimously elected President, and John Adams was elected
Vice-President.

On April 30th President Washington was sworn into office, and the
government then went into full operation in all its departments.

North Carolina had not, as yet, ratified the Constitution. The first
convention called in that State, in August, 1788, refused to ratify it
without some previous amendments and a declaration of rights. In a
second convention, however, called in November, 1789, this State adopted
the Constitution. The State of Rhode Island had declined to call a
convention; but finally, by a convention held in May, 1790, its assent
was obtained; and thus all the thirteen original States became parties
to the new government.

Thus was achieved another and still more glorious triumph in the cause
of national liberty than even that which separated us from the
mother-country. By it we fondly trust that our republican institutions
will grow up, and be nurtured into more mature strength and vigor; our
independence be secured against foreign usurpation and aggression; our
domestic blessings be widely diffused, and generally felt; and our
nation, as a people, be perpetuated, as our own truest glory and
support, and as a proud example of a wise and beneficent government,
entitled to the respect, if not to the admiration, of mankind.

Let it not, however, be supposed that a Constitution, which is now
looked upon with such general favor and affection by the people, had no
difficulties to encounter at its birth. The history of those times is
full of melancholy instruction on this subject, at once to admonish us
of past dangers, and to awaken us to a lively sense of the necessity of
future vigilance. The Constitution was adopted unanimously by Georgia,
New Jersey, and Delaware. It was supported by large majorities in
Pennsylvania, Connecticut, Maryland, and South Carolina. It was carried
in the other States by small majorities; and especially in
Massachusetts, New York, and Virginia by little more than a
preponderating vote. Indeed, it is believed that in each of these
States, at the first assembling of the conventions, there was a decided
majority opposed to the Constitution. The ability of the debates, the
impending evils, and the absolute necessity of the case seem to have
reconciled some persons to the adoption of it, whose opinions had been
strenuously the other way.

"In our endeavors," said Washington, "to establish a new general
government, the contest, nationally considered, seems not to have been
so much for glory as for existence. It was for a long time doubtful
whether we were to survive, as an independent republic, or decline from
our federal dignity into insignificant and withered fragments of
empire."

FOOTNOTES:

[32] Called the "Constitutional Convention."--ED.




INAUGURATION OF WASHINGTON

HIS FAREWELL ADDRESS

A.D. 1789-1797

JAMES K. PAULDING and GEORGE WASHINGTON

     In times when "logical candidates" for the Presidency of the
     United States are periodically exploited by rival parties,
     it is a salutary thing, which can never too often be
     repeated, to look back to the first filling of the chief
     magistracy of the country.

     No parallel is seen in history to the unanimity of
     Washington's election, a call which his modest reluctance
     could not refuse, for there was no other who could serve his
     country's need. The tribute of a nation was again paid in
     his unanimous reëlection to a second term, which nothing
     except his own will determined for the last.

     Familiar as is the fame of Washington and of his services to
     his country and mankind, there is no name in the records of
     the world which still commands a more universal veneration.
     Nor is this sentiment diminished, among intelligent people,
     now that his character and work have been divested of those
     elements of myth or tradition which formerly enveloped them;
     rather by the critical process of humanizing is his
     reputation more endeared to his countrymen and more firmly
     established in the eyes of the world.

     To enter here upon the innumerable details of Washington's
     presidential labors is impossible; they belong to general
     history. But among the great events of history the civil and
     political acts of the man who was first in peace as well as
     in war stand conspicuous, and in Paulding's narrative and
     appreciation they are fittingly commemorated.


The convention which framed the United States Constitution met at
Philadelphia, and unanimously chose Washington its president. This
situation in some measure precluded him from speaking, if he had been so
inclined; but his influence was not the less in producing the results
which followed. It is highly probable that but for the exertions he made
in private, and the vast authority of his character and services, the
objects of the convention might not have been obtained. The great
talents of Madison, Hamilton, and Jay, exerted in that celebrated work
called _The Federalist_, and the influence of many of the leading men
of the different States, aided by the name of Washington, alone,
perhaps, secured to the country the great charter of its liberties.

Under the new Constitution a chief magistrate became necessary to
administer the government. The eyes of the whole people of the United
States were at once directed to Washington, and their united voices
called upon him who had led their armies in war, to direct their affairs
in peace. His old companions came forth and besought him to leave his
retirement once more to serve his country. The leading men of all
parties wrote letters to the same purport, and on all hands he was
assailed by the warmest, most earnest applications.

His replies are extant, and those who have ever seen them cannot for a
moment question the deep reluctance with which he undertook this new and
trying service. Both in its external and internal relations, the country
was at this time in a most critical state; and the man who accepted the
hard task of administering its government might rationally anticipate
little of the sweets and all the bitterness of power. He who already
possessed the hearts of the people; he who had already gained the most
lofty eminence, the noblest of all rewards, the hallowed title of his
country's father, and the gratitude of a nation, would risk everything
and gain nothing by embarking again on the troubled ocean of political
strife, in a vessel whose qualities for the voyage had never been tried.
But Washington thought he might be of service to his country, and once
more sacrificed his rural happiness and cherished tastes at that shrine
where he had often offered up his life and all its enjoyments.

He was unanimously elected President of the United States on March 4,
1789, but owing to some formal or accidental delays this event was not
notified to him officially until April 14th following. Referring to this
delay he thus expresses himself in a letter to General Knox, who
possessed and deserved his friendship to the last moment of his life:

"As to myself, the delay may be compared to a reprieve; for in
confidence I tell you (with the world it would obtain little credit)
that my movements toward the chair of government will be accompanied by
feelings not unlike those of a culprit going to the place of execution;
so unwilling am I, in the evening of a life consumed in public cares,
to quit my peaceful abode for an ocean of difficulties, without the
competency of political skill, abilities, and inclination which is
necessary to manage the helm. I am sensible that I am embarking with the
voice of the people, and a good name of my own, on this voyage, and what
returns will be made for them, Heaven alone can foretell. Integrity and
firmness are all I can promise. These, be the voyage long or short,
shall never forsake me, though I may be deserted by all men; for of the
consolations to be derived from these, the world cannot deprive me."

Such was the foundation of his modest confidence--firmness and
integrity, the true pillars of honest greatness. And these never
deserted him. He kept his promise to himself in all times,
circumstances, and temptations; and though, on a few rare occasions
during the course of a stormy season, in which the hopes, fears, and
antipathies of his fellow-citizens were strongly excited, his conduct
may have been assailed, his motives were never questioned. None ever
doubted his firmness, and the general conviction of his integrity was
founded on a rock that could neither be undermined nor overthrown.

His progress from Mount Vernon to New York, where Congress was then
sitting, was a succession of the most affecting scenes which the
sentiment of a grateful people ever presented to the contemplation of
the world. His appearance awakened in the bosoms of all an enthusiasm so
much the more glorious because so little characteristic of our
countrymen. Men, women, and children poured forth and lined the roads in
throngs to see him pass and hail his coming. The windows shone with
glistening eyes, watching his passing footsteps; the women wept for joy;
the children shouted, "God save Washington!" and the iron hearts of the
stout husbandmen yearned with inexpressible affection toward him who had
caused them to repose in safety under their own vine and fig-tree. His
old companions-in-arms came forth to renovate their honest pride, as
well as undying affection, by a sight of their general, and a shake of
his hand. The pulse of the nation beat high with exultation, for now,
when they saw their ancient pilot once more at the helm, they hoped for
a prosperous voyage and a quiet haven in the bosom of prosperity.

His reception at Trenton was peculiarly touching. It was planned by
those females and their daughters whose patriotism and sufferings in the
cause of liberty were equal to those of their fathers, husbands, sons,
and brothers. It was here, when the hopes of the people lay prostrate on
the earth, and the eagle of freedom seemed to flap his wings, as if
preparing to forsake the world, that Washington performed those prompt
and daring acts which, while they revived the drooping spirits of his
country, freed, for a time, the matrons of Trenton from the insults and
wrongs of an arrogant soldiery. The female heart is no sanctuary for
ingratitude; and when Washington arrived at the bridge over the
Assumpink, which here flows close to the borders of the city, he met the
sweetest reward that, perhaps, ever crowned his virtues.

Over the bridge was thrown an arch of evergreens and flowers bearing
this affecting inscription in large letters:

                              "December 26, 1776.

    "The hero who defended the mothers will protect the daughters."

At the other extremity of the bridge were assembled many hundreds of
young girls of various ages, arrayed in white, the emblem of truth and
innocence, their brows circled with garlands, and baskets of flowers in
their hands. Beyond these were disposed the grown-up daughters of the
land, clothed and equipped like the others, and behind them the matrons,
all of whom remembered the never-to-be-forgotten twenty-sixth of
December, 1776. As the good Washington left the bridge, they joined in a
chorus, touchingly expressive of his services and their gratitude,
strewing, at the same time, flowers as he passed along. That mouth whose
muscles of gigantic strength indicated the firmness of his character and
the force of his mind, was now observed to quiver with emotion; that eye
which looked storms and tempests, enemies and friends, undauntedly in
the face, and never quailed in the sight of man, now glistened with
tears; and that hand which had not trembled when often life, fame, and
the liberty of his country hung on the point of a single moment, now
refused its office. His hat dropped from his hand as he drew it across
his brow.

His reception everywhere was worthy of his services and of a grateful
people. At New York the vessels were adorned with flags, and the river
alive with boats gayly decked out in like manner, with bands of music on
board; the place of his landing was thronged with crowds of citizens,
gathered together to welcome his arrival. The roar of cannon and the
shouts of the multitude announced his landing, and he was conducted to
his lodging by thousands of grateful hearts, who remembered what he had
done for them in the days of their trial.

It had been arranged that a military escort should attend him; but when
the officer in command announced his commission, Washington replied, "I
require no guard but the affections of the people," and declined their
attendance.

At this moment, so calculated to inflate the human heart with vanity,
Washington, though grateful for these spontaneous proofs of affectionate
veneration, was not elated. In describing the scene in one of his
familiar letters, he says: "The display of boats on this occasion with
vocal and instrumental music on board, the decorations of the ships, the
roar of cannon, and the loud acclamations of the people, as I passed
along the wharves, gave me as much pain as pleasure, contemplating the
probable reversal of this scene, after all my endeavors to do good."
Happily, his anticipations were never realized. Although his policy in
relation to the French Revolution, which was as wise as it was happy in
its consequences, did not give universal satisfaction, still he remained
master of the affections and confidence of the people. The laurels he
had won in defence of the liberties of his country continued to flourish
on his brow while living, and will grow green on his grave to the end of
time.

On April 30, 1789, he took the oath and entered on the office of
President of the United States, one of the highest as well as most
thankless that could be undertaken by man. The head of this free
Government is no idle, empty pageant set up to challenge the admiration
and coerce the absolute submission of the people; his duties are arduous
and his responsibilities great; he is the first servant, not the master,
of the state, and is amenable for his conduct, like the humblest
citizen. As the executor of the laws, he is bound to see them obeyed; as
the first of our citizens, he is equally bound to set an example of
obedience. The oath, "to preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution
of the United States," was administered in the balcony of the old
Federal Hall in New York, by the chancellor of the State, and the Bible
on which it was sworn is still preserved as a sacred relic.

At the time Washington assumed the high functions of President of the
United States, there was ample room for the exertion of all his
firmness, integrity, and talents. A new constitution to be administered,
without the aid of experience or precedent, by an authority to which the
people were strangers; serious and alarming difficulties to be adjusted
with England; the Indian nations all along our frontier brandishing
their tomahawks and whetting their scalping-knives; war with
Mediterranean pirates; the Spaniards denying our right to navigate the
Mississippi, and the people of Kentucky threatening a separation from
the Union unless that right was successfully asserted by the Government.
Other difficulties stared the new President full in the face. Some of
the States still declined to accept the new Constitution, and become
members of the Confederation; others nearly equally divided on the
subject; and a debt of eighty million dollars; to meet all which there
was an army of less than a thousand men and an empty treasury.

Here was enough, and more than enough, to call forth all the energies,
if not to produce despair in the mind, of an ordinary man. But
Washington was not such a man. Conscious of the purity of his purposes,
he relied on the protection of that Power which is all purity. His first
care was to provide for the civil and judicial administration of the
government, by the appointment of men in whose virtue and capacity a
long experience had given him confidence. Having done this he took the
reins with a firm, steady hand, and commenced the ascent of the rugged
steep before him.

The next object that called his attention was the situation of the
inland frontier, now exposed to the inroads of the savages, who had not
been included in the general pacification, although a proposition to
that effect had been made by the British commissioners. Although our
Government has always treated with the Indians as independent tribes, it
has never placed them on the footing of civilized nations, or admitted
any mediation on the part of foreign powers. The United States do not
recognize them as parties in civilized warfare; they neither avail
themselves of their alliance nor acknowledge them as the auxiliaries of
other nations.

A system was devised for the conduct of those singular relations which
alone can subsist between people so different in all respects, moral and
political. The wisdom of that system has been exemplified in having
uniformly been acted upon to this time, and though it may perhaps be
questioned as to its abstract principles, it would be perhaps difficult
if not impossible to devise a better. Our ancestors came to this country
under the sanction of a principle at that time universally acknowledged
among civilized nations, and when once here, the first law of nature,
self-defence, furnishes their only justification. While weak, they were
obliged to defend themselves, and when they became strong they were
probably too apt to remember their former sufferings.

The policy of Washington, with regard to these unfortunate people, was
successful in quieting, if not conciliating many of the Indian tribes;
but others remained refractory and continued their atrocities. After
defeating two American armies with great slaughter, they were at length
brought to terms by the gallant Wayne, who gave them so severe a beating
in a great general action that they sued for peace. This was concluded
at Greenville; and the cession of a vast territory not only relieved the
frontier from savage inroads, but paved the way for the progress of
civilization into a new world of wilderness.

He was equally successful at a subsequent period in his negotiations
with Spain. His high character for veracity and honor gave him singular
advantages in his foreign intercourse. He proceeded in a
straightforward, open manner, stated what was wanted, and what would be
given in return; relied on justice, and enforced its claims with the
arguments of truth. He disdained to purchase advantages by corruption,
or to deceive by insincerity. As in private, so in public life, he
proceeded inflexibly upon the noble maxim, whose truth is every day
verified, that "Honesty is the best policy." The conviction of a man's
integrity gives him far greater advantages in his intercourse with the
world than he can ever gain by hypocrisy and falsehood. The right of
navigating the Mississippi was finally conceded by Spain.

The settlement of the controversies growing out of the treaty with
England proved even more difficult than those with Spain. The wounds
inflicted on both nations by a war of so many years were healed, but the
scars remained, to remind the one of what it had suffered, the other of
what it had lost. Time and mutual good offices were necessary to allay
that spirit which had been excited on one hand by injuries, on the other
by successful resistance; and time indeed had passed away, but it had
left behind it neither forgiveness nor oblivion. It was accompanied on
one hand by new provocations, on the other by additional remonstrances
and renewed indignation. Negotiations continued for a long while,
without any result but mortification and impatience on the part of the
people of the United States; and it was not until the French Revolution
threatened the existence of all the established governments of Europe,
and England among the rest, that a treaty was concluded, which brought
with it an adjustment of the principal points that had so long embroiled
the two nations and fostered a spirit of increasing hostility. The most
vexing question of all however--that of the right of entering our ships
and impressing seamen--was left unsettled, and it became obvious that it
would never be adjusted except on the principle of the right of the
strongest. About the same time peace was concluded between the United
States and the Emperor of Morocco, and thus, for a while, our commerce
remained unmolested on that famous sea where, some years afterward, our
gallant navy laid the foundation of its present and future glories.

It is not my design to enter minutely into the principles or conduct of
the two great parties, which, from the period of the adoption of the
Constitution down to the present time, have been struggling for
ascendency in the Government of the United States. My limits will not
permit me, if I wished; but if they did, I should decline the task. My
youthful readers will know and feel their excitement soon enough,
perhaps too soon; and I wish not to become instrumental in implanting in
their tender minds the seeds of social and political antipathies. I am
attempting to picture a great and virtuous man; to exhibit a noble moral
example for the imitation of the children of my country. My business is
with the actions of Washington, not with the imputations of his enemies
or the struggles of ambitious politicians. Posterity has placed him far
above such puny trifles and triflers, and I will not assist, however
humbly, in reviving imputations which have long since sunk into
oblivion or insignificance under the weight of his mighty name.

The French Revolution, which set the Old World in a blaze, but for the
wisdom and firmness of Washington would have involved the United States
in the labyrinth of European policy. He it was that prevented their
becoming parties in that series of tremendous wars which desolated some
of the fairest portions of the earth; caused the rivers to run red with
blood; overturned and erected thrones; converted kings into the
playthings of fortune; and ended in the creation of a mighty phantom,
which, after being the scourge and terror of the world, vanished from
our sight on a desolate rock of the ocean.

The people of the United States had continued to cherish a strong
feeling of gratitude for the good offices of France during their
struggle for independence; and in addition to this, their sympathies
were deeply engaged in behalf of a contest so similar in many respects
to their own. The institution of the French Republic was hailed with an
enthusiasm equal to that they felt on the establishment of their own
liberties; and, but for the firm and steady hand of Washington, they
would have taken the bridle between their teeth and run headlong into
the vortex of European revolution.

Washington issued his famous Proclamation of Neutrality, from which Mr.
Genet, the minister of the French Republic, threatened to appeal to the
people, a measure understood to mean nothing less than revolution. From
that moment the people began to rally around their beloved chief, like
children who will not allow their father to be insulted, although they
themselves may think him wrong. They sanctioned the proclamation, and
time has ratified their decision. It is believed there is not a rational
American who does not now feel that the course of Washington was founded
in consummate wisdom, deep feeling, and eternal justice.

Having been twice unanimously elected to the highest office in the gift
of men; having served his country faithfully eight years in war and
eight in peace, having settled the government on a permanent basis,
established a series of precedents for the imitation of his successors,
and seeing the United States now resting happily in the lap of repose
and prosperity; having fulfilled all and more than they had a right to
ask of him, and consummated all his public duties, Washington now
signified his intention of declining a reëlection. During the arduous
services of the preceding term, he had been obliged to retire for a
while to the repose of Mount Vernon for the reëstablishment of his
health, and he now resolved to relieve himself finally from all the
duties and cares of public life. He had earned this privilege by a whole
life of arduous patriotism, and without doubt wished to close his public
career by one more act of moderation, as a guide to those who might come
after him. He believed eight years to be a sufficient term of service in
the office of President for any one single man, and determined to
establish the precedent by setting the example himself.

Feeling on this occasion like a father about to take a final leave of
his children, and give them his parting blessing, Washington, at the
moment of announcing his intention of retiring from the world, addressed
to the people of the United States his last memorable words. These were
conveyed in a letter to his "friends and fellow-citizens," fraught with
lessons of virtue and patriotism, adorned by the most touching
simplicity, the most mature wisdom, the most affectionate and endearing
earnestness of paternal solicitude. He was now about to withdraw his
long and salutary guardianship from his young and vigorous country, his
only offspring, and he left her the noblest legacy in his power, the
priceless riches of his precepts and example.

"In looking forward," he says, "to the moment which is intended to
terminate the career of my public life, my feelings do not permit me to
suspend the deep acknowledgment of that debt of gratitude which I owe to
my beloved country for the many honors it has conferred upon me, or
still more for the steadfast confidence with which it has supported me,
and for the opportunities thence enjoyed of manifesting my inviolable
attachment by services, useful and persevering, though in usefulness
unequal to my zeal.

"Profoundly penetrated with this idea, I shall carry it with me to my
grave, as a strong incitement to unceasing vows, that Heaven may
continue to you the choicest tokens of its beneficence; that your union
and brotherly affection may be perpetual; that the free constitution
which is the work of your hands may be sacredly maintained; that its
administration in every department may be stamped with wisdom and
virtue; that in fine, the happiness of these States, under the auspices
of liberty, may be made complete by so careful a preservation and so
prudent a use of this blessing as will acquire to them the glory of
recommending it to the applause, the affection, and the adoption of
every nation which is yet a stranger to it.

"Here, perhaps, I ought to stop. But solicitude for your welfare, which
cannot end but with my life, and the apprehension of danger natural to
such solicitude, urge me, on an occasion like the present, to offer to
your solemn contemplation, and to recommend to your frequent review,
some sentiments which are the result of much reflection, of no
inconsiderable observation, and which appear to me all-important to your
felicity as a people. These will be offered to you with the more
freedom, as you can only see in them the disinterested warnings of a
parting friend, who can possibly have no personal motive to bias his
counsel.

"Interwoven as is the love of liberty with every ligament of your
hearts, no recommendation of mine is necessary to fortify the
attachment.

"The unity of government, which constitutes you one people, is also now
dear to you. It is justly so; for it is the main pillar in the edifice
of your real independence, the support of your tranquillity at home and
your peace abroad; of your prosperity, of that liberty which you so
highly prize. But as it is easy to foresee that from different causes
and from different quarters, much pains will be taken, many artifices
employed, to weaken in your minds the conviction of this truth--as this
is the point in your political fortress against which the batteries of
internal and external enemies will be constantly and actively, though
often covertly and insidiously directed--it is of infinite moment that
you should properly estimate the immense value of your national union to
your collective and individual happiness; that you should cherish a
cordial, habitual, and immovable attachment to it, accustoming
yourselves to think and speak of it as of the palladium of your
political safety and prosperity; watching for its preservation with
jealous anxiety; discountenancing whatever may suggest even a suspicion
that it may be in any event abandoned; and indignantly frowning upon
every attempt to alienate any portion of our country from the rest, or
to enfeeble the sacred ties that now link together the various parts."

He then proceeds to caution his fellow-citizens against those
geographical distinctions of "North," "South," "East," and "West,"
which, by fostering ideas of separate interests and character, are
calculated to weaken the bonds of our union, and to create prejudices,
if not antipathies, dangerous to its existence. He shows, by a simple
reference to the great paramount interests of each of the different
sections, that they are inseparably intertwined in one common bond; that
they are mutually dependent on each other; and that they cannot be rent
asunder without deeply wounding our prosperity at home, our character
and influence abroad, laying the foundation for perpetual broils among
ourselves, and creating a necessity for great standing armies,
themselves the most fatal enemies to the liberties of mankind.

He earnestly recommends implicit obedience to the laws of the land, as
one of the great duties enjoined by the fundamental maxims of liberty.
"The basis of our political system," he says, "is the right of the
people to make and alter their constitutions of government; but the
constitution which at any time exists, till changed by an explicit and
authentic act of the whole people, is sacredly obligatory upon all. The
very idea of the power and right of the people to establish government
presupposes the duty of every individual to obey the established
government."

He denounces "all combinations and associations under whatever plausible
character, with the real design to direct, control, counteract, or awe
the regular deliberation and action of the constituted authorities," as
destructive to this fundamental principle and of fatal tendency. He
cautions his countrymen against the extreme excitements of party spirit;
the factious opposition and pernicious excesses to which they inevitably
tend, until by degrees they gradually incline the minds of men to seek
security and repose in the absolute power of an individual; and sooner
or later the chief of some prevailing faction, more able or more
fortunate than his competitors, turns his disposition to the purposes of
his own elevation, on the ruins of public liberty.

He warns those who are to administer the government after him, "to
confine themselves within their respective constitutional spheres,
refraining, in the exercise of the powers of one department, to
encroach upon another. The spirit of encroachment tends to consolidate
the powers of all the departments in one, and thus to create, whatever
the form of government, real despotism."

He inculcates, with the most earnest eloquence, a regard to religion and
morality.

"Of all the dispositions and habits," he says, "which lead to political
prosperity, religion and morality are indispensable supports. In vain
would that man claim the tribute of patriotism who should labor to
subvert these great pillars of human happiness, these firmest props of
men and citizens. The mere politician, equally with the pious man, ought
to respect and to cherish them. A volume could not trace all their
connections with private and public felicity. Let it be simply added,
where is the security for property, for reputation, for life, if the
sense of religious obligation desert the oaths which are the instruments
of investigation in courts of justice? And let us with caution indulge
the supposition that morality can be attained without religion. Whatever
may be conceded to a refined education, or minds of peculiar cast,
reason and experience both forbid us to expect that national morality
can prevail in the exclusion of religious principles."

He recommends the general diffusion of knowledge among all classes of
the people. "Promote, then," he says, "as an object of primary
importance, institutions for the general diffusion of knowledge. In
proportion as the structure of government gives force to public opinion,
it is essential that public opinion should be enlightened."

He recommends the practice of justice and good faith, and the
cultivation of the relations of peace with all mankind, as not only
enforced by the obligations of religion and morality, but by all the
maxims of sound policy. For the purpose of a successful pursuit of this
great object, he cautions his fellow-citizens against the indulgence of
undue partiality or prejudice in favor or against any nation whatever,
as leading to weak sacrifices on one hand, senseless hostility on the
other.

Most emphatically does he warn them against the wiles of foreign
influence, the fatal enemy of all the ancient republics. He enjoins a
watchful jealousy of all equally impartial, otherwise it may only lead
to the suspicion of visionary dangers on one hand and wilful blindness
on the other.

Then, after recommending a total abstinence from all political alliances
with the nations of Europe; a due regard to the national faith toward
public creditors; suitable establishments for the defence of the
country, that we may not be tempted to rely on foreign aid, and which
will never be afforded, in all probability without the price of great
sacrifices on the part of the nation depending on the hollow friendship
of jealous rivals, he concludes this admirable address, which ought to
be one of the early lessons of every youth of our country, in the
following affecting words:

"Though in reviewing the incidents of my administration, I am
unconscious of international error, I am nevertheless too sensible of my
defects not to think it probable that I may have committed many errors.
Whatever they may be, I fervently beseech the Almighty to avert or
mitigate the evils of which they may tend. I shall always carry with me
the hope that my country will never cease to view them with indulgence,
and that after forty-five years of a life dedicated to its service, with
an upright zeal, the faults of incompetent abilities will be consigned
to oblivion, as myself must soon be to the mansions of rest.

"Relying on its kindness in this as in all things, and actuated by that
fervent love toward it which is so natural to a man who views it as the
native soil of himself and his progenitors for several generations, I
anticipate with pleasing expectations that retreat in which I promise
myself to realize, without alloy, the sweet enjoyment of partaking in
the midst of my fellow-citizens the benign influence of good laws under
a free government, the ever-favorite object of my heart, and the happy
reward, as I trust, of our mutual cares, labors, and dangers."

On March 4, 1797, he bade a last farewell to public life. Those who have
read in history the struggles of ambitious men for power, and have seen
them in every age and country involving whole nations in the horrors of
civil strife, only for the worthless privilege of choosing a master,
will do well to mark the conduct of Washington on this occasion. He
waited only in Philadelphia to congratulate his successor and pay
respect to the choice of the people in the person of Mr. Adams. He
entered the Senate chamber as a private citizen, and, while every eye
glistened at thus seeing him, perhaps for the last time, grasped the
hand of the new President, wished that his administration might prove as
happy for himself as for his country, and, bowing to the assemblage,
retired unattended as he came.

As he was hailed with blessings on entering, so was he greeted with
blessings when he quitted forever, the Presidential chair. He came from
his retirement at Mount Vernon accompanied by joyful acclamations of
welcome, and he was followed thither by the love and veneration of
millions of grateful people. Blessed, and thrice blessed, is he who
closes a life of honest fame in such a dignified and happy repose;
fortunate the nation that can boast of such an example, and still more
fortunate the children who can call him "Father of their Country."




FRENCH REVOLUTION: STORMING OF THE BASTILLE

A.D. 1789

WILLIAM HAZLITT

     In the scenes of blood and terror which accompanied it, and
     in the dramatic episodes and strange actors appearing upon
     its stage--in these respects, if not in the calculable
     effects of the uprising on France and the world, the French
     Revolution was the most extraordinary outbreak of modern
     times.

     Matters in France at this time, or during the next few
     years, might have taken a very different course had not the
     Eastern powers of Europe been absorbed in their own
     quarrels, which culminated in the final "scramble for Polish
     territory." As it was, France was left through the early
     years of the Revolution to struggle with her own affairs.

     Under Louis XV, loved at the beginning of his reign,
     execrated by his people at its close, France had fallen into
     bankruptcy and disgrace. The monarchy was weakened through
     its head. Louis determined that it should live as long as he
     survived; he cared nothing for its future. The peasantry of
     France at this time had become keenly alive to the wrongs
     under which they had long suffered in comparative silence.
     The disfranchised bourgeois, or middle class, had lately
     grown in wealth and now thought more about their political
     rights. The "common" people were staggering under the burden
     of taxation, from which the privileged nobility and clergy
     were largely exempt.

     The intellectual life of France during the second half of
     the eighteenth century was profoundly affected by the
     literature of the period, especially by the radical and
     revolutionary writings of Voltaire, Rousseau, and their
     followers, and in many things the extreme views of these men
     seemed to find confirmation in the calmer reasonings of
     Montesquieu on the powers and limitations of governments.
     Democratic ideas were in the air, and all except the
     privileged classes were ready for general revolt. Frenchmen
     returning from America reported the successful working of
     the new order of things inaugurated by the Revolution there,
     and this gave stronger impulse to the revolutionary tendency
     in France.

     When the well-meaning but weak-willed Louis XVI came to the
     throne he found himself confronted with conditions before
     which a far abler monarch might well have quailed. How the
     storm broke upon him, and began its sweep over the kingdom
     which he was set to rule, is told by Hazlitt without the
     rhetorical flourishes indulged by many writers on this
     subject, but with clear narration and philosophic judgment
     of the facts recounted.


Louis XVI succeeded to the throne of France in 1774, and soon after
married Marie Antoinette, a daughter of the house of Austria. She was
young, beautiful, and thoughtless. In her the pride of birth was
strengthened and rendered impatient of the least restraint by the pride
of sex and beauty; and all three together were instrumental in hastening
the downfall of the monarchy. Devoted to the licentious pleasures of a
court, she looked both from education and habit on the homely comforts
of the people with disgust or indifference, and regarded the distress
and poverty which stood in the way of her dissipation with incredulity
or loathing.[33] Louis XVI himself, though a man of good intentions, and
free, in a remarkable degree, from the common vices of his situation,
had not firmness of mind to resist the passions and importunity of
others, and, in addition to the extravagance, petulance, and extreme
counsels of the Queen, fell a victim to the intrigues and officious
interference of those about him, who had neither the wisdom nor spirit
to avert those dangers and calamities which they had provoked by their
rashness, presumption, and obstinacy.

The want of economy in the court, or a maladministration of the
finances, first occasioned pecuniary difficulties to the Government, for
which a remedy was in vain sought by a succession of ministers, Necker,
Calonne, Maupeou, and by the Parliament. Considerable embarrassment and
uneasiness began to be felt throughout the kingdom when in 1787 the
King undertook to convoke the States-General, as alone competent to meet
the emergency, and to confer on other topics of the highest consequence,
which were at this time agitated with general anxiety and interest. The
necessity of raising the supplies to defray the expenses of government
was indeed only made the handle to introduce and enforce other more
important and widely extended plans of reform.

For some time past the public mind had been growing critical and
fastidious with the progress of civilization and letters; the monarchy,
as it existed at the period "with all its imperfections on its head,"
had been weighed in the balance of reason and opinion, and found
wanting; and a favorable opportunity was only required, and the first
that presented itself was eagerly seized to put in practice what had
been already resolved upon in theory by the wits, philosophers, and
philanthropists of the eighteenth century. From the first calling
together the general council of the nation to deliberate and determine
for the public good, in the then prevailing ferment of the popular
feeling and with the predisposing causes, not a measure of finance was
to be looked to, but a revolution became inevitable. All the _cahiers_,
or instructions given to the deputies by the great mass of their
constituents, show that the kingdom at large was ripe for a material
change in its civil and political institutions, and for the most part
point out the individual grievances which were afterward done away with.

The States-General met at Versailles on May 5, 1789. They consisted of
the representatives of the nobility, of the clergy, and of the _Tiers
État_ or people in general, the number of the last having been doubled
in order to equal that of the other two. They heard mass the evening
before at the Church of St. Louis, in the same dresses, and with the
same forms and order of precedence as in 1614, the last time they had
ever been assembled. The King opened the sitting with a speech which
gave little satisfaction, as it dwelt chiefly on the liquidation of the
debt and the unsettled state of the public mind, and did not go into
those general measures on which the views of the assembly were bent and
from which alone relief was expected. The first question which divided
opinion and led to a conflict was that regarding the vote by head or by
order. By the first mode, that of counting voices, the commons would be
numerically on a par with the privileged classes; by the latter, their
opponents would always have the advantage of two to one. In order to
keep this advantage, and prevent that reform of abuses which the Third
Estate was supposed to have principally at heart, the Court did all it
could to separate the different orders, first by adhering to etiquette,
afterward by means of intrigue, and in the end by force.

On the day following the meeting, the deputies of the three estates were
called upon to verify their powers, which the nobles and clergy wished
to do apart; but the commons refused to take any steps toward this
object, except conjointly, or as a general legislative body. This led to
various overtures and discussions, which lasted for several weeks. The
Court offered its mediation; but the nobles giving a peremptory refusal
to come to any compromise, at the motion of the Abbé Sieyès, the Third
Estate, after in vain inviting the two others to join them, constituted
themselves into a national assembly.

This was the first act of the Revolution, or the first occasion on which
a part of a given body of individuals took upon them to decide for the
rest, from the urgency and magnitude of the case, without the consent of
their coadjutors, and contrary to established rules. It was a stroke of
state necessity, to be defended not by the forms but by the essence of
justice, and by the great ends of human society. The usurpation of a
discretionary and illegal power was clear, but nothing could be done
without it, everything with it. Yet so strong and natural is the
prejudice against every appearance of what is violent and arbitrary,
that serious attempts were made to reconcile the letter with the spirit
of justice in this instance, and to prove that the Tiers État, being the
representatives of the nation, and the nation being everything, the
nobility and clergy were included in it and had nothing to complain of.
It is not worth while to answer this sophistry. The truth is that the
Third Estate erected themselves from parties concerned into framers of
the law and judges of the reason of the case, and must themselves be
judged, not by precedent and tradition, but by posterity, to whom, from
the scale on which they acted, the benefit or the injury of their
departure from common and worn-out forms will reach. Acts that supersede
old established rules and create a new era in human affairs are to be
approved or condemned by what comes after, not by what has gone before,
them.

This first independent and spirited step on the part of the commons
produced a reaction on the part of the Court. They shut up the place of
sitting. The King had been prevailed on to consent to hostile measures
against the popular side during an excursion to Marly with the Queen and
princes of the blood. Bailly, afterward mayor of Paris, had been chosen
president of the new National Assembly, and, arriving with other
members, and finding the doors of the hall shut against them, they
repaired to the _Jeu de Paumes_ ("Tennis-court") at Versailles, followed
by the people and soldiers in crowds, and there, enclosed by bare walls,
with heads uncovered, and a strong and spontaneous burst of enthusiasm,
made a solemn vow, with the exception of only one person present, never
to separate till they had given France a constitution.

This memorable and decisive event took place on June 20th. On the 23d
the King came to the Church of St. Louis, whither they had been
compelled to remove, and where they were joined by a considerable number
of the clergy; addressed them in a tone of authority and reprimand,
treated them as simply the Tiers État, pointed out certain partial
reforms which he approved, and which he enjoined them to effect in
conjunction with the other orders, or threatened to dissolve them and
take the whole management of the government upon himself, and ended with
a command that they should separate. The nobles and the clergy obeyed;
the deputies of the people remained firm, immovable, silent.

Mirabeau then started from his seat and appealed to the Assembly in that
mixed style of the academician and the demagogue which characterized his
eloquence. The words are worth repeating here, both as a sample of the
unqualified tone of the period and on account of the fierce and personal
attack on the King, whom he stigmatizes by a sort of nickname.
"Gentlemen, I acknowledge that what you have just heard might be a
pledge of the welfare of the country, if the offers of despotism were
not always dangerous. What is the meaning of this insolent dictation,
the array of arms, the violation of the national temple, merely to
command you to be happy? Who gives you this command? your _Mandatory_
['deputy']. Who imposes his imperious laws? your Mandatory, he who ought
to receive them from you; from us, gentlemen, who are invested with an
inviolable political priesthood; from us, in short, to whom, and to whom
alone, twenty-five millions of men look up for a happiness insured by
its being agreed upon, given, and received by all. But the freedom of
your deliberations is suspended: a military force surrounds the
Assembly! Where are the enemies of the nation, that this outrage should
be attempted? Is Catiline at our gates? I demand that in asserting the
claims of your insulted dignity, of your legislative power, you arm
yourselves with the sanctity of your oath: it does not permit us to
separate till we have achieved the constitution."

From this unbridled effusion of bombast, affectation, and real passion
two things are evident: first, that the designs of the Court were
already looked upon as altogether hostile and alien to the patriotic
side; secondly, that the Assembly, from the beginning, felt in
themselves the strong and undoubted conviction of their being called to
the task of removing the abuses of power and regenerating the hopes of a
mighty people. The die was cast, the lists were marked out in the
opinions and sentiments of the two parties toward each other. The grand
master of the ceremonies of this occasion, seeing that the Assembly did
not break up, reminded them of the command of the King. "Go tell your
master," cried Mirabeau, "that we are here by order of the people; and
that we shall not retire but at the point of the bayonet." This was at
once an invitation to violence and a defiance of authority. Sieyès
added, with his customary coolness: "You are to-day in the same
situation that you were yesterday; let us deliberate!" The Assembly
immediately confirmed its former resolutions, and, at the instance of
Mirabeau, decreed the inviolability of its members.

Such was at one time the brilliant, daring, and forward zeal of a man
who not long after sold himself to the Court: so little has flashy
eloquence or bold pretension to do with steadiness of principle! Indeed,
the Revolution, of which he was one of the most prominent leaders,
presented too many characters of this kind--dazzling, ardent, wavering,
corrupt--a succession of momentary fires, made of light and worthless
materials, soon kindled and soon exhausted, and requiring some new fuel
to repair them: nothing deep, internal, relying on its own
resources--"outliving fortunes outward with a mind that doth renew
swifter than blood decays"--but a flame rash and violent, fanned by
circumstances, kept alive by vanity, smothered by sordid interest, and
wandering from object to object in search of the most contemptible and
contradictory excitement! We may also remark, in the debates and
proceedings of this early period, the fevered and anxious state of the
public mind; while galling and intolerable abuses, called in question
for the first time and defended with blind confidence, were exposed in
the most naked and flagrant point of view; and the drapery of forms and
circumstances was torn from rank and power with sarcastic petulance or a
ruthless logic.

The resistance of the Assembly alarmed the Court, who did not, however,
as yet dare to proceed against it. Necker, who had disapproved of the
royal interference, and whose dismission had been determined on in the
morning, was the same night entreated both by the King and Queen to
stay. On the next meeting of the Assembly a large portion of the clergy
again repaired to their place of sitting; and four days after, forty
members of the _noblesse_ joined them, with the Duke of Orléans at their
head. The conduct of this nobleman, all through the Revolution, was in
my opinion uncalled for, indecent, and profligate, and his fate not
unmerited. Persons situated as he was cannot take a decided part one way
or the other, without doing violence either to the dictates of reason
and justice or to all their natural sentiments, unless they are
characters of that heroic stamp as to be raised above suspicion or
temptation: the only way for all others is to stand aloof from a
struggle in which they have no alternative but to commit a parricide on
their country or their friends, and to await the issue in silence and at
a distance.

The people should not ask the aid of their lordly taskmasters to shake
off their chains; nor can they ever expect to have it cordial and
entire. No confidence can be placed in those excesses of public
principle which are founded on the sacrifice of every private affection
and of habitual self-esteem! The Court, soon after this reënforcement to
the popular party, came forward of its own accord to request the
attendance of the dissentient orders, which took place on June 27th; and
after some petty ebullitions of jealousy and contests for precedence,
the Assembly became general, and all distinctions were lost.

The King's secret advisers were, however, by no means reconciled to this
new triumph over ancient privilege and existing authority, and meditated
a reprisal by removing the Assembly farther from Paris, and there
dissolving, if it could not overawe them. For this purpose the troops
were collected from all parts; Versailles, where the Assembly sat, was
like a camp; Paris looked as if it were in a state of siege. These
extensive military preparations, the trains of artillery arriving every
hour from the frontier, with the presence of the foreign regiments,
occasioned great suspicion and alarm; and on the motion of Mirabeau, the
Assembly sent an address to the King, respectfully urging him to remove
the troops from the neighborhood of the capital; but this he declined
doing, hinting at the same time that they might retire, if they chose,
to Noyon or Soissons, thus placing themselves at the disposal of the
Crown, and depriving themselves of the aid of the people.

Paris was in a state of extreme agitation. This immense city was
unanimous in its devotedness to the Assembly. A capital is at all times,
and Paris was then more particularly, the natural focus of a revolution.
To this many causes contribute. The actual presence of the monarch
dissipates the illusions of royalty; and he is no longer, as in the
distant province or petty village, an abstraction of power and majesty,
another name for all that is great and exalted, but a common mortal, one
man among a million of men, perhaps one of the meanest of his race.
Pageants and spectacles may impose on the crowd; but a weak or haughty
look undoes the effect, and leads to disadvantageous reflections on the
title to or the good resulting from all this display of pomp and
magnificence. From being the seat of the court, its vices are better
known, its meannesses are more talked of.[34] In the number and
distraction of passing objects and interests, the present occupies the
mind alone--the chain of antiquity is broken, and custom loses its
force. Men become "flies of a summer." Opinion has here many ears, many
tongues, and many hands to work with. The slightest whisper is rumored
abroad, and the roar of the multitude breaks down the prison or the
palace gates. They are seldom brought to act together but in extreme
cases; nor is it extraordinary that, in such cases, the conduct of the
people is violent, from the consciousness of transient power, its
impatience of opposition, its unwieldy bulk and loose texture, which
cannot be kept within nice bounds or stop at half-measure.

Nothing could be more critical or striking than the situation of Paris
at this moment. Everything betokened some great and decisive change.
Foreign bayonets threatened the inhabitants from without, famine within.
The capitalists dreaded a bankruptcy; the enlightened and patriotic the
return of absolute power; the common people threw all the blame on the
privileged classes. The press inflamed the public mind with innumerable
pamphlets and invectives against the government, and the journals
regularly reported the proceedings and debates of the Assembly.
Everywhere in the open air, particularly in the Palais-Royal, groups
were formed, where they read and harangued by turns. It was in
consequence of a proposal made by one of the speakers in the
Palais-Royal that the prison of the Abbaye was forced open and some
grenadiers of the French Guards, who had been confined for refusing to
fire upon the people, were set at liberty and led out in triumph.

Paris was in this state of excitement and apprehension when the Court,
having first stationed a number of troops at Versailles, at Sèvres, at
the Champ-de-Mars, and at St. Denis, commenced offensive measures by the
complete change of all the ministers and by the banishment of Necker.
The latter, on Saturday, July 11th, while he was at dinner, received a
note from the King, enjoining him to quit the kingdom without a moment's
delay. He calmly finished his dinner, without saying a word of the order
he had received, and immediately after got into his carriage with his
wife and took the road to Brussels. The next morning the news of his
disgrace reached Paris. The whole city was in a tumult: above ten
thousand persons were, in a short time, collected in the garden of the
Palais-Royal. A young man of the name of Camille Desmoulins, one of the
habitual and most enthusiastic haranguers of the crowd, mounted on a
table and cried out that "there was not a moment to lose; that the
dismission of Necker was the signal for the St. Bartholomew of liberty;
that the Swiss and German regiments would presently issue from the
Champ-de-Mars to massacre the citizens; and that they had but one
resource left, which was to resort to arms." And the crowd, tearing each
a green leaf, the color of hope, from the chestnut-trees in the garden,
which were nearly laid bare, and wearing it as a badge, traversed the
streets of Paris, with the busts of Necker and of the Duke of Orléans,
who was also said to be arrested, covered with crape and borne in solemn
pomp.

They had proceeded in this manner as far as the Place Vendôme, when they
were met by a party of the Royal Allemand, whom they put to flight by
pelting them with stones; but at the Place Louis XV they were assailed
by the dragoons of the Prince of Lambesc; the bearer of one of the busts
and a private of the French Guards were killed; the mob fled into the
Garden of the Tuileries, whither the Prince followed them at the head of
his dragoons, and attacked a number of persons who knew nothing of what
was passing, and were walking quietly in the gardens. In the scuffle, an
old man was wounded; the confusion as well as the resentment of the
people became general; and there was but one cry, "To arms!" to be heard
throughout the Tuileries, the Palais-Royal, in the city, and the
suburbs.

The French Guards had been ordered to their quarters in the
Chaussée-d'Antin, where sixty of Lambesc's dragoons were posted opposite
to watch them. A dispute arose, and it was with much difficulty they
were prevented from coming to blows. But when the former learned that
one of their comrades had been slain, their indignation could no longer
be restrained; they rushed out, killed two of the foreign soldiers,
wounded three others, and the rest were forced to fly. They then
proceeded to the Place Louis XV, where they stationed themselves between
the people and the troops, and guarded this position the whole of the
night. The soldiers in the Champ-de-Mars were then ordered to attack
them, but refused to fire, and were remanded back to their quarters.

The defection of the French Guards, with the repugnance of the other
troops to march against the capital, put a stop for the present to the
projects of the Court. In the mean time the populace had assembled at
the Hôtel de Ville, and loudly demanded the sounding of the tocsin and
the arming of the citizens. Several highly respectable individuals also
met here, and did much good in repressing a spirit of violence and
mischief. They could not, however, effect everything. A number of
disorderly people and of workmen out of employ, without food or place of
abode, set fire to the barriers, infested the streets, and pillaged
several houses in the night between the 12th and 13th.

The departure of Necker, which had excited such a sensation in the
capital, produced as deep an impression at Versailles and on the
Assembly, who manifested surprise and indignation, but not dejection.
Lally Tollendal pronounced a formal eulogium on the exiled minister.
After one or two displays of theatrical vehemence, which is inseparable
from French enthusiasm and eloquence, they despatched a deputation to
the King, informing him of the situation and troubles of Paris, and
praying him to dismiss the troops and intrust the defence of the capital
to the city militia. The deputation received an answer which amounted to
a repulse. The Assembly now perceived that the designs of the Court
party were irrevocably fixed, and that it had only itself to rely upon.
It instantly voted the responsibility of the ministers and of all the
advisers of the Crown, "of whatsoever rank or degree."

This last clause was pointed at the Queen, whose influence was greatly
dreaded. They then, from an apprehension that the doors might be closed
during the night in order to dissolve the Assembly, declared their
sittings permanent. A vice-president was chosen, to lessen the fatigue
of the Archbishop of Vienne. The choice fell upon Lafayette. In this
manner a part of the Assembly sat up all night. It passed without
deliberation, the deputies remaining on their seats, silent, but calm
and serene. What thoughts must have revolved through the minds of those
present on this occasion! Patriotism and philosophy had here taken up
their sanctuary. If we consider their situation; the hopes that filled
their breasts; the trials they had to encounter; the future destiny of
their country, of the world, which hung on their decision as in a
balance; the bitter wrongs they were about to sweep away; the good they
had it in their power to accomplish--the countenances of the Assembly
must have been majestic, and radiant with the light that through them
was about to dawn on ages yet unborn. They might foresee a struggle, the
last convulsive efforts of pride and power to keep the world in its
wonted subjection--but that was nothing--their final triumph over all
opposition was assured in the eternal principles of justice and in their
own unshaken devotedness to the great cause of mankind! If the result
did not altogether correspond to the intentions of those firm and
enlightened patriots who so nobly planned it, the fault was not in them,
but in others.

At Paris the insurrection had taken a more decided turn. Early in the
morning the people assembled in large bodies at the Hôtel de Ville; the
tocsin sounded from all the churches; the drums beat to summon the
citizens together, who formed themselves into different bands of
volunteers. All that they wanted was arms. These, except a few at the
gunsmiths' shops, were not to be had. They then applied to M. de
Flesselles, a provost of the city, who amused them with fair words. "My
children," he said, "I am your father!" This paternal style seems to
have been the order of the day. A committee sat at the Hôtel de Ville to
take measures for the public safety. Meanwhile a granary had been broken
open: the Garde-Meuble had been ransacked for old arms; the armorers'
shops were plundered; all was a scene of confusion, and the utmost
dismay everywhere prevailed. But no private mischief was done. It was a
moment of popular frenzy, but one in which the public danger and the
public good overruled every other consideration. The grain which had
been seized, the carts loaded with provisions, with plate or furniture,
and stopped at the barriers, were all taken to the Grève as a public
depot.

The crowd incessantly repeated the cry for arms, and were pacified by an
assurance that thirty thousand muskets would speedily arrive from
Charleville. The Duc d'Aumont was invited to take the command of the
popular troops; and on hesitating, the Marquis of Salle was nominated in
his stead. The green cockade was exchanged for one of red and blue, the
colors of the city. A quantity of powder was discovered, as it was
about to be conveyed beyond the barriers; and the cases of fire-arms
promised from Charleville turned out, on inspection, to be filled with
old rags and logs of wood. The rage and impatience of the multitude now
became extreme. Such perverse, trifling, and barefaced duplicity would
be unaccountable anywhere else; but in France they pay with promises;
and the provost, availing himself of the credulity of his audience,
promised them still more arms at the Chartreux. To prevent a repetition
of the excesses of the mob, Paris was illuminated at night and a patrol
paraded the streets.

The following day, the people being deceived as to the convoy of arms
that was to arrive from Charleville, and having been equally
disappointed in those at the Chartreux, broke into the Hospital of
Invalids, in spite of the troops stationed in the neighborhood, and
carried off a prodigious number of stands of arms concealed in the
cellars. An alarm had been spread in the night that the regiment
quartered at St. Denis was on its way to Paris, and that the cannon of
the Bastille had been pointed in the direction of the street of St.
Antoine. This information, the dread which this fortress inspired, the
recollection of the horrors which had been perpetrated there, its very
name, which appalled all hearts and made the blood run cold, the
necessity of wresting it from the hands of its old and feeble
possessors, drew the attention of the multitude to this hated spot. From
nine in the morning of the memorable July 14th, till two, Paris from one
end to the other rang with the same watchword: "To the Bastille! To the
Bastille!" The inhabitants poured there in throngs from all quarters,
armed with different weapons; the crowd that already surrounded it was
considerable; the sentinels were at their posts, and the drawbridges
raised as in war-time.

A deputy from the district of St. Louis de la Culture, Thuriot de la
Rosière, then asked to speak with the governor, M. Delaunay. Being
admitted into his presence, he required that the direction of the cannon
should be changed. Three guns were pointed against the entrance, though
the governor pretended that everything remained in the state in which it
had always been. About forty Swiss and eighty Invalids garrisoned the
place, from whom he obtained a promise not to fire on the people unless
they were themselves attacked. His companions began to be uneasy and
called loudly for him. To satisfy them, he showed himself on the
ramparts, from whence he could see an immense multitude flocking from
all parts, and the Faubourg St. Antoine advancing as it were in a mass.
He then returned to his friends and gave them what tidings he had
collected.

But the crowd, not satisfied, demanded the surrender of the fortress.
From time to time the angry cry was repeated: "Down with the Bastille!"
Two men, more determined than the rest, pressed forward, attacked a
guard-house, and attempted to break down the chains of the bridge with
the blows of an axe. The soldiers called out to them to fall back,
threatening to fire if they did not. But they repeated their blows,
shattered the chains, and lowered the drawbridge, over which they rushed
with the crowd. They threw themselves upon the second bridge, in the
hopes of making themselves masters of it in the same manner, when the
garrison fired and dispersed them for a few minutes. They soon, however,
returned to the charge; and for several hours, during a murderous
discharge of musketry, and amid heaps of the wounded and dying, renewed
the attack with unabated courage and obstinacy, led on by two brave men,
Elie and Hulia, their rage and desperation being inflamed to a pitch of
madness by the scene of havoc around them. Several deputations arrived
from the Hôtel de Ville to offer terms of accommodation; but in the
noise and fury of the moment they could not make themselves heard, and
the storming continued as before.

The assault had been carried on in this manner with inextinguishable
rage and great loss of blood to the besiegers, though with little
progress made, for above four hours, when the arrival of the French
Guards with cannon altered the face of things. The garrison urged the
governor to surrender. The wretched Delaunay, dreading the fate which
awaited him, wanted to blow up the place and bury himself under the
ruins, and was advancing for this purpose with a lighted match in his
hand toward the powder-magazine, but was prevented by the soldiers, who
planted the white flag on the platform, and reversed their arms in token
of submission. This was not enough for those without. They demanded with
loud and reiterated cries to have the drawbridges let down; and on an
assurance being given that no harm was intended, the bridges were
lowered and the assailants tumultuously rushed in. The endeavors of
their leaders could not save the governor or a number of the soldiers,
who were seized on by the infuriated multitude, and put to death for
having fired on their fellow-citizens.

Thus fell the Bastille; and the shout that accompanied its downfall was
echoed through Europe, and men rejoiced that "the grass grew where the
Bastille stood!" Earth was lightened of a load that oppressed it, nor
did this ghastly object any longer startle the sight, like an ugly
spider lying in wait for its accustomed prey, and brooding in sullen
silence over the wrongs which it had the will, though not the power, to
inflict.

     [The Bastille was taken about a quarter before six o'clock
     in the evening (Tuesday, July 14th), after a four-hours'
     attack. Only one cannon was fired from the fortress, and
     only one person was killed among the besieged. The garrison
     consisted of 82 Invalids, 2 cannoneers, and 32 Swiss. Of the
     assailants, 83 were killed on the spot, 60 were wounded, of
     whom 15 died of their wounds, and 13 were disabled. A great
     many barrels of gunpowder had been conveyed here from the
     arsenal, in the night between the 12th and 13th. Delaunay,
     the governor, was killed on the steps of the Hôtel de Ville,
     as also Delosme, the mayor. Only seven prisoners were found
     in the Bastille; four of these, Pujade, Bechade, La Roche,
     and La Caurege, were for forgery. M. de Solages was put in
     in 1782, at the desire of his father, since which time every
     communication from without was carefully withheld from him.
     He did not know the smallest event that had taken place in
     all that time, and was told by the turnkey, when he heard
     the firing of the cannon, that it was owing to a riot about
     the price of bread. M. Tavernier, a bastard son of Paris
     Duverney, had been confined ever since August 4, 1759. The
     last prisoner was a Mr. White, who went mad, and it could
     never be discovered who or what he was: by the name he must
     have been English.

     When Lord Albemarle was ambassador at Paris, in the year
     1753, he by mere accident caught a sight of the list of
     persons confined in the Bastille, lying on the table of the
     French minister, with the name of Gordon at their head.
     Being struck with the circumstance, he inquired into the
     meaning of it; but the French minister could give no account
     of it; and on the prisoner himself being released and sent
     for, he could only state that he had been confined there
     thirty years, but had not the slightest knowledge or
     suspicion of the cause for which he had been arrested. Nor
     is this wonderful, when we consider that _lettres de cachet_
     were sold, with blanks left for the names to be filled up at
     the pleasure or malice of the purchasers.

     If it was only to prevent the recurrence of one such
     instance (with the feeling in society at once shrinking from
     and tamely acquiescing in it), the Revolution was well
     purchased. When the crowd gained possession of this
     loathsome spot, they eagerly poured into every corner and
     turning of it, went down into the lowest dungeons with a
     breathless curiosity and horror, knocking with
     sledge-hammers at their triple portals, and breaking down
     and destroying everything in their way. The stones and
     devices on the battlements were torn off and thrown into the
     ditch, and the papers and documents were at the same time
     unfortunately destroyed.

     A low range of dungeons was discovered underground, close to
     the moat; and so contrived that, if those within had forced
     a passage through, they would have let in the water of the
     ditch and been suffocated. In one of these a skeleton was
     found hanging to an iron cramp in the wall. In reading the
     accounts of the demolition of this building, one feels that
     indignation should have melted the stone walls like flax,
     and that the dungeons should have given up their dead to
     assist the living!

     The Bastille was begun in 1370, in Charles V's time, by one
     Hugh Abriot, provost of the city, who was afterward shut up
     in it in 1381. It at first consisted only of two towers: two
     more were added by Charles VI, and four more in 1383. Two
     days after it was taken, it was ordered by the National
     Assembly to be razed to the ground, and in May, 1790, not a
     trace of it was left.--ED.]

The stormers of the Bastille arrived at the Place de la Grève, rending
the air with shouts of victory. They marched on to the great hall of the
Hôtel de Ville, in all the terrific and unusual pomp of a popular
triumph. Such of them as had displayed most courage and ardor were borne
on the shoulders of the rest, crowned with laurel. They were escorted up
the hall by near two thousand of the populace, their eyes flaming, their
hair in wild disorder, variously accoutred, pressing tumultuously on
each other, and making the heavy floors almost crack beneath their
footsteps. One bore the keys and flag of the Bastille, another the
regulations of the prison brandished on the point of a bayonet; a
third--a thing horrible to relate!--held in his bloody fingers the
buckle of the governor's stock. In this order it was that they entered
the Hôtel de Ville to announce their victory to the Committee, and to
decide on the fate of their remaining prisoners, who, in spite of the
impatient cries to give no quarter, were rescued by the exertions of the
commandant La Salle, Moreau de St. Mery, and the intrepid Elie.

Then came the turn of the despicable Flesselles, that caricature of
vapid, frothy impertinence, who thought he could baffle the roaring
tiger with grimace and shallow excuses. "To the Palais-Royal with him!"
was the word; and he answered with callous indifference, "Well, to the
Palais-Royal if you will." He was hemmed in by the crowd and borne along
without any violence being offered him to the place of destination; but
at the corner of the Quai le Pelletier an unknown hand approached him
and stretched him lifeless on the spot with a pistol-shot. During the
night succeeding this eventful day Paris was in the greatest agitation,
hourly expecting, in consequence of the statements of intercepted
letters, an attack from the troops. Every preparation was made to defend
the city. Barricades were formed, the streets unpaved, pikes forged, the
women piled stones on the tops of houses to hurl them down on the heads
of the soldiers, and the National Guard occupied the outposts.

While all this was passing, and before it became known at Versailles,
the Court was preparing to carry into effect its designs against the
Assembly and the capital. The night between the 14th and 15th was fixed
upon for their execution. The new minister, Breteuil, had promised to
reëstablish the royal authority within three days. Marshal Broglie, who
commanded the army round Paris, was invested with unlimited powers. The
Assembly, it was agreed upon, were to be dissolved, and forty thousand
copies of a proclamation to this effect were ready to be circulated
throughout the kingdom. The rising of the populace was supposed to be a
temporary evil, and it was thought to the last moment an impossibility
that a mob of citizens should resist an army. The Assembly was duly
apprised of all these projects. It sat for two days in a state of
constant inquietude and alarm. The news from Paris was doubtful. A
firing of cannon was supposed to be heard, and persons anxiously placed
their ears to the ground to listen. The escape of the King was also
expected, as a carriage had been kept in readiness, and the bodyguard
had not pulled off their boots for several days.

In the orangery belonging to the palace, meat and wine had been
distributed among the foreign troops to encourage and spirit them up.
The Viscount of Noailles and another deputy, Wimpfen, brought word of
the latest events in the capital, and of the increasing violence of the
people. Couriers were despatched every half-hour to gather intelligence.
Deputations waited on the King to lay before him the progress of the
insurrection, but he still gave evasive and unsatisfactory answers. In
the night of the 14th the Duke of Liancourt had informed Louis XVI of
the taking of the Bastille and the massacre of the garrison on the
preceding day. "It is a revolt!" exclaimed the monarch, taken by
surprise. "No, sire, it is a revolution," was the answer.

FOOTNOTES:

[33] Edmund Burke passed a splendid and well-known eulogium on the
beauty and accomplishments of the Queen, and it was in part the
impression which her youthful charms had left in his mind that threw the
casting-weight of his talents and eloquence into the scale of opposition
to the French Revolution. I have heard another very competent judge, Mr.
Northcote, describe her entering a small anteroom, where he stood, with
her large hoop sideways, and gliding by him from one end to the other
with a grace and lightness as if borne on a cloud. It was possibly to
"this air with which she trod or rather disdained the earth," as if
descended from some higher sphere, that she owed the indignity of being
conducted to a scaffold. Personal grace and beauty cannot save their
possessors from the fury of the multitude, more than from the raging
elements, though they may inspire that pride and self-opinion which
expose them to it.

[34] It was observed that almost all the greatest cruelties of the Reign
of Terror were resolved on by committees of persons who had been in the
immediate employment of the great, and had suffered by their caprice and
insolence.




ESTABLISHMENT OF THE UNITED STATES BANK

A.D. 1791

ALEXANDER HAMILTON AND LAWRENCE LEWIS, JR.

     Through the founding of the first Bank of the United States,
     which existed from 1791 to 1811, and was succeeded by
     another national bank in 1817, the monetary affairs of the
     Republic, under Hamilton's able administration, were placed
     upon a sounder basis, and the transaction of public business
     was greatly facilitated.

     During the seventeenth century Indian money (wampum) was
     much used by the colonists, especially in their trade with
     the Indians. For a long time it was a legal tender in common
     with other currencies. The earliest American coinage is said
     to date from 1612. In Massachusetts, the "pine-tree"
     money--silver coins bearing the emblem of a pine-tree--was
     used from 1652 to 1686. Soon began the issue of various
     paper moneys in the colonies, and the establishment of banks
     under the colonial governments. The "Continental currency"
     of the Revolution, first issued in 1775 by authority of the
     Continental Congress, began to depreciate almost as soon as
     it appeared, and in 1780 ceased to circulate.

     In 1780 the Pennsylvania Bank, in Philadelphia, began to
     assist the Government, and rendered useful service until
     1784. But the need of a national bank had already become
     evident. Robert Morris, Superintendent of Finance for the
     United States, secured the organization, at Philadelphia, of
     the Bank of North America, with a capital of four hundred
     thousand dollars. It was incorporated by Congress in
     December, 1781, and soon after by the State of Pennsylvania.
     Its success led to the founding of the Bank of New York in
     1784.

     On the organization of the Government under the Federal
     Constitution, the genius of Alexander Hamilton was called
     into service for the work of constructive statesmanship.
     From 1789 to 1795 he was Secretary of the Treasury; and one
     of his first acts, as shown by Lewis, was the unfolding of a
     plan which led to the establishment of the first Bank of the
     United States.


In March, 1789, a great and fortunate change took place in the
management of American public affairs. The Constitution of the United
States went into operation. A vigorous, responsible executive was
conferred upon the country, and an incredible impulse given to all
schemes of national importance. Among those now called upon to take part
in the administration of public affairs was Alexander Hamilton. Placed
in charge of the Department of the Treasury, he found before him the
prodigious task of settling the financial affairs of the United States
upon a sure and satisfactory basis. Toward the attainment of this end no
measure seemed more important to him than his old and favorite one for
the establishment of a national bank. Without loss of time he devised a
plan for such an institution which seemed to him practicable, and in
1790 spread before Congress the result of his labors.

"The establishment of banks in this country," says Hamilton in the
course of his report, "seems to be recommended by reasons of a peculiar
nature. Previously to the Revolution, circulation was in a great measure
carried on by paper emitted by the several local governments. This
auxiliary may be said to be now at an end. And it is generally supposed
that there has been for some time past a deficiency of circulating
medium.

"If the supposition of such a deficiency be in any degree founded, and
some aid to circulation be desirable, it remains to inquire what ought
to be the nature of that aid.

"The emitting of paper money by the authority of government is wisely
prohibited to the individual States by the national Constitution; and
the spirit of that prohibition ought not be disregarded by the
Government of the United States.

"Among other material differences between a paper currency issued by the
mere authority of Government, and one issued by a bank, payable in coin,
is this: that in the first case there is no standard to which an appeal
can be made, as to the quantity which will only satisfy or which will
surcharge the circulation; in the last, that standard results from the
demand. If more should be issued than is necessary, it will return upon
the bank. Its emissions must always be in a compound ratio to the fund
and the demand. Whence it is evident that there is a limitation in the
nature of the thing; while the discretion of the Government is the only
measure of the extent of the emissions by its own authority.

"The payment of the interest of the public debt at thirteen different
places is a weighty reason, peculiar to our immediate situation, for
desiring a bank circulation. Without a paper, in general currency,
equivalent to gold and silver, a considerable proportion of the specie
of the country must always be suspended from circulation, and left to
accumulate preparatorily to each day of payment; and as often as one
approaches, there must in several cases be an actual transportation of
the metals at both expense and risk, from their natural and proper
reservoirs, to distant places."

The report then goes on to explain the practical details of the plan
proposed.

The measure met generally with popular applause, but there were some who
doubted its wisdom. Among other difficulties that were thrown in its
path was a suggestion that a new bank was quite unnecessary, since an
institution was in existence which owed its origin to national bounty,
and which had already, upon more than one occasion, manifested both its
readiness and ability to extend a helping hand to the Government. With
this objection Hamilton dealt most courteously.

"The aid afforded to the United States," said he, "by the Bank of North
America during the remaining period of the war was of essential
consequence, and its conduct toward them since the peace has not
weakened its title to their patronage and favor. So far its pretensions
to the character of a national bank are respectable, but there are
circumstances which militate against them and considerations which
indicate the propriety of an establishment on different principles.

"The directors of this bank, on behalf of their constituents, have since
acted under a new charter from the State of Pennsylvania, materially
variant from their original one, and which so narrows the foundation of
the institution as to render it an incompetent basis for the extensive
purposes of a national bank.

"There is nothing in the acts of Congress which implies an exclusive
right in the institution to which they relate, except during the time of
the war. There is, therefore, nothing, if the public good require it,
which prevents the establishment of another. It may, however, be
incidentally remarked that in the general opinion of the citizens of the
United States, the Bank of North America has taken the station of a bank
of Pennsylvania only. This is a strong argument for a new institution,
or for a renovation of the old, to restore it to the situation in which
it originally stood in the view of the United States. But--there may be
room to allege that the Government of the United States ought not, in
point of candor or equity, to establish any rival or interfering
institution in prejudice of the one already established, especially as
this has, from services rendered, well-founded claims to protection and
regard.

"The justice of this observation ought, within proper bounds, to be
admitted. A new establishment of the sort ought not to be made without
cogent and sincere reasons of public good. And in the manner of doing it
every facility should be given to a consolidation of the old with the
new, upon terms not injurious to the parties concerned. But there is no
ground to maintain that in a case in which the Government has made no
condition restricting its authority, it ought voluntarily to restrict
it, through regard to the interests of a particular institution, when
those of the State dictate a different course; especially, too, after
such circumstances have intervened as characterize the actual situation
of the Bank of North America.

"If the objections, which have been stated, to the constitution of the
Bank of North America are admitted to be well founded, they,
nevertheless, will not derogate from the merit of the main design, or of
the services which that bank has rendered, or of the benefits which it
has produced. The creation of such an institution, at the time it took
place, was a measure dictated by wisdom. Its utility has been amply
evinced by its fruits. American independence owes much to it.

"The Secretary begs leave to conclude with this general observation,
that if the Bank of North America shall come forward with any
propositions which have for their object the ingrafting upon that
institution the characteristics which shall appear to the Legislature
necessary to the due extent and safety of a national bank, there are, in
his judgment, weighty inducements to giving every reasonable facility to
the measure. Not only the pretensions of that institution, from its
original relation to the Government of the United States, and from the
services it has rendered, are such as to claim a disposition favorable
to it, if those who are interested in it are willing, on their part, to
place it on a footing satisfactory to the Government and equal to the
purposes of a bank of the United States; but its coöperation would
naturally accelerate the accomplishment of the great object, and the
collision, which might otherwise arise, might, in a variety of ways,
prove equally disagreeable and injurious. The incorporation and union
here contemplated may be effected in different modes, under the auspices
of an act of the United States, if it shall be desired, by the Bank of
North America, upon terms which shall appear expedient to the
Government."

As far as can be ascertained, however, the management of the bank took
no steps in accordance with the suggestions of the report. The quiet and
prosperous business in which they were engaged, under State auspices,
was to them preferable to the anxieties and hazards which would probably
attend the new national undertaking; the scheme of a separate
institution was, therefore, rapidly pushed forward, and on February 19,
1791, the first Bank of the United States began its corporate existence.

The Bank of North America now sustained a serious loss in the
resignation of its president, Mr. Willing, on January 9, 1792, after a
term of service extending over a little more than ten years. He had been
chosen to preside over the affairs of the Bank of the United States, a
station for which it was justly supposed that his talents and experience
eminently qualified him. He was succeeded in office by John Nixon, an
almost equally well-known and respected citizen. Born in 1733 of Irish
parentage, Mr. Nixon for a number of years did a prosperous business in
the city of Philadelphia. He was one of the many signers of the
Non-importation Resolutions, and upon the breaking out of the Revolution
made himself prominent by his strenuous efforts and warm interest in the
national cause. He was a member of the Committee of Safety, and had the
honor of first proclaiming to the citizens of Philadelphia the
Declaration of Independence. During some portion of the war he did
active service, with the rank of colonel, in the Continental Army. He
was one of the original subscribers to the bank, and had been a director
since 1784. He retained the office of president for seventeen years
until his death, which occurred on December 24, 1808.

Meantime the business of the bank was rapidly increasing as the commerce
of the country grew. The profits were so great that annual dividends of
12 per cent. were paid to the various stockholders. Nor did the
institution cease to accommodate the public from time to time with loans
of considerable extent. During the year 1791 the bank advanced to the
Commonwealth, at different times, in all one hundred sixty thousand
dollars, and in the following year something over fifty-three thousand
dollars.




NEGRO REVOLUTION IN HAITI

TOUSSAINT LOUVERTURE ESTABLISHES THE DOMINION OF HIS RACE

A.D. 1791

CHARLES WYLLYS ELLIOTT

     Haiti, the Spanish Santo Domingo, earlier called Española,
     is the largest of the West Indian islands except Cuba. The
     bloody revolutionary and slave revolts which began in 1791
     and ended in the supremacy of the negroes, form the most
     memorable passages in its history. From 1797 their great
     leader, Toussaint Louverture, whose achievements are here
     recounted, was Governor of the whole island, whose
     independence he proclaimed in 1801. Having afterward opposed
     Napoleon's attempt to reëstablish slavery, Toussaint was
     treacherously arrested and sent to France, where, in a
     dungeon, he died in 1803. But white supremacy was never
     restored in Haiti.

     In 1697 France, by treaty, acquired the western part of the
     island, the eastern portion remaining in the possession of
     Spain, which had held it ever since its discovery by
     Columbus. The French found their Haitian lands very
     profitable in cotton and sugar, and the western region
     prospered, while the Spanish community was stagnant. At the
     outbreak of the French Revolution (1789) the whole island
     was thrown into a ferment, out of which came the changes
     that Elliott relates.

     At that time the French portion of Haiti had about half a
     million inhabitants, of whom some forty thousand were of
     European blood, thirty thousand free negroes, the rest negro
     slaves. The free colored people, mostly mulattoes, had no
     voice in the Government, but in 1790 the French National
     Assembly decreed to those born of free parents full
     citizenship. Opposition on the part of the whites caused
     delay in carrying out the decree. Taking advantage of the
     ensuing commotion, the slaves rose in revolt (August, 1791),
     and the conditions which Toussaint at length was called upon
     to meet were inevitably brought about.

     This black hero, of whose origin and personality information
     is given below, has been made the subject of a noble sonnet
     by Wordsworth, of an equally fine eulogy by Wendell
     Phillips, of a tragedy by Lamartine, and of a romance, _The
     Hour and the Man_, by Harriet Martineau. Auguste Comte, the
     founder of positivism, placed Toussaint in his new calendar
     among the great modern liberators--Hampden, Cromwell,
     Algernon Sidney, Washington, and Bolivar.


On August 25, 1791, was the feast of St. Louis. For the week preceding,
the planters gathered at Cap François[35] to concert measures against
the mulattoes; against the National Assembly; and--to dine. The great
men, and the rich, and the brave, were there. It was not a time to drive
the slaves; and during that week they "danced" more than before. On the
evening of August 23d, the best dishes of the cook Henri, a born prince,
whose future no one could suspect, tempted the palates of the born
whites. In brave counsels, in denunciations of the mulattoes, in songs
for Governor Blanchelande and "Liberty," the time passed, the wine
flowed, and hearts swelled. So the shadows of the night stole on. Light!
More light! was called for; they threw open the jalousies; curious black
faces swarmed about the piazzas--but what meant that dull glare which
reached the sultry sky? The party was broken up: they rushed to the
windows; they could smell the heavy smoke, they could hear the distant
tramp of feet. The band, unbidden, struck up the _Marsellaise_; it was
caught up in the streets; and from mouth to mouth, toward the rich Plain
du Nord, passed along the song:

    "_Le jour de gloire est arrivé!_
    _Aux armes! aux armes! pour Liberté!_"

Consternation followed the feast. Each man grasped his arms: into the
midst of the company rushed a negro covered with dust; panting with
heat. He sought his master. Pale with fear and excited with wine, he
received him on the point of his sword. As the life and blood flowed he
gasped, "O master! O master!" Murmurs of disapprobation filled the room,
but it was too late: the hour had come! The slaves had risen. This poor
creature had wished to save the man that owned him.

The rebellion broke out on the plantation of Noe, nine miles from Cap
François. At midnight the slaves sought the refiner and his apprentice
and hewed them in pieces. The overseer they shot. They then proceeded to
the house of Mr. Clement: he was killed by his postilion. They proceeded
from plantation to plantation murdering the whites; their ranks swelled
by crowds of scarred and desperate men who had nothing to lose but
life; and life with slavery was not so sweet as revenge. Everywhere
they applied the torch to the sugar-mills--those bastilles, consecrated
to the rites of the lash and to forced labor, dumb with fear--and to the
cane fields, watered with sweat and blood.

Toward morning crowds of whites came pouring into Cap François, pale,
terror-stricken, blood-stained. Men, women, and children found the day
of judgment was come: none knew what to do; all was confusion. The
signal-gun boomed through the darkness warning of danger, and every man
stood to his arms. The inhabitants of the city were paralyzed with fear.
They barred their doors and locked up their house-slaves. The only
living objects in the streets were a few soldiers marching to their
posts. Panic ruled the hour. The Assembly sat through the night. Touzard
was sent out to attack the negroes, but was driven back. Guns were
mounted, and the streets barricaded.

The morning dawned, and with the rising sun came rising courage. "It is
nothing," said some; "burn and hang a few negroes and all will go on as
before." The exasperation against the mulattoes, who were charged with
having fomented the rising, resulted in hatred, insult, bloodshed and
murder in and around Cap François; and a butchery was only stayed by the
vigorous opposition of the Governor. Whatever negroes were seized were
tortured and massacred. "Frequently," says Lacroix, "did the faithful
slave perish by the hands of an irritated master whose confidence he
sought."

The maddened negroes had tasted blood. They seized Mr. Blen, an officer
of police, nailed him alive to one of the gates of his plantation, and
chopped off his limbs with an axe.

M. Cardineau had two sons by a black woman. He had freed them and shown
them much kindness; but they belonged to the hated race, and they joined
the revolt. The father remonstrated, and offered them money. They took
his money and stabbed him to the heart. If they were bastards, who had
made them so? "One's pleasant vices often come home to roost." Horrors
were piled on horrors: white women were ravished and murdered; black
were broken on the wheel: whites were crucified; blacks were burned
alive: long pent-up hatreds were having their riot and revenge. M.
Odeluc was wrong, then! The slaves did _not_ seem to love their
masters. What could it mean?

Pork and bananas: slavery and ignorance; with some, dancing and the free
use of the whip seemed to be producing surprising results. The whites
could not understand it. Much sugar was raised, and yet the negroes were
not satisfied, and now seemed to have gone mad. Destruction hung over
the whites, and they concluded to try hanging and burning in their
extremity--having no faith in justice and honesty for the blacks.
Hundreds, perhaps thousands, owed their safety to the kindness of their
house-slaves.

Monsieur and Madame Baillou with their daughter, her husband, and two
white servants lived about thirty miles from Cap François, among the
mountains. A slave gave them notice of the rising: he hid them in the
forest and joined the revolt. At night he brought them food and led them
to another place of safety. He did this again and again: led them
through every danger and difficulty till they escaped to the sea. For
nineteen nights they were in the woods, and the negro risked his life to
save theirs. Why repeat instances? This was one of hundreds.

M. Odeluc was the superintendent of the Gallifet estate, the largest on
the Plain. "As happy as one of Gallifet's negroes," was a saying in the
district. He was sure of _his_ hands, and regretted the exaggerated
terror of the whites. With a friend and three or four soldiers he rode
out to the estate and found his negroes in arms with the body of a white
child for a standard. Alas! poor Odeluc! He believed the negroes were
dogs and would lick the hand that struck the blow. It was too late: he
and his attendants were cut down without mercy. Two only escaped to tell
the tale. Four thousand negroes were in arms and they were everywhere
successful. The Plain was in their possession; the quarters of Morin and
Limonade were in flames, and their ravages extended from the shore to
the mountains. Their recklessness was succeeded by regular organization
and systematic war. In the first moments of their headlong fury all
whites were murdered indiscriminately. This did not last: they soon
distinguished their enemies; and women and children were saved. The
blacks were headed by Jean François and Biassou--generals not to be
despised. Brave, rapid, unscrupulous; vain of grandeur, greedy of
plunder, they were not far from the marshals of France.

This, then, was not a revolt, but a revolution! Success would decide.
Never could the whites believe that the blacks were men. Ogé had
revealed a widespread conspiracy, headed by well-known slaves. The
whites concealed this. They did not believe him; they believed only that
the blacks were their born slaves, fit for the whip, incapable of
courage or honor or martyrdom. Experience only was to teach them.

At first the whites acted upon the defensive. The Assembly was rancorous
against France in the midst of this destruction, and effaced from behind
the Speaker's chair the motto "_Vive la Nation, la Loi, et le Roi!_"
Even when destruction was over them they heeded not: their bickerings
continued. The negro generals declared that they were fighting for their
King, and against slavery--for a rumor had reached them that Louis
favored emancipation. They had the strongest party and the strongest
side. At length the whites determined upon a war of extermination. The
blacks responded. Heads of whites were stuck on poles around the negro
camps. Bodies of negroes swung on gibbets in the white encampments and
on trees by the roadside. Within two months two thousand whites and ten
thousand blacks perished. _Te Deum_ was sung in both camps and daily
thanksgivings were said for what was done. Pale ghosts hovered over them
and sighed in the tropical groves; but they could not speak for pity or
for justice. The insurrection spread to the southwest, and two thousand
mulattoes, headed by Rigaud, rose to revenge the death of some of their
comrades; many negroes joined them and they threatened Port au Prince.
The colonists were now thoroughly alarmed, and proceeded to try
reconciliation. The inhabitants of Port au Prince and Rigaud agreed upon
a truce, and the whites admitted that the slaughter of certain mulattoes
had been "infamous," and agreed that the civil rights of the mulattoes
should be allowed them. At last! Was it not too late?

Governor Blanchelande issued a proclamation earnestly entreating the
revolted negroes to lay down their arms and return to their duty. It was
too late. They laughed in derision at his small request. What! to
slavery and work and degradation and cruelty, even! They had burst
their fetters and stood with arms in their hands. "Will you," they
replied to the Governor, "will you, brave General, that we should, like
sheep, throw ourselves into the jaws of the wolf? It is too late. It is
for us to conquer or die!"

On September 11, 1791, the whites at Port au Prince had consented to the
civil rights of the mulattoes. On October 23d the _Concordat_ had been
signed; the whites and mulattoes had walked arm in arm through the city
and peace seemed possible, when word came that on September 24th the
National Assembly at Paris had reversed the decree of May 15th. The
mulattoes at once flew to arms, and the struggle between them and the
whites went on with increased carnage and cruelty. This continued with
varied results through 1792. "You kill mine and I'll kill yours," was
the cry. As it had been from the outset, so it continued among the
whites: open war between the colonists and the governors; between the
people of the North and the South; contention and bitterness, intrigue,
treachery. They made head nowhere against the mulattoes; nowhere against
the negroes. In December, 1791, three commissioners arrived from France
to distract the confusion. They accomplished nothing, and were succeeded
in September, 1792, by Santhonax, Polverel, and Ailhaud, ordinary men;
not sufficient for so extraordinary a state of things as this.

The hour had come, but not the man. The world waited for him, but none
knew where to look; for none believed him to be among the degraded
negroes. The old custom of master and slave was broken in pieces, and a
nation of men, with no cultivation, with no education in
self-government, with none of the conservative strength which hangs
about privilege and possession and long-honored habit, were now up,
inspired only with a hatred of slavery and vague aspirations for that
which they knew not how to name. In this chaotic hour the man who could
express this longing for freedom, this need of growth, this aspiration
for infinite good--not only in words, but in deeds and in life--was
needed: without him all would come to nothing, and the struggle of the
blacks would be but a spasm, to end in exhaustion and discouragement;
for successful revolutions have been secured by developing, from among
the unknown, the known man, around whom the elements of the new state
could gather for new order.

Among the half-million blacks there must be one, and more than one, who
could redeem his race; to whom the outcast and despairing might look and
take courage and say, "Such as he is, I may try to be." This man was
longed for; consciously or not, the blacks yearned for their king, could
they but see him. The presentiment existed, for had not the Abbé Raynal
long before predicted a vindicator for the race? No man can save
another, and no nation. Each race must look for its salvation and its
leaders in its own comprehensive soul. The Moses who will lead the
blacks out of bondage must be a _black_, and he will come!

Let us go back for a moment. On the arrival of the first commissioners,
Mirbeck, Roume, and St. Leger, the mulattoes in the West were in arms
under Rigaud; the blacks in the North, under Jean François and Biassou.
They were a ragged crowd: pikes, muskets, cane-knives, axes, whatever
the hand could find, were their arms, and they fought without order or
discipline, inspired by revenge and hatred to slavery. Jean François, if
vain and ostentatious, was sagacious and full of resource. Biassou was
bold, fiery, and vindictive. The blacks had slaughtered and been
slaughtered, hanged and been hanged, plundered and been plundered. There
seemed no end to it and no object. They heard that the commissioners
were placable, so they wished to make terms. But who would dare to
venture among the whites? Were not all outcasts, hunted beasts, fugitive
slaves? Raynal and Duplessis (mulattoes) at last took the hazard. The
Governor sent them to the commissioners, they to the Colonial Assembly.
The Assembly that day was in an exalted state: it emulated the gods. It
replied loftily: "Emissaries of the revolted negroes, the Assembly,
established on the law and by the law, cannot correspond with people
armed against the law. The Assembly might extend grace to guilty men,
if, being repentant, etc.," and Raynal and Duplessis were ordered
sharply to "withdraw."

They did withdraw, amid the hooting of the mob. They returned to Grande
Rivière. The army and the people came out to meet them, wishing peace:
they told their story, and peace was turned to war, love to hatred.
Biassou, in a rage, ordered all the white prisoners in the camp to be
put to death. "Death to the whites!" went along the lines and among the
people. The insane pride of the whites worked its own punishment, and
now a hundred more were to be slaughtered. No white was there to save
them, and no God to wrest them away. Then a man, black, indifferent in
person, unpleasing of visage, meanly dressed, makes his way among the
crowd to Biassou swelling with rage. He speaks to him a few words,
quietly, calmly; they are to the purpose. The General's face is
composed; he listens; he countermands his orders, and the whites are
saved.

The negro who saves them is Toussaint Breda, afterward called
Louverture. The son of an African chief, Gaou-Guinon, with no drop of
white blood in his veins. He had been the born slave of the Count de
Breda, and had been well treated by his manager, Bayou de Libertas. He
was the husband of one wife and the father of children. With religious
aspirations, an inflexible integrity, and an inquiring mind, he had been
a valuable slave and had been raised from a field-hand to be M. Bayou's
coachman.

Toussaint was never hungry while a slave; he was not whipped. His hut
was comfortable; vines twined around his door. Bananas and potatoes grew
in his garden. Toussaint, it seems, was not a beast of burden. To make
sugar he was worth no more than a Bozal just stolen; but with these rare
virtues--patience, courage, intelligence, fidelity--he might have sold
for five hundred dollars and might be trusted to drive horses. When the
rebellion broke out he did not join it, but assisted M. Bayou with his
family to escape, and shipped a rich cargo to the United States for his
maintenance.

Toussaint was then fifty years old. None knew the day of his birth; the
records of stock then and there were not carefully kept. For fifty years
this negro had lived the life of a slave; his only occupation the hoeing
of cane and the grooming of horses. What thoughts, what struggles, what
hopes had taken shape in that uncultivated brain no man knows--for
Toussaint was a man of few words, and he left no writings. It was late
in life to begin a new trade; late to begin to find out his own powers
and strength; late to trust himself to freedom, he who had always had a
master; late to speculate upon the destinies of the black race; late to
attempt to shape them. But in revolutionary times men learn fast; great
men need only the opportunity; they rise to the emergency. Cromwell was
not a born or trained general or ruler, nor was Washington, nor was
William Tell. Toussaint had bided his time. This slave was ignorant,
knew nothing. He learned to read when approaching his declining years;
then he studied: Raynal, Epictetus, Cæsar, Saxe, Herodotus, Plutarch,
Nepos--these were the books and lives he knew.

He decided to join his race, and having some knowledge of simples was
made physician of the forces commanded by Jean François. Here he served
well, as he always did, and learned the trade of war. Shocked at the
cruelties of whites and blacks he took the side of mercy and saved lives
from the sword as well as from disease. He saw the vanity of François,
the rashness of Biassou, the cruelty of Jeannot; but he retired
disgusted to no stupid monastery; he returned not to the ease and
degradation of slavery, but was equal to the facts of life, however
hard, and grappled with them and mastered them as a man should. He was
then loyal to the King, and he was loyal to the Church, a devout
Catholic.

In 1792, the three commissioners, sent out from France to "settle" the
affairs of the colony, had been thwarted and finally driven away by the
whites. In September (1792), Santhonax, Polverel, and Ailhaud had
arrived with troops, money, and instructions and a new governor,
Desparbes, in place of Blanchelande. He soon became disgusted, alarmed,
and he fled. The commissioners bestirred themselves to settle the
commotion. The rich planters were for the King; the _Petits Blancs_ were
for the Directory; the mulattoes, under Rigaud, ravaged the West: the
revolted negroes, under Jean François, Biassou and others, threatened on
the North. France herself, that ancient kingdom, was now fermenting;
struggling--yet with hope--to realize in the state her unformed faith in
democracy, and with the energy of despair striving to beat back the
waves of bayonets which beat and bristled on her borders. Thus matters
stood in France, thus in Santo Domingo. The slaves in both countries had
risen, and rushed to arms. Their remedy was desperate; so was their
disease.

General Galbaud, a new governor, arrived from France in May (1793). The
commissioners were engaged in the west in fighting Rigaud. They returned
to Cap François to fight the Governor whose authority they disputed.
Galbaud held the ships and the arsenals and determined to assert his
authority. His soldiers and sailors entered the town and abandoned
themselves to drunkenness, pillage and brutality. The commissioners
armed the slaves in the town, promised them freedom, and sent for aid to
the negro generals. Jean François and Biassou refused; but a chief,
Macayo, at the head of three thousand blacks, entered the town, and the
conflict raged. The whites were driven into the sea and slaughtered.
Madness ruled, and none fiercer than the mulattoes. Galbaud fled, and
half the city was destroyed by fire. At last--for a while--the whites
gave up the hope of recovering their slaves. Thousands fled--some
suppose nine-tenths--and found refuge along the American coasts.

Famine had more than once increased the misery during these three years,
yet the island was fruitful, and cultivation, here and there, went on.
The sagacious Jean François had initiated cultivation along the
mountain-sides, and in the valleys; and thus secured an unfailing
magazine of supply.

Toussaint, meanwhile, continues his duties with the negro troops.
Steadily and surely, if not rapidly, he gains strength and influence and
knowledge of war. He has measured himself with Jean and Biassou, and is
not wanting. His prudence, patience, silent will, and courage make him
useful to them, and his justice and determination and mercy make him the
idol of the men. The Marquis Hermona, Governor of the Spanish part of
the island, made advances to the negro chiefs. Santhonax, in his
extremity after the destruction of Cap François, sent Macayo to propose
an alliance, but they distrusted him.

Meanwhile Louis XVI was beheaded. They said, "We have lost the King of
France, but the King of Spain esteems us and gives us succor." They
declined the proposals of the commissioners, and ranged themselves on
the side of Spain. Toussaint was loyal to the memory of the King, and
followed François and Biassou. Hermona saw that Toussaint was a _man_;
and while Jean François was advanced to the first rank, Toussaint was
raised to that of colonel in the Spanish army. He at once applied
himself to his duties, and what he did was always well done. His troops
became, as if by a word, the best disciplined in the army. The reason
was plain: he knew what men ought to do and what they can do; and the
men knew that he was upright and wise. So these ragged, ignorant, roving
hordes became efficient troops. Confidence begat confidence: the
commander trusted his men, and they relied on him; together they were
strong. Idleness was not Toussaint's policy. The insurgents under Jean
François, Biassou, and Toussaint held strong positions in the mountains
south of Cap François. Brandicourt, the general of the French troops,
was at once trapped and compelled to order his troops to lay down their
arms. Grande Rivière, Dondon, Plaisance, Marmalade, and Ennery, the most
important places in the north, quickly fell into Toussaint's hands.

The French commissioners were getting into straits. The Spanish troops
were against them; the blacks were against them. The remaining whites
were divided; some wore the black cockade, others the white; the troops,
and friends of the commissioners, the tricolor; the mulattoes, the red.
War was everywhere, and no man was safe but with arms in his hands and
in the strongest party. But this was not enough: some of the planters
mounted the English hat and sent to the English for succor. Even
"_perfide Albion_" was welcome, if they might but reëstablish slavery
and get again their estates. In this extremity, Santhonax decided to
make friends with the blacks, and proclaimed at Cap François universal
freedom (August 20, 1793). Polverel repeated the proclamation at Port au
Prince. The enthusiasm among the negroes was great, but not universal.
Their leaders were not moved; they distrusted the commissioners and they
doubted the stability of the French Republic--so the war went on.

In September, the English landed at Jeremie, in the extreme southwest.
They took possession of St. Nicholas, in the extreme northwest, and
during the year 1794 the whole western coast was in their
possession--St. Nicholas, St. Marc, St. Jacmel, Tiburon, Jeremie; and at
last, on June 4th, Port au Prince, the capital, yielded. "Twenty-two
topsail vessels," with their cargoes, worth four hundred thousand pounds
sterling, were a part of the spoil. The mulatto chief, Rigaud, had taken
the side of France. Educated in Bordeaux, he had followed, in Santo
Domingo, his trade of a goldsmith, which the whites thought too good for
a "nigger." He was a brave man, mild in peace, and terrible in war, and,
aided by Pétion, he kept up a harassing fight against the English.
Shortly after the fall of Port au Prince, a ship arrived with a
requisition for the commissioners to return to France; they must answer
for their doings there, and General Laveaux was left as provisional
governor.

His case, and that of the French, was desperate. Shut up in Port de
Paix, the last stronghold of the French, he wrote (May 24, 1794): "For
more than six months we have been reduced to six ounces of bread a day,
officers as well as men, but from the 13th we have none whatever, the
sick only excepted. If we had powder we should have been consoled. We
have in our magazines neither shoes, nor shirts, nor clothes, nor soap,
nor tobacco. The most of the soldiers mount guard barefoot; we have no
flints for the men; but be assured that we will never surrender; be
assured too, that after us, the enemy will not find the slightest trace
of Port de Paix." Dark was the outlook, but brave was the heart of
General Laveaux.

The hour was nigh: the hands advanced on the dial of time. Events, which
no man could have foreseen or controlled, had gathered for judgment, and
at last a great nation had decreed freedom to a poor, debauched, and
servile race. But who should lead them, who should now defend them
against themselves; give shape and system to their undisciplined wishes,
carry them safely through the anarchy of unbounded liberty and
crystallize them into a state whose only sure basis is the Rights and
Duties of Labor, Thought, Speech, and Worship, the Rights and Duties of
Man. The hour has come and the man--Toussaint Breda! from his eyrie near
Dondon, sweeps the horizon. In the east he sees the decadent power of
Spain: it has spoken no word of freedom for the blacks. In the west he
sees the white sails of England: she is hand and glove with the planters
to reëstablish slavery. In the north France and Laveaux are nigh death.
France only has proclaimed liberty to the blacks. Toussaint sees the
"opening" for his race and for himself, and from this day he is
Toussaint Louverture--the first of the blacks. Bone of their bone and
skin of their skin, he alone knows their needs, their capacities, and
their hearts. With the clear glance of inspiration he sees the moment,
with the firm grasp of talent he seizes it.

General Laveaux saw this, and through the priest, La Haye, made advances
to him. Toussaint is wise and he is wary; he keeps his own counsel; he
consults not Jean François, who had once cast him into prison; nor
Biassou, nor the Marquis Hermona. As usual, he performs his duties; as
usual, he partakes of the communion; as usual, his troops look to him,
and Hermona said: "There exists on earth no purer soul." He has placed
his wife and children in safety; he has ordered his affairs; his horse
stands saddled and bridled; then, tearing off his epaulettes he casts
them at the feet of the Spanish officers, flings himself on his horse,
and rides like the wind out of the camp. The Spaniards are for a moment
paralyzed: they pursue him, but neither hoof nor pistol can reach him.
Toussaint is not to be caught.

On May 4, 1794, he pulls down the Spanish and hoists the French colors.
Marmalade, Plaisance, Ennery, Dondon, Acul, and Limbé submit to him.
Confusion and fear prevail among the Spaniards; joy exalts the negroes.
Laveaux is saved, and the colony not yet lost to France. Toussaint is a
power in the state: the negroes everywhere respond to the sound of his
voice; they look to him as their hero, defender, guide, and guard.
Toussaint sets himself to his work. The whole province of the north soon
falls into his hands, and he drives the Spanish ally, Jean François,
westward along La Montaigne Noire. Then he hastens into the rich valley
of the Artibonite, attacks and beats back the English and besieges the
strong fortress of St. Marc; but neither forces nor ammunition is
sufficient and he retires to the mountain fastnesses of Marmalade to
recruit his troops. On October 9, 1794, he carries the fortress of San
Miguel by storm.

Toussaint determines to drive away the English, and he falls with fury
upon General Brisbane in the Artibonite and compels him to retreat. But
Jean François hung over him in the heights of La Grande Rivière. Again
he retires to Dondon and organizes his forces to repel the Spaniards. In
four days he takes and destroys twenty-eight positions, but Jean
François with a superior force threatens his rear while the English are
in front; again he is baffled and he returns to Dondon. Toussaint is no
longer the leader of marauding bands but the head of an army. His troops
are mostly raw and ignorant, badly clothed, armed, and fed, but they
trust in him and have courage. He seeks for efficient officers, and
finds Dessalines, Desroulaux, Maurepas, Clervaux, Christophe and
Lamartinière. These he must command with discretion; his troops he must
provide with arms, ammunition, and food. He must watch the forces of the
Spaniards, the movements of the English. Intrigues abroad and
treacheries at home; henceforth he must organize campaigns.

The treaty of Basel had secured the cession of the whole Spanish part of
the island to France. Jean François was, therefore, at liberty to retire
to Spain, to enjoy his honors. There remained now but the English to
distract the plans of Toussaint and the French. One more disturbing
element yet existed. The mulattoes felt themselves superior to the
blacks, and the rightful successors to the whites in the honors and
government of the island. Jealous of Toussaint and the favors shown the
blacks, headed by Nillate (Villate), they rose against Laveaux, the
Governor of the Cape, and threw him into prison; his danger was extreme.
Toussaint descended on the town with ten thousand blacks and saved him.
Laveaux appointed him his lieutenant, second in command in the island,
and declared that he was the "Spartacus," foretold by Raynal, who should
avenge the sufferings of his race. Confidence grew now between the
blacks and the whites, and Lacroix--who is in no way friendly to the
blacks--admits that "if Santo Domingo still carried the colors of
France, it was solely owing to an old negro who seemed to bear
a commission from Heaven." The French continued to send
commissioners--Santhonax among them--but Toussaint was the moving mind;
and when Laveaux, having been elected Delegate to the Assembly, sailed
for France, Santhonax finally appointed him commander-in-chief.

Toussaint, now "Louverture"; a strong hand and a clear head, though
black, now directs the affairs of the island. Daily he gains strength
and the confidence of the negroes. They flock to his army; they listen
and obey his words. Christophe, in the north, had encouraged
cultivation. Toussaint throws his powerful influence into the work. His
maxim, "that the liberty of the blacks can never endure without
agriculture," passes from mouth to mouth among the negroes, and rouses
in them the desire for lands and wealth--for the first time now
possible. He wishes that Cape and the towns along the north should be
rebuilt. It is done; they rise from their ashes. All hopes are centred
in the General-in-Chief: _he_ can restore peace and prosperity; he
alone.

The English now were sore bestead. The French pressed them in the west;
Desfourneaux in the north; Rigaud in the south; Christophe had carried
the heights of Vallière--the Vendée of Santo Domingo. Toussaint
Louverture again attempts to take St. Marc; thrice he storms it, thrice
he deserves success, but again he fails to clutch this strong fortress.
He turns now to Mirebelois, an interior Thermopylæ, strongly fortified
by the English. His lieutenant, Mornay, intercepted Montalembert, who
was advancing with seven hundred men and two pieces of artillery. The
next day he drives in all the English troops, invests the village of St.
Louis, carries the forts by assault, and in fourteen days totally
defeats the English, taking two hundred prisoners, eleven pieces of
cannon, and military stores. The efforts of the English are nearly at an
end; weak and weary, their strength is spent. Whitlocke, Williamson,
Whyte, Horneck, Brisbane, and Markham, have tried to subdue these rebels
and to wrest the colony from France: they have bitten a file. Millions
of pounds have been wasted; Brisbane and Markham are killed; thousands
of soldiers slain; the yellow fever, too, has done its work.

General Maitland at last decided to leave the island, and between him
and Toussaint there went on a struggle of diplomacy; but Louverture was
more than his equal: he accepted his honors, but refused his bribes.
They made terms, and Maitland evacuated Port au Prince and St. Nicholas.
One incident illustrates Maitland's confidence in Toussaint. Before the
disembarkation of his troops, he determined to return Louverture's
visit. He proceeded to his camp, through a country full of negroes, with
but three attendants. On his way he heard that Roume, the French
commissioner, had advised Toussaint to seize him; but he proceeded, and
when he reached the camp, after waiting a short time, Toussaint entered,
and, handing him two letters--Roume's and his reply--said: "Read; I
could not see you until I had written, so that you could see that I am
incapable of baseness."

General Lacroix has written that he saw, in the archives at Port au
Prince, the offers made to Toussaint, securing him in the power and
kingship of the island, and liberty to his race, with a sufficient naval
force on the part of England, provided he would renounce France and form
a commercial treaty with England. The event leads one to regret that
Toussaint's ambition was not superior to his loyalty to France.

During these proceedings with the English, Santhonax had departed for
France, partly at his own request, partly because he was in the way of
Toussaint's plans for the restoration of the island. With him, Toussaint
sent his two sons to receive some education in France, and to show, as
his letter stated, "his confidence in the Directory--at a time when
complaints were busy against him." He said, "there exist no longer any
internal agitations; and I hold myself responsible for the submission to
order and duty of the blacks, my brethren."

FOOTNOTES:

[35] Now, in English, Cape Haitien. The place is a seaport of northern
Haiti.--ED.




REPUBLICAN FRANCE DEFIES EUROPE

BATTLE OF VALMY

A.D. 1792

ALPHONSE M. L. LAMARTINE

     In the battle of Valmy the French, under Dumouriez and
     Kellermann, repulsed the Prussians and their allies,
     commanded by the Duke of Brunswick. Though not in itself a
     great victory, its results have led some historians to call
     that action one of the decisive battles of the world. The
     final withdrawal of the Prussians, owing to Russian
     intrigues in Poland, left an open way for the French army
     into the Austrian Netherlands, which at Jemapes (November 6,
     1792) were won for France. Other victories for the
     Revolution quickly followed, greatly advancing its cause.

     After the fall of the Bastille (July 14, 1789), the National
     Assembly abolished special privileges, slavery, and serfdom
     in France and all her territories, and decreed equal
     taxation. A new constitution was made. These acts heightened
     popular enthusiasm for the revolt. Political clubs, chief of
     which was that of the Jacobins, were formed in Paris. They
     were fiercely uncompromising in their demand for the
     overthrow of the monarchy. Many of the nobles hastened to
     quit the country. The King was virtually made prisoner in
     Paris, whence he attempted to escape, but was captured by
     insurgents and closely guarded in the city.

     The National Assembly came to an end and was succeeded
     (October 1, 1791) by the Legislative Assembly, a still more
     radical body, which for a year practically ruled France over
     the head of the King.

     Such was the state of affairs in France when,
     notwithstanding the complications in the East, the Emperor
     Leopold II and King Frederick William II of Prussia issued
     the Convention of Pillnitz (August, 1791). This was the
     basis of an alliance for the rescue of Louis XVI from his
     enemies, and for his full restoration to power. It led a
     little later to a formidable coalition of sovereigns against
     the Revolution. Brunswick advanced toward Paris, but while
     he hesitated in his progress the French army, under
     Dumouriez, was increased in numbers and discipline.
     Dumouriez was on the Belgian border, preparing for his
     "Argonne campaign," the first events of which no one has
     better described than Lamartine.


While the interregnum of royalty and republicanism delivered Paris over
to the revolutionists, France, with all its frontiers open, had for
security nothing but the small forest of Argonnes and the genius of
Dumouriez. On September 2, 1792, this general was shut up with sixteen
thousand men in the camp of Grandpré, occupying with weak detachments
the intermediate defiles between Sedan and Sainte-Menehould, by which
the Duke of Brunswick might attempt to break his line and turn his
position. He caused the tocsin to be rung in the villages, hoping to
excite the enthusiasm of the inhabitants; but the captures of Longwi and
Verdun, the understanding between the gentlemen of the country and the
_émigrés_,[36] the hatred of the Revolution, and the disproportionate
amounts of the coalesced army, discouraged resistance. Dumouriez, left
to himself by the inhabitants, could only rely on his own troops. His
sole hope was in forming a junction with Kellermann. If that could be
effected behind the forest of Argonne before the troops of the Duke of
Brunswick could force the natural rampart, Kellermann and Dumouriez,
uniting their troops, would have a body of forty-five thousand soldiers
to ninety thousand Prussians, and might then with some hope hazard the
fate of France on a battle.

Kellermann, who was worthy to understand and second this grand idea,
served without jealousy Dumouriez's design, satisfied with his share of
the glory if his country should be saved. He marched to Metz, at the
extremity of the Argonne, informing Dumouriez of every step he took. But
their superior intelligence was a mystery for the majority of officers
and soldiery. Provisions were scarce and bad, the general himself eating
black bread. Ministers, deputies, Luckner himself--influenced by his
correspondents in the camp--wrote perpetually to Dumouriez to abandon
his position and retire to Châlons.

Slight skirmishes with the advanced guard of the Prussians, in which the
French were always victorious, gave the troops patience. Miaczinski,
Stengel, and Miranda drove back the Prussians at all points. Dumouriez,
in his position, deadened the shock of the one hundred thousand men whom
the King of Prussia and the Duke of Brunswick collected at the foot of
Argonne. Chance nearly lost all.

Overcome by fatigue of body and mind, he had forgotten to reconnoitre
with his own eyes, and quite close to him, the defile of Croix-au-Bois,
which had been described to him as impracticable for troops,
particularly cavalry and artillery. He had placed there, however, a
dragoon regiment, two battalions of volunteers, and two pieces of
cannon, commanded by a colonel; but in consequence of the recall of the
dragoons and the two battalions before the troops ordered to replace
them had come up, the defile was for a moment open to the enemy. A great
many volunteer spies, whom the émigrés had in the villages of Argonne,
hastened to point out this weakness to Clerfayt, the Austrian general,
who instantly despatched eight thousand men, under the command of the
young Prince de Ligne, who seized on the position.

A few hours afterward, Dumouriez, informed of this reverse, placed
General Chazot at the head of two brigades, six squadrons of his best
troops, four pieces of cannon, besides the artillery belonging to the
battalions, and ordered him to attack the place at the bayonet's point,
and recover the position at any sacrifice. Every hour the impatient
commander despatched aides-de-camp to Chazot to expedite his march and
bring him back information. Twenty-four hours passed away thus in doubt.
On the 14th Dumouriez heard the sound of firing on his left, and judged
by the noise, which receded, that the Imperialists were in retreat and
Chazot had gained the forest. In the evening a note from Chazot informed
him that he had forced the intrenchments of the Austrians, in spite of
their desperate defence; that eight hundred dead lay in the defile,
among whom was the Prince de Ligne.

Scarcely, however, had this note reached Dumouriez, whose mind had been
thereby set at ease, than Clerfayt, burning to avenge the death of the
Prince de Ligne and make a decisive attack on this rampart of the French
army, advanced all his columns into this defile, gained the heights,
rushed headlong down on Chazot's column in front and on both flanks,
took his cannon, and compelled Chazot himself to leave the forest for
the plain, cutting off his communication with the camp of Grandpré, and
driving him in full flight on the road to Vouziers. At the same moment
the corps of the émigrés attacked General Dubouquet, in the defile of
the Chêne-Populeux. Frenchman against Frenchman, their valor was equal:
the one side fighting to save, the other to reconquer, their country.
Dubouquet gave way and retreated upon Châlons. These two disasters came
upon Dumouriez at the same moment. Chazot and Dubouquet seemed to trace
out to him the road. The clamor of his whole army pointed out to him
Châlons as a refuge. Clerfayt, with twenty-five thousand men, was about
to cut off his communication with Châlons. The Duke of Brunswick, with
eighty thousand Prussians, enclosed him on the three other sides in the
camp of Grandpré. His detachments cut off reduced his army to fifteen
thousand men.

A retreat before an enemy, conquering in two partial encounters, was to
prostrate the fortune of France before the foreigner. The "audacity" of
Danton passed into the mind and tactics of Dumouriez. He conceived a
plan even more bold than that of Argonne, and closed his ear to the
timid counsels of art. He dictated to his aides-de-camp orders to the
following effect:

Kellermann was to continue his advance to Sainte-Menehould; Beurnonville
was to march instantly for Rhétel, advancing by the river Aisne, taking
care not to go too near to Argonne, to save its flanks from Clerfayt's
attacks. Dillon was to defend and check the two defiles of Argonne, and
to send out troops beyond the forest in order to perplex the Duke of
Brunswick's motions, and come as soon as possible into communication
with Kellermann's advanced guard. Chazot was to return to Autry. General
Sparre, the commandant at Châlons, was desired to form the advanced camp
at Châlons.

These orders despatched, he prepared his own troops for the manoeuvre
which he himself intended to execute during the night. He sent to the
heights which cover the left of Grandpré on the side of the
Croix-au-Bois, where Clerfayt made him most uneasy, six battalions, six
squadrons, six pieces of cannon, as a lookout, in case of any sudden
attack on the part of the Austrians. At nightfall he caused the park of
artillery to defile in silence by the two bridges which traverse the
Aisne, and halt on the heights of Autry.

The Prince of Hohenlohe requested an interview with Dumouriez that
evening, his motive being to judge of the state of the army. Dumouriez
granted this, and substituted for himself in this conference General
Duval, whose advanced years, white hair, and commanding stature imposed
on the Austrian general. Duval affected an appearance of security,
telling the Prince that Beurnonville was expected next day with eighteen
thousand men, and Kellermann at the head of thirty thousand troops.
Discouraged in his offers of arrangement by Duval, the Austrian chief
withdrew, firmly convinced that Dumouriez meant to await the battle in
his camp.

At midnight Dumouriez left the Château of Grandpré, on horseback, and
went to the camp in the pitchy darkness of the night. All was hushed in
repose: he forbade drums to beat or trumpets to sound, but sent round in
a low voice the order to strike the tents and get under arms. The
darkness and confusion were unfavorable to these orders, but before the
first dawn of day the army was in full march. The troops passed in
double file over the bridges of Senuc and Grand Champ, and ranged
themselves in battle array on the eminences of Autry. Thus covered by
the Aisne, Dumouriez gazed upon the foe to see if they followed; but the
mystery of his movements had disconcerted the Duke of Brunswick and
Clerfayt. The army cut down the bridges behind them, and then, advancing
four leagues from Grandpré to Dumartin, encamped there; and in the
morning General Duval dispersed a host of Prussian hussars. Dumouriez
resumed his march next day, and on the 17th entered his camp of
Sainte-Menehould.

The camp of Sainte-Menehould seemed to have been designed by nature to
serve as a citadel for a handful of patriot soldiers, against a vast and
victorious army. Protected in the front by a deep valley, on one side by
the Aisne, and on the other by marshes, the back of the camp was
defended by the shallow branches of the river Auve. Beyond these muddy
streamlets and quagmires arose a solid and narrow piece of ground,
admirably adapted for the station of a second camp; and here the general
intended that Kellermann's division should be placed, then commanding
the two routes of Rheims and Châlons. Dumouriez had studied this
position during his leisure hours at Grandpré, and took up his quarters
with the confidence of a man who knows his ground and seizes on success
with certain hand.

All his arrangements being made and head-quarters established at
Sainte-Menehould, in the centre of the army, Dumouriez, annoyed at the
reports, spread by fugitives, of his having been routed, wrote to the
assembly: "I have been obliged," he wrote to the President, "to abandon
the camp of Grandpré; our retreat was complete, when a panic spread
through the army--ten thousand men fled before one thousand five hundred
Prussian hussars. All is repaired, and I answer for everything."

At the news of the retreat of Grandpré, Kellermann, believing Dumouriez
defeated, and fearful of falling himself among the Prussian forces, whom
he supposed to be at the extremity of the defile of Argonne, had
retreated as far as Vitry. Couriers from Dumouriez reassuring him, he
again advanced, but with the slowness of a man who fears an ambush at
every step. He hesitated while he obeyed. On the other side,
Beurnonville, the friend and confidant of Dumouriez, had met the
fugitives of Chazot's corps. Wholly disconcerted by their statements of
the complete rout of his general, Beurnonville, with some dragoons, had
ascended a hill, whence he perceived Argonne, and the bare heaths which
extend from Grandpré to Sainte-Menehould.

It was on the morning of the 17th, at the moment when Dumouriez's army
was moving from Dammartin to Sainte-Menehould. At the sight of this body
of troops, whose uniforms and flags he could not distinguish in the
heavy mist, Beurnonville had no doubt but that it was the Prussian army
advancing in pursuit of the French. He immediately faced about, and
advanced to Châlons by forced marches, in order to join his general.
Hearing his mistake at Châlons, Beurnonville gave only twelve hours'
rest to his harassed men, and arrived on the 19th with the ten thousand
warlike soldiers whom he had led so far to the field of battle.
Dumouriez passed them all in review, recognizing all the officers by
their names, and the soldiers by their countenances, while they all
saluted their leader with the loudest acclamations. The battalions and
squadrons which he had carefully formed, disciplined, and accustomed to
fire during the dilatory proceedings of Luckner with the army of the
North, defiled before him, covered with the dust of their long march,
their horses jaded, uniforms torn, shoes in holes, but their arms as
perfect and as bright as if they were on parade.

Dumouriez had scarcely dismounted when Westermann and Thouvenot, his two
confidential staff officers, came to inform him that the Prussian army,
_en masse_, had passed the peak of Argonne, and were deploying on the
hills of La Lune, on the other side of the Tourbe, opposite to him. At
the same instant young Macdonald, his aide-de-camp, who had been sent,
on the previous evening, on the road to Vitry, came galloping up, and
brought him intelligence of the approach of the long-expected
Kellermann, who at the head of twenty thousand men of the army of Metz,
and some thousands of volunteers of Lorraine, was only at two hours'
distance. Thus the fortune of the Revolution and the genius of
Dumouriez, seconding each other, brought at the appointed hour and to
the fixed spot, from the two extremities of France and from the depths
of Germany, the forces which were to assail and those which were to
defend the empire.

At the same moment Dumouriez, recalling his isolated detachments,
prepared for a struggle, by concentrating all his scattered forces.
General Dubouquet had retired to Châlons with three thousand men, where
he also expected to find Dumouriez, but had only found in the city ten
battalions of _fédérés_ and volunteers, who had arrived from Paris, and,
hearing of the retreat of the army, mutinied against their chiefs, cut
off the head of one of their officers, taking others with them,
plundered the army stores, murdered the colonel of the regiment of
Vexin, and then, in confused masses, took the road to Paris, proclaiming
everywhere Dumouriez's treason and demanding his head. Dumouriez was
alarmed lest these ruffians should come in contact with his army, for
such bands sowed sedition wherever they went.

General Stengel, after having ravaged the country between Argonne and
Sainte-Menehould, in order to cut off all supplies from the Prussians,
fell back beyond the Tourbe, and posted himself with the vanguard on the
hills of Lyron, opposite the heights of La Lune, where the Duke of
Brunswick was posted.

Dampierre's camp, separated from that of Dumouriez by the trenches and
shallows of the Auve, was assigned to Kellermann, but he passed beyond
this spot, and posted his entire army and baggage on the heights of
Valmy, in advance of Dampierre, on the left of that of Sainte-Menehould.
The line of Kellermann's encampment, nearer to the enemy, on its left,
touched on its right the line of Dumouriez, and thus formed with the
principal army an angle, against which the enemy could not send forth
its attacking columns without being at once overwhelmed by the French
artillery in both flanks. Dumouriez, perceiving in a moment that
Kellermann, who was too much involved and too much isolated on the
plateau of Valmy, might be turned by the Prussian masses, sent General
Chazot, at the head of eight battalions and eight squadrons, to post
them behind the heights of Gizaucourt, and be under Kellermann's orders.
He next desired General Stengel and Beurnonville to advance to the right
of Valmy with twenty-six battalions--his rapid _coup d'oeil_ assuring
him that this would be the Duke of Brunswick's point of attack.

This plan displayed at a glance the intelligence of the warrior and the
politician. Defiance was thus cast by forty-five thousand men to one
hundred ten thousand soldiers of the coalition.

The French army had its right flank and retreat covered by the Argonne,
which was impassable by the enemy, and defended by its ravines and
forests. The centre, bristling with batteries and natural obstacles, was
impregnable. The army faced the country toward Champagne, leaving behind
it the road clear to Châlons and Lorraine.

"The Prussians," argued Dumouriez, "will either fight or advance on
Paris. If the former, they will find the French army in an intrenched
camp as a field of battle. Obliged, in order to attack the centre, to
pass the Auve, the Tourbe, and the Bionne, under the fire of my
redoubts, they will take Kellermann in flank, who will crush their
attacking columns between his battalions, charging down from Valmy and
the batteries of my _corps d'armée_. If they leave the French army, and
cut off its retreat to Paris by marching on Châlons, the army, facing
about, will follow them to Paris, increasing in number at every step.
The reënforcements of the army of the Rhine and army of the North, which
are on the march; the battalions of scattered volunteers, which I shall
assemble as I cross the revolted provinces, will swell the amount of my
armed troops to sixty thousand or seventy thousand men. The Prussians
will march across a hostile country, and make every step with
hesitation, while each advance will give me fresh troops. I shall await
them under the walls of Paris. An invading army, placed between a
capital of six hundred thousand souls, who close their gates, and a
national army, which cuts off their retreat, is a destroyed army. France
will be saved in the heart of France, instead of on the frontiers; but
still she will be saved."

Thus reasoned Dumouriez, when the first sounds of the Prussian cannon,
resounding from the heights of Valmy, came to announce to him that the
Duke of Brunswick, having perceived the danger of advancing, and thus
leaving the French army behind him, had attacked Kellermann. It was not
the Duke of Brunswick, however, but the young King of Prussia, who had
commanded the attack. The Prussian army, which the generalissimo wished
to extend gradually from Rheims to Argonne, parallel to the French army,
received orders to advance in a body on Kellermann's position. On the
19th it marched to Somme-Tourbe, and remained all night under arms. The
report was spread in the head-quarters of the King of Prussia that the
French were meditating a retreat on Châlons, and that the movements
perceptible in their line were only intended to mask this retrograde
march. The King was vexed at a plan of a campaign which always allowed
them to escape. He thought he should surprise Dumouriez in the false
position of an army which had raised his camp. The Duke of Brunswick,
whose military authority began to suffer with the failure of his
preceding manoeuvres, in vain sought the intervention of General
Koeler to moderate the ardor of the King. The attack was resolved upon.

On the 20th, at 6 A.M., the Duke marched at the head of the Prussian
advanced guard upon Somme-Bionne, with the intention of attacking
Kellermann, and cutting off his retreat by the high road of Châlons. A
thick autumnal fog floated over the plain into the marshy grounds where
the three rivers flow, in the hollow ravines which separated the two
armies, leaving only the points of the precipices and the crests of the
hills shining in the light above this ocean of fog. An unexpected shock
of the cavalry of the two advanced guards alone revealed, in this
darkness, the march of the Prussians to the French. After a rapid
_mêlée_ and some firing, the advanced guard of the French fell back
upon Valmy, and warned Kellermann of the enemy's approach. The Duke of
Brunswick continued to advance, reached the high road to Châlons,
crossed it, and then deployed his whole army. At ten o'clock, the mist
having suddenly disappeared, showed to the two generals their mutual
situation.

Kellermann's army was en masse in the plain and behind the mill of
Valmy. This bold position projected like a cape into the midst of the
lines of the Prussian bayonets. General Chazot had not, as yet, come up
with his twenty-six battalions to flank Kellermann's left. General
Leveneur, who was to have flanked his right and to unite it with
Dumouriez's army, advanced with hesitation and slowly, fearing to draw
on his feeble force all the weight of the Prussian body, which he saw in
battle array before him. General Valence, who commanded Kellermann's
cavalry, deployed into high line with a regiment of carbineers, some
squadrons of dragoons, and four battalions of grenadiers, between
Gizaucourt and Valmy, thus covering the whole space which Kellermann
could fill up, and where that general was expected. Kellermann's lines
formed in the centre of the heights. His powerful artillery bristled by
the side of the mill of Valmy, the centre and key to the position.
Almost surrounded by semicircular lines of the enemy, which were
perpetually increasing in numbers, and embarrassed on this very narrow
elevation by his twenty-two thousand men, horses, guns, and baggage,
Kellermann was unable to extend the wings of his army.

From this height Kellermann saw come in succession, from the white mist
of the morning, and glitter in the sunshine, the countless Prussian
cavalry, which must envelop him, as in a net, if he were driven from his
position. About noon the Duke of Brunswick, having formed his whole army
into two lines, and decided on his plan of the day, was seen to detach
himself from the centre, and advance toward the declivities of
Gizaucourt and La Lune, at the head of a body of infantry, cavalry, and
three batteries. Fresh troops filled up the space these left.

Such was the horizon of tents, bayonets, horses, cannon, and staff which
displayed itself on September 20th, in the hollows and ravines of
Champagne. At the same hour the convention[37] began its sittings and
deliberations as to a monarchy or a republic. Within and without, France
and liberty sported with destiny.

The exterior aspect of the two armies seemed to declare beforehand the
issue of the campaign. On the side of the Prussians, one hundred ten
thousand combatants; a system of tactics the inheritance of the Great
Frederick; discipline, which converted battalions into machines of war,
and which, destroying all personal will in the soldier, made him bend
submissively to the thought and voice of his officers; an infantry solid
and impenetrable as walls of iron; cavalry mounted on the splendid
horses of Mecklenburg, whose docility, well-controlled ardor, and high
courage were not alarmed either at the fire of artillery nor the glitter
of cold steel; officers trained from their infancy to fighting as a
trade, born, as it were, in uniforms, knowing their troops and known to
them, exercising over their soldiers the twofold ascendency of nobility
and command; as auxiliaries, the picked regiments of the Austrian Army,
recently from the banks of the Danube, where they had been fighting
against the Turks; the emigrant French nobility, bearing with them all
the great names of the monarchy, every soldier of whom fought for his
own cause and had his individual injuries to avenge--his King to save,
his country to recover at the end of his bayonet or the point of his
sabre; Prussian generals, all pupils of a military king, having to
maintain the superiority of their renown in Europe; a generalissimo
which Germany proclaimed its Agamemnon, and which the genius of
Frederick covered with a prestige of invincibility; and, also, a young
King, brave, adored by his people, dear to his troops, avenger of the
cause of all kings, accompanied by representatives of every court on the
field of battle, and supplying the inexperience of war by a personal
bravery which forgot its rank in the sole consideration of its
honor--such was the Prussian army.

In the French camp a numerical inferiority of one against three;
regiments reduced to three or four hundred men by the effect of the laws
of 1790, which only admitted volunteers; these regiments, deprived of
their best officers by emigration, which had induced more than half to
go to the enemy's soil, and by the sudden creation of one hundred
battalions of volunteers, at the head of which they had placed the
officers remaining in France as instructors; these battalions and
regiments, without any _esprit de corps_, regarding each other with
jealousy or contempt; two feelings in the same army--the spirit of
discipline in the old ranks, the spirit of insubordination in the new
corps; old officers suspecting their men, soldiers doubtful of their
officers; a cavalry ill equipped and badly mounted; an infantry
competent and firm in regiments, raw and weak in battalions; pay in
arrear and paid in assignats greatly depreciated; insufficiently armed;
uniforms various, threadbare, torn, often in tatters; many soldiers
without shoes, or substituting handfuls of hay tied round the legs with
cord; the troops arriving from different armies and provinces, unknown
to each other, and scarcely knowing the name of the generals under whom
they had been enlisted--these generals themselves young and rash,
passing suddenly from obeying to command, or, old and methodical, unable
to make their formal modes comply with the dash required in desperate
warfare; and, finally, at the head of this incongruous army, a
general-in-chief fifty-three years of age, new to war, whom everybody
had a right to doubt, mistrustful of his troops, at variance with his
second in command, at issue with his government, whose daring yet
dilatory plan was not understood by any, and who had neither services in
the past nor the spell of victory on his sword to give authority or
confidence to his command--such were the French at Valmy. But the
enthusiasm of the country and the Revolution struggled in the heart of
this army, and the genius of war inspired the soul of Dumouriez.

Uneasy as to Kellermann's position, Dumouriez, on horseback from the
dawn of day, visited his line, extended his troops between
Sainte-Menehould and Gizaucourt, and galloped toward Valmy in order that
he might the better judge himself of the intentions of the Duke of
Brunswick and the point on which the Prussians were to concentrate their
efforts. He there found Kellermann giving his final orders to the
generals, who, on his left and right, were to have the responsibility of
the day. One of these was General Valence, and the other the Duc de
Chartres.

The Duc de Chartres[38] had been welcomed by the old soldiers as a
prince, by the new ones as a patriot, by all as a comrade. His
intrepidity did not carry him away; he controlled it, and it left him
that quickness of perception and that coolness so essential to a
general; amid the hottest fire he neither quickened nor slackened his
pace, for his ardor was as much the effect of reflection as of
calculation, and as grave as duty. His familiarity--martial with the
officers, soldierly with the soldiers, patriotic with the
citizens--caused them to forgive him for being a prince. But beneath the
exterior of a soldier of the people lurked the _arrière pensée_ of a
prince of the blood; and he plunged into all the events of the
Revolution with the entire yet skilful _abandon_ of a mastermind. Men
feared, in spite of his bravery and his exalted enthusiasm for his
country, to catch a glimpse of a throne raised upon its own ruins and by
the hands of a republic. This presentiment, which invariably precedes
great names and destinies, seemed to reveal to the army that, of all the
leaders of the Revolution, he might one day be the most useful or the
most fatal to liberty.

Dumouriez, who had seen the young Duc de Chartres with the army at
Luckner, was struck with his intrepidity and coolness during the action,
and, perceiving a spark of no ordinary fire in this young man, resolved
to attach him to himself.

The Prussians held the heights of La Lune, and had commenced descending
them in battle array. The veteran troops of Frederick the Great, slow
and measured in all their movements, displayed no rash impetuosity and
left naught to chance.

On their side the French did not behold without a feeling of dread this
immense and hitherto invincible army silently advance its first line in
columns of attack, and extend its wings to pierce their centre and cut
off all retreat, either on Châlons or Dumouriez. The soldiers remained
motionless in their position, fearing to expose by a false movement the
narrow battle-field on which they could defend themselves, but did not
dare manoeuvre. The Prussians descended half-way down the heights of
La Lune, and then opened their fire both in front and flank.

On this attack Kellermann's artillery moved forward and took up its
position in front of the infantry. More than twenty thousand balls were
exchanged during two hours from one hundred twenty guns, which thundered
from the sides of the opposite hills, as though they strove to batter a
breach in the mountains. The Prussians, more exposed than the French,
suffered more severely, and their fire began to slacken. Kellermann, who
narrowly watched the enemy's movements, fancied he saw some confusion in
their ranks, and charged at the head of a column to carry the guns. A
Prussian battery, masked by an inequality in the ground, suddenly opened
its fire on them, and Kellermann's horse, struck by a ball in the chest,
fell on its rider. His aide-de-camp, Lieutenant-Colonel Lormier, was
killed, and the head of the column, exposed on three sides to a
withering fire, fell back in disorder, while Kellermann, disengaged and
carried off by his troops, sought for a fresh charger. The Prussians,
witnessing his fall and the retreat of his column, redoubled their fire,
and a well-directed volley of shells silenced the French artillery.

The Duc de Chartres, who for three hours had supported the fire of the
Prussians at the decisive post of Valmy, without drawing a trigger, saw
the danger of his general. He hastened to the second line, put himself
at the head of the reserve of artillery, advanced to the plateau by the
mill, covered the disorder of the centre, rallied the flying caissons,
supported the fire, and checked the enemy's onset.

The Duke of Brunswick would not give the French time to strengthen their
position, but formed three formidable columns of attack, supported by
two wings of cavalry. These columns advanced in spite of the fire of the
French batteries, and were about to crush beneath their masses the
division of the Duc de Chartres, who at the mill of Valmy awaited the
onset. Kellermann, who had renewed the line, formed his army into
columns by battalions, sprang from his horse, and casting the bridle to
his orderly, bade him lead it behind the ranks, showing the soldiers
that he was resolved to conquer or die. "Comrades," cried Kellermann, in
a voice of thunder, "the moment of victory is at hand. Let us suffer the
enemy to advance, and then charge with the bayonet." Then waving his hat
on the top of his sword, "_Vive la nation!_" cried he more
enthusiastically than before; "let us conquer for her."

This cry of the general, repeated by the nearest battalions, and taken
up successively by the rest, created an immense clamor like the country
herself encouraging her defenders. This shout of the whole army,
resounding from one hill to another, and heard above the cannon's roar,
reassured the troops, and made the Duke of Brunswick pause, for such
hearts promised equally terrible hands. Kellermann still advanced at the
head of his column. The Duc de Chartres, his sword in one hand and a
tricolored flag in the other, followed the horse artillery with the
cavalry. The Duke of Brunswick, with the quick eye of a veteran soldier,
and that economy of human life that characterizes an able general, saw
that this attack would fail when opposed to such enthusiasm; and he
re-formed the head of his columns, sounded the retreat, and slowly
retired to his positions unpursued.

The fire ceased on both sides and the battle was as it were suspended
until four in the evening, when the King of Prussia, indignant at the
hesitation of his army, formed in person, and with the flower of his
infantry and cavalry, three formidable columns of attack; then riding
down the line, he bitterly reproached them with suffering the standard
of the monarch to be thus humiliated. At the voice of their sovereign
the troops marched to the conflict, and the King, surrounded by the Duke
of Brunswick and his principal officers, marched in the first rank,
exposed to the fire of the French, which mowed down his staff around
him. Intrepid as the blood of Frederick, he commanded as a king jealous
of the honor of his nation, and exposed himself like a soldier who holds
his life but lightly compared to victory. All was in vain; the Prussian
columns, assailed by the fire of twenty-four pieces of cannon, in
position on the heights of Valmy, retreated at nightfall, leaving behind
them eight hundred dead. Not to have been defeated was to the French
army a victory. Kellermann felt this so fully that he assumed the name
of Valmy in after-years,[39] and in his will bequeathed his heart to the
village of that name, in order that it might repose on the theatre of
his greatest renown, and sleep amid the companions of his first field.

While the French army fought and triumphed at Valmy, the Convention
decreed the Republic at Paris.

Dumouriez returned to his camp amid the roar of Kellermann's cannon; but
while he congratulated himself on the success of a day that strengthened
the patriotic feelings of the army, and that rendered the first attack
on the country fatal to her enemies, he was too clear-sighted not to
perceive the faults of Kellermann and the temerity of his position. The
Duke of Brunswick was on the morrow the same as he was the previous
evening, and had, moreover, extended his right wing beyond Gizaucourt
and cut off the route to Châlons.

Early on the morning of the 21st Dumouriez went to the camp of his
colleague, and ordered him to pass the river Auve, and fall back on the
camp of Dampierre, in the position previously assigned him. This
position, less brilliant, yet more secure, strengthened and united the
French army. Kellermann felt this and obeyed without a murmur.

The Prussians had lost so much time that they had no longer any to
spare. The rainy season had already affected them, and the winter would
be sufficient in itself to force them to retreat. The Duke of Brunswick
lost ten days in observing the French army; and the rain and fever
season surprised him, while yet undecided. The rains cut up the roads
from Argonne, by which his convoys arrived from Verdun, while his
soldiers, destitute of shelter and provisions, wandered about in the
fields, the orchards and vineyards, plucking the unripe grapes which
these inhabitants of the North tasted for the first time. Their
stomachs, already weakened by bad living, were soon disordered, and they
were attacked by that dysentery which is so fatal to the soldier; the
contagion spread rapidly through the camp, and thinned the corps.

The situation of Dumouriez did not appear, however, less perilous to
those who were not in the secret of his intentions. Hemmed in on the one
side of Les Evêchés by the Prince de Hohenlohe; on the Paris side by the
King of Prussia, the Prussians were within six leagues of Châlons, the
émigrés still nearer. The Uhlans, the light cavalry of the Prussians,
pillaged at the gates of Rheims, and between Châlons and the capital
there was not a position or an army. Paris dreaded to find itself thus
exposed. Kellermann, a brave, but susceptible general, shaken by the
opinion in Paris, threatened to quit the camp and abandon his colleague
to his fate. Dumouriez, employing alternately the ascendency of his rank
and the seduction of his genius, passed, in order to detain him, from
menace to entreaty, and thus gained day by day his victory of patience.
Sometimes he threatened to deprive of their uniform and arms those who
complained of the want of provisions, and drive them from the camp as
cowards who were unworthy to suffer privations for their country. Eight
battalions of fédérés, recently arrived from the camp at Châlons, and
intoxicated with massacre and sedition, were those who most threatened
the subordination of the camp, saying openly that the ancient officers
were traitors, and that it was necessary to purge the army, as they had
Paris, of its aristocrats. Dumouriez posted these battalions apart from
the others, placed a strong force of cavalry behind them, and two pieces
of cannon on their flank. Then, affecting to review them, he halted at
the head of the line, surrounded by all his staff and an escort of one
hundred hussars. "Fellows," said he--"for I will not call you either
citizens or soldiers--you see before you this artillery, behind you this
cavalry; you are stained with crimes, and I do not tolerate here
assassins or executioners. I know that there are scoundrels among you
charged to excite you to crime. Drive them from among you, or denounce
them to me, for I shall hold you responsible for their conduct." The
battalions trembled and at once assumed the same spirit that pervaded
the army.

The ancient feelings of honor were associated in the camps with
patriotism, and Dumouriez encouraged it among his troops. Every day he
received from Paris threats of dismissal, to which he replied in terms
of defiance. "I will conceal my dismissal," he wrote, "until the day
when I behold the flight of the enemy: I will then show it to my
soldiers, and return to Paris, to suffer the punishment my country
inflicts on me for having saved her in spite of herself."

Three commissioners of the Convention, Sillery, Carra, and Prieur,
arrived at the camp on the 24th, to proclaim the Republic, and Dumouriez
did not hesitate. Although a royalist, he yet felt that at present it
was not a question of government, but of the safety of the country; and
besides, his ambition was vast as his genius, vague as the future. A
republic agitated at home, threatened from abroad, could not but be
favorable to an ambitious soldier at the head of an army who adored him;
for when royalty was abolished, there was no one of higher rank in the
nation than its generalissimo. The commissioners had also instructions
to order the retreat of the army behind the Marne. Dumouriez asked and
obtained from them six days' delay; on the seventh, at sunrise, the
French videttes beheld the heights of La Lune deserted, and the columns
of the Duke of Brunswick slowly defiling between the hills of Champagne,
and taking the direction of Grandpré. Fortune had justified
perseverance, and genius had baffled numbers. Dumouriez was triumphant,
and France was saved.

At this intelligence, one general shout of "Vive la nation!" burst from
the French army. The commissioners, the generals Beurnonville, Miranda,
even Kellermann, threw themselves into the arms of Dumouriez, and
acknowledged the superiority of his judgment and the accuracy of his
perception--while the soldiers proclaimed him the Fabius of his country.
But this name, which he accepted for a day, but ill responded to the
ardor of his soul; and he already meditated playing the part of
Hannibal, which was more consonant with the activity of his character
and the determination of his genius. At home, that of Cæsar might one
day tempt him. This ambition of Dumouriez explains the unmolested
retreat of the Prussians through an enemy's country, and through defiles
which might easily have been converted into Caudine Forks, and under the
cannon of seventy thousand French, before which the weakened and
enervated army of the Duke of Brunswick had to make a flank movement.

While the military genius of Dumouriez triumphed over the Prussian army,
his political genius was not asleep; for his camp, during the last days
of the campaign, was at once the head-quarters of an army and the centre
of diplomatic negotiations. Dumouriez had created a connection, half
apparent, half secret, with the Duke of Brunswick and those officers and
ministers who had most influence over the King of Prussia. Danton, the
only minister who possessed any authority over Dumouriez, was in the
secret of these negotiations.

The Duke of Brunswick was no less desirous than Dumouriez to negotiate,
while fighting at the head-quarters of the King of Prussia were two
parties, one of whom wished to retain the King with the army, and the
other to remove him from it. The Count de Schulemberg, the King's
confidential agent, was the leader of the first, the Duke of Brunswick
of the second; Haugwitz, Lucchesini, Lombard, the King's secretary,
Kalkreuth, and the Prince de Hohenlohe were of the party of the latter.
The King resisted with the firmness of a man who has engaged his honor
in a great cause in the eyes of the world, and who wished to come off
with credit, or at least without loss of reputation. He remained with
the army, and sent the Count de Schulemberg to direct the operations in
Poland. From this day the Prince was exposed in his camp to an influence
whose interest it was to slacken his march and enervate his resolutions;
and from this day everything tended to a retreat.

The Duke of Brunswick only sought a pretext for opening negotiations
with the French at head-quarters. So long as he was behind the Argonne,
within ten leagues of Grandpré, this pretext did not offer itself, for
the King of Prussia would look on these advances as a proof of treason
or cowardice. The combat of Valmy, in the idea of the Duke of Brunswick,
was but a negotiation carried on by the mouth of the cannon. Dumouriez
held the fate of the French Revolution in his hands, and he could not
believe that this general would become the mere tool of anarchical
democracy. "He will cast the weight of his sword," said he, "to weigh
down the scale in favor of a constitutional monarchy; he will turn upon
the jailers of the King and the murderers of September. Guardian of the
frontiers, he has only to threaten to open them to the coalition, to
insure obedience from the National Assembly. An arrangement between
monarchical France and Prussia, under the auspices of Dumouriez, is a
thousand times preferable to a war in which Prussia stakes her army
against the despair of a nation."

FOOTNOTES:

[36] The royalists who left Paris or France in 1789 and after, on
account of the Revolution.--ED.

[37] The National Convention, which succeeded the Legislative Assembly,
actually opened September 21st.--ED.

[38] This was Louis Philippe, afterward known as "the Citizen-King." He
was the son of Philippe Égalité, Duc d'Orléans, and was at this time
about twenty years old.--ED.

[39] Kellermann was created Duc de Valmy by Napoleon.--ED.




INVENTION OF THE COTTON-GIN

GROWTH OF THE COTTON INDUSTRY IN AMERICA

A.D. 1793

CHARLES W. DABNEY     R. B. HANDY      DENISON OLMSTED

     Lord Macaulay declared that "what Peter the Great did to
     make Russia dominant, Eli Whitney's invention of the
     cotton-gin has more than equalled in its relation to the
     power and progress of the United States." When Macaulay
     delivered this opinion, "King Cotton" was more absolute in
     the United States than to-day, for the cultivation of cotton
     has since been supplemented in this country by other
     industries of equal importance. Yet, what cotton had done
     for the United States in Macaulay's day has been far
     surpassed by its record since, as one of the great
     industrial and commercial interests of the land; and judged
     by export values, as estimated by the specialist Dabney, at
     one time Assistant Secretary of Agriculture, cotton is still
     king of the American market.

     The growth of the cotton industry in the United States,
     traced so minutely by Handy, witnesses from one decade to
     another to the supreme achievement of the American inventor
     so highly estimated by Macaulay. Eli Whitney was born at
     Westboro, Massachusetts, in 1765, and died in 1825. In 1792
     he was graduated at Yale College, and that year became a
     teacher in Georgia, where he invented the cotton-gin. Before
     he could secure a patent his machine was stolen from his
     workshop, and others reaped the profits of his ingenuity. It
     is pleasing to know that he afterward made a fortune by
     other uses of his inventive skill. His service to the cotton
     industry in all its departments has not only been vastly
     influential in the development of his own country, but has
     also greatly affected the relations of the United States
     with other industrial nations, especially with Great
     Britain, the leading cotton-manufacturing country of the
     world.


CHARLES W. DABNEY

Cotton is the principal product of eight great States of the American
Union, and the most valuable "money crop" of the entire country.
Climatic conditions practically restrict its cultivation to a group of
States constituting less than one-fourth of the total area of the
country, and yet the value of the annual crop is exceeded among
cultivated products only by corn, which is grown in every State of the
Union, and occasionally by wheat. Cotton furnishes the raw material for
one of our most important manufacturing industries and from one-fourth
to one-third of our total exports.

Considered without reference to any particular country, its economic
importance is far beyond numerical expression; for while the total crop
of the world is approximately ascertainable, the effect of cotton upon
the commercial and social relations of mankind is too far-reaching for
estimation. Of the four great staples that provide man with
clothing--cotton, silk, wool, and flax--cotton, by reason of its
cheapness and its many excellencies, is rapidly superseding its several
rivals. Sixty years ago only about two million five hundred thousand
bales of cotton, or less than the present production of Texas, were
annually converted into clothing; the spindles of the world now use over
thirteen million bales per annum. Yet less than half the people of the
world are supplied with cotton goods made by modern machinery, and it
has been estimated that it would require annually a crop of forty-two
million bales of five hundred pounds each to raise the world's standard
of consumption to that of the principal nations.

Cotton stands preëminent among farm crops in the ease and cheapness of
its production, as compared with the variety and value of its products.
No crop makes so slight a drain upon the fertility of the soil, and for
none has modern enterprise found so many uses for its several parts. The
cotton plant yields, in fact, a double crop--a most beautiful fibre and
a seed yielding both oil and feed, which, although neglected for a long
time, is now esteemed worth one-sixth as much as the fibre. In addition
to this, the stems can be made to yield a fibre which waits only for a
machine to work it, and the roots yield a drug. It is entirely possible,
therefore, that cotton may ultimately be grown as much for these parts
as for the lint.

The history of cotton production in the United States differs from that
of almost every other agricultural product in several important
particulars. For nearly three-quarters of a century slave labor was
almost exclusively employed in this branch of agricultural industry, and
an immense majority of the colored people of to-day look to it for their
chief support. Cotton was also the great pioneer crop in the new
Southwestern States. Not only has the westward movement of the industry
been more rapid than that of any other crop, but the centre of
production has always been farther in advance of the centre of
population. As long ago as 1839 Mississippi was producing almost
one-fourth of the entire crop of the country. Recent years have
witnessed an enormous development in the regions to the west, which
would have carried the centre of production across the Mississippi River
if the cultivation of cotton, unlike that of wheat and corn and other
products, had not taken a new lease of life in the older States along
the Atlantic seaboard, where the use of manures has both extended the
area and increased the production.

Probably no equally great industry was ever more completely paralyzed or
had its future placed in greater jeopardy than cotton growing in the
United States during the war of 1861-1865. So great was the decrease in
production which followed the effectual closing of the ports that only
one bale of cotton was grown in 1864-1865 for every fifteen bales raised
in 1861-1862. The chief menace to the future of cotton production lay in
the efforts that were put forth by other cotton-growing countries at
this time to produce those particular varieties which had for so long
given the United States the monopoly of the European markets; and
nothing could more completely demonstrate the remarkable adaptation of
our Southern States to the growing of varieties which the experience of
generations has proved to be the best for manufacturing purposes than
the fact that it took them only thirteen years from the end of the war
to regain the primacy of position which they held at its commencement.


ROBERT B. HANDY

When cotton manufacture was introduced into England is not definitely
settled. There is no mention of the manufacture or use of cotton in the
celebrated poor-law of Elizabeth (1601), though hemp, flax, and wool are
expressly named. The first authentic record is in Roberts' _Treasure of
Traffic_, published in 1641; but it is possible, and even probable, that
the art was imported from Flanders by the artisans who fled from that
country to England in the latter part of the sixteenth century, as it is
probable that the manufacture had established itself more or less
firmly before it attracted the attention of the author of the
above-named pamphlet. We may presume, then, that it was well established
in England by 1641, but after that date the spread was not rapid. The
crudeness of the machinery for spinning was such that fine yarn could
not be made. Both spinning and weaving were done by individuals and
families in their own houses on clumsy and heavy machines. These
implements were but little better than those in use two thousand years
before. The distaff, the earliest of spinning-machines, was still in
use, and the best to be had was the one-thread spinning-wheel. The loom
used was scarcely an improvement on that which the East Indian had used
centuries before, though it was constructed with greater firmness and
compactness. Owing to imperfections in their machines, it was impossible
for the Europeans to make cotton yarn combining strength and firmness.
The yarn when spun was loose and flimsy; to make it strong it had to be
heavy.

The finished web had often to be carried a long distance to market. It
was only in 1760 that Manchester merchants began to furnish the weavers
in the neighboring villages with linen yarn and raw cotton and to pay a
fixed price for the perfected web, thus relieving the weavers of the
necessity of providing themselves with material and seeking a market for
their cloth, and enabling them to prosecute their employment with
greater regularity.

It was also about that time that England began to export her cotton
goods, for until then her weavers had not been able to do more than
supply the home demand. This foreign trade at once increased the demand
for cotton goods, and the increased demand presented a problem which the
manufacturers at first found difficult of solution. The procuring of
supplies of linen yarn needed for the warp of these textiles was not
difficult, but where was the cotton yarn to come from? The spinners were
producing already as much as their rude machines would permit, and
additional spinners were not to be had. The demand for cotton thread
exceeded the supply; the price of yarn rose with the demands of trade
and the extension of the manufacture and operated as a check to the
further increase of the exports. The trade had reached the point where
hand carders, single-thread spinning-wheels, and the hand-loom,
requiring a man to each machine, were clearly inadequate to the
service, and the cotton trade of Great Britain in the middle of the
eighteenth century seemed to have reached its limit. About this time
Hargreaves, Arkwright, Crompton, Cartwright, and Watt, men either
directly or indirectly engaged in and familiar with the needs of the
cotton manufacture, invented machines which raised the trade from an
experimental or at least a struggling industry into the most important
manufacture of the world. The carding-engine, the spinning-jenny, the
spinning-frame, the stocking-frame, the power-loom, and the adaptation
of the steam-engine to the propulsion of these machines, at once
supplied the means of producing an immense amount of yarn and cloth.
These inventions, it is true, were not in themselves perfect, but the
principles on which they were built are those on which the most
complicated textile machines of this day are based.

The supply of raw material to meet the demands of the trade was limited.
The West Indies, the Levant, and India were the countries from which
this supply was drawn, but they were unable to furnish enough raw cotton
to keep the new machines in operation, and it was necessary to look
elsewhere.

America was the only hope of the cotton manufacturer; but as at that
time the United States produced little or no cotton, for a few years all
the increased supply came from Brazil.

As Great Britain was the last of the European countries to take up
cotton manufacture, and has carried it to its fullest development, so
the United States was the last to enter the list of cotton-producing
countries, and has been for nearly a hundred years the foremost of them
all. The powerful influence that the production of cotton has had upon
the commerce, industrial development, and civil institutions of the
United States can scarcely be realized by one unfamiliar with the
subject.

It is doubtful whether cotton is indigenous to any part of this country,
as we have no authentic record of the precise time of its introduction.
Cotton seed was brought in from all quarters of the globe, and the
American plant, the result of innumerable crossings, remains, as to its
origin, a puzzle to botanists.

The beginning of the culture of cotton in the United States occurred
about one hundred seventy-five years before the industry became at all
important. The first effort to produce cotton on the North American
continent was probably made at Jamestown the year of the arrival of the
colonists. In a pamphlet entitled _Nova Britannica; Offering Most
Excellent Fruits of Planting in Virginia_, published in London in 1609,
it is stated that cotton would grow as well in that province as in
Italy. In another pamphlet, called _A Declaration of the State of
Virginia_, published in London in 1620, the author mentions cotton,
wool, and sugar-cane among the "naturall commodities dispersed up and
downe the divers parts of the world; all of which may also be had in
abundance in Virginia."

According to Bancroft, the first experiment in cotton culture in the
colonies was made in Virginia during Wyatt's administration of the
government. Writing of that period he says: "The first culture of cotton
in the United States deserves commemoration. In this year (1621) the
seeds were planted as an experiment, and their 'plentiful coming up' was
at that early day a subject of interest in America and England."

Cotton-wool was listed in that year at eightpence a pound, which shows
that it may have been grown earlier, for it is scarcely possible that it
could have been grown, cleaned, and received in market in the same year.
Seabrook states that the "green-seed," or upland, variety was certainly
grown in Virginia to a limited extent at least one hundred thirty years
before the Revolution. Some of the early governors of that colony were
especially energetic in their efforts to encourage its cultivation.
Among these were Sir William Berkeley; Francis Morrison, his deputy, and
Sir Edmund Andros. The latter, says one authority, "gave particular
marks of his favor toward the propagation of cotton, which since his
time has been much neglected."

The exports of the Virginia colony during the first thirty years of its
existence were confined almost exclusively to tobacco, but there is
evidence that in the latter half of the seventeenth century cotton was
cultivated and manufactured among the planters for domestic consumption.
Burk states that "after the Restoration (1660) their attention was
strongly attracted to home manufactures as well by the necessities of
their position as by the encouragement of the assembly and the bounty
offered by the King. But the zeal displayed in the outset for these
products gradually cooled, and if we except the manufacture of coarse
cloths and unpainted cotton, nothing remained of the sounding list
prepared with so much labor by the King and recommended by legislation,
premium, and royal bounty."

Among the earliest historical references to cotton in this country is
that contained in _A Brief Description of the Province of Carolina, on
the Coasts of Florida, and More Particularly of a New Plantation Begun
by the English at Cape Feare, on that River, now by them called Georges
River_, published in London in 1666. The author of this tract, whose
name is not given, says: "In the midst of this fertile province, in the
latitude of 34°, there is a colony of English seated, who landed there
May 29, 1664." After giving an account of the fertility of the soil and
its natural products, he adds: "But they have brought with them most
sorts of seeds and roots of the Barbados, which thrive in this most
temperate clime. They have indigo, very good tobacco, and cotton-wool."
Robert Home mentions cotton among the products of South Carolina in
1666. In Samuel Wilson's _Account of the Province of Carolina in
America_, addressed to the Earl of Craven, and published in London in
1682, it is stated that "cotton of the Cyprus and Smyrna sort grows
well, and good plenty of the seed is sent thither," and among the
instructions given by the proprietors of South Carolina to Mr. West, the
first governor, is the following: "You are then to furnish yourself with
cotton-seed, indigo, and ginger-roots." He was also instructed to
receive the products of the country in payment of rents at certain fixed
valuations, among which cotton was priced at three and one-half pence
per pound.

In 1697, in a memoir addressed to Count de Pontchartrain on the
importance of establishing a colony in Louisiana, the author, after
describing the natural productions of the country, says: "Such are some
of the advantages which may be reasonably expected, without counting
those resulting from every day's experience. We might, for example, try
the experiment of cultivating long-staple cotton." The presumption is
that the short-staple variety had already been tried. In the very
beginning of the eighteenth century cotton culture in North Carolina had
reached the extent of furnishing one-fifth of the people with their
clothing. Lawson, speaking of the prosperity of the country and
commending the industry of the women, says: "We have not only provision
plentiful, but clothes of our own manufacture, which are made and daily
increase; cotton, wool, and flax being of our own growth; and the women
are to be highly commended for industry in spinning and ordering their
housewifery to so great an advantage as they do."

About this time cotton became widely distributed and cotton-patches were
common in Carolina. In fact, it is said to have been one of the
principal commodities of Carolina as early as 1708, but its culture was
only for domestic uses, and the same authority speaks of its being spun
by the women.

Charlevoix, in 1722, while on his voyage down the Mississippi, saw "very
fine cotton on the tree" growing in the garden of Sieur le Noir; and
Captain Roman, of the British Army, saw in East Mississippi black-seeded
cotton growing on the farm of Mr. Krebs, and also a machine invented by
Mr. Krebs for the separation of the seed and lint. This was a
roller-gin, and possibly the first ever in operation in this country.

Pickett says that in 1728 the colony of Louisiana, which at that date
occupied nearly all the southwest part of the United States, including
Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama, was in a flourishing condition, its
fields being cultivated, by more than two thousand slaves, in cotton,
indigo, tobacco, and grain.

Peter Purry, the founder of Purryville, in South Carolina, in his
description of the Province of South Carolina, drawn up in Charleston in
1731, says, "Flax and cotton thrive admirably."

In 1734 cotton-seed was planted in Georgia, being sent there by Philip
Nutter, of Chelsea, England. Francis Moore, who visited Savannah in
1735, in his description of that place, says: "At the bottom of the
hill, well sheltered from the north wind and in the warmest part of the
garden, there was a collection of West Indian plants and trees, some
coffee, some cocoa-nuts, cotton, etc."

About the same time the settlers on the Savannah River, about twenty-one
miles north of Savannah, are said to have experimented with cotton, the
date being fixed by McCall as 1738. One of the striking features
connected with the early culture of cotton in the American colonies is
that it was grown as far north as the 39° of latitude. Trench Coxe, of
Philadelphia, who contributed so greatly to the early success of the
culture and manufacture of cotton in the United States, says: "It is a
fact well authenticated to the writer that the cultivation of cotton on
the garden scale, though not at all as a planter's crop, was intimately
known and thoroughly practised in the vicinity of Easton, in the county
of Talbot, on the eastern shore of the Chesapeake Bay, Maryland, as
early as 1736."

Its cultivation was so well understood in this part of the country that,
according to the same authority, the necessities of the Revolutionary
War occasioned it to be raised for army use in the counties of Cape May,
New Jersey, and Sussex, Delaware, and it continued to be raised, though
only in small quantities, for family use. At the time of the Revolution,
the home-grown cotton was sufficiently abundant in Pennsylvania to
supply the domestic needs of that State. Cotton was also cultivated in
Charles, St. Mary's, and Dorchester counties, Maryland, as late as 1826.
And at a later date (1861-1864) upland cotton was cultivated, and at the
prices current at that date was a most profitable crop on the eastern
shore of Maryland. Cotton was grown with very good results in
Northampton County, on the eastern shore of Virginia, in those years.

The culture and improvement of cotton had received considerable
attention by the planters of South Carolina and Georgia as early as
1742. In 1739 Samuel Auspourguer attested under oath that the "climate
and soil of Georgia are very fit for raising cotton." William Spicer
also certified to the adaptability of the country for cotton production,
and that he had "brought over with him (to London) several pods of
cotton which grew in Georgia."

A tract entitled _A State of the Province of Georgia, Attested Under
Oath in the Court of Savannah_, published in 1740, says of cotton that
"large quantities had been raised, and it is much planted; but the
cotton, which in some parts is perennial, dies here in the winter;
nevertheless the annual is not inferior to it in goodness, but requires
more trouble in cleansing from the seed." In the same tract it was
"proposed that a bounty be settled on every product of the land, viz.,
corn, peas, potatoes, wine, silk, cotton," etc. In _A Description of
Georgia, by a Gentleman who has Resided there Upward of Seven Years and
was One of the First Settlers_, published in London in 1741, the author
states that "the annual cotton grows well there, and has been by some
industrious people made into clothes."

Samuel Seabrook, in _An Important Inquiry into the State and Utility of
Georgia_, published in 1741, says, "Among other beneficial articles of
trade which it is found can be raised there, cotton, of which some has
also been brought over as a sample, is mentioned." In his description of
St. Simon's Island the same author says: "The country is well
cultivated, several parcels of land not far distant from the camp of
General Oglethorpe's regiment having been granted in small lots to the
soldiers, many of whom are married. The soldiers raise cotton, and their
wives spin it and knit it into stockings."

A publication in London in 1762 says: "What cotton and silk both the
Carolinas send us is excellent and calls aloud for encouragement of its
cultivation in a place well adapted to raise both."

Captain Robinson, an Englishman who visited the coast of Florida in
1754, says the "cotton-tree was growing in that country." The Florida
territory then extended from the Atlantic to the Mississippi River. That
it was cultivated in East Florida about ten years after this is
evidenced by William Stork, who says, "I am informed of a gentleman
living upon the St. John's that the lands on that river below Piccolata
are in general good, and that there is growing there now (1765) good
wheat, Indian corn, indigo, and cotton."

Cotton early attracted the attention of the French colonists in
Louisiana. In the year 1752, Michel, in a report to the French minister
on the condition of the country, gave interesting details of the
cultivation of cotton and the difficulty found in separating the wool
from the seed.

In 1758 white Siam seed was introduced into Louisiana. Du Prate says,
"This East India annual plant has been found to be much better and
whiter than what is cultivated in our colonies, which is of the Turkey
kind."

Letters from Paris to Governor Roman state that there is among the
French archives at Paris, Department of Marine and Colonies, a most
curious and instructive report on cotton in 1760. It was found to be a
very profitable crop in Louisiana, for in the year 1768 the French
planters, in a memoir to their Government, complained that the parent
Government had turned them over to the Spaniards just "at the time when
a new mine had been discovered; when the culture of cotton, improved by
experience, promises the planter a recompense of his toils, and
furnishes persons engaged in fitting out vessels with the cargoes to
load them."

In 1762 Captain Bossu, of the French marines, said: "Cotton of this
country (Louisiana) is of the species called the 'white cotton of Siam.'
It is neither so fine nor so long as the silk cotton, but it is,
however, very white and very fine."

In 1775 the Provincial Congress of South Carolina recommended the
cultivation of cotton, and in the same year a similar enactment was
passed by the Virginia Assembly, which declared that "all persons having
proper land ought to cultivate and raise a quantity of hemp, flax, and
cotton, not only for the use of their own families, but to spare to
others on moderate terms." This legislation no doubt was suggested on
account of the changed relations of the colonies with Great Britain.

In 1786 Thomas Jefferson, in a letter, says: "The four southernmost
States make a great deal of cotton. Their poor are almost entirely
clothed with it in winter and summer. In winter they wear shirts of it
and outer clothing of cotton and wool mixed. In summer their shirts are
linen, but the outer clothing cotton. The dress of the women is almost
entirely of cotton, manufactured by themselves, except the richer class,
and even many of these wear a great deal of homespun cotton. It is as
well manufactured as the calicoes of Europe."

At the convention at Annapolis in 1786 James Madison expressed the
conviction that from the experience already had "from the garden
practice in Talbot County, Maryland, and the circumstances of the same
kind abounding in Virginia, there was no reason to doubt that the United
States would one day become a great cotton-producing country." This year
Sea Island cotton-seed was introduced into Georgia, the seed being sent
from the Bahama Islands to Governor Tatnall, William Spaulding, Richard
Leake, and Alexander Pisset, of that State. The cotton adapted itself to
the climate, and every successive year from 1787 saw long-staple cotton
extending itself along the shores of South Carolina and Georgia.

According to Thomas Spaulding, the first planter who attempted cotton
culture on a large scale was Richard Leake, of Savannah, but the editor
of _Niles Register_ (1824) says that Nichol Turnbull, a native of
Smyrna, was the first planter who cultivated cotton upon a scale for
exportation. His residence was at Deptford Hall, three miles from
Savannah, where he died in 1824.

In a letter dated Savannah, December 11, 1788, to Colonel Thomas
Proctor, of Philadelphia, Leake says: "I have been this year an
adventurer--and the first that has attempted it on a large scale--in
introducing a new staple for the planting interests--the article of
cotton--samples of which I beg leave now to send you and request you
will lay them before the Philadelphia Society for Encouraging
Manufactures, that the quality may be inspected. Several here, as well
as in North Carolina, have followed me and tried the experiment, and it
is likely to answer our most sanguine expectations. I shall raise about
five thousand pounds in the seed from eight acres of land, and next year
I intend to plant about fifty to one hundred acres if suitable
encouragement is given. The principal difficulty that arises to us is
the cleansing it from the seed, which I am told they do with great
dexterity and ease in Philadelphia with gins or machines made for the
purpose. I am told they make those that will clean thirty to forty
pounds clean cotton in a day and upon very simple construction."

The first attempt in South Carolina to produce Sea Island cotton was
made in 1788 by Mrs. Kinsey Burden at Burden's Island. As early as 1779
the short staple was produced by her husband, whose negroes were clothed
in homespun cotton cloth. Mrs. Burden's efforts failed. The plants did
not mature, and this was attributed to the seed, which was of the
Bourbon variety. The first successful variety appears to have been grown
by William Elliot on Hilton Head, near Beaufort, in 1790, with five and
one-half bushels of seed, which he bought in Charleston and for which he
paid fourteen shillings a bushel. He sold his crop for ten and one-half
pence a pound.

In 1791 John Scriven, of St. Luke's Parish, planted thirty to forty
acres on St. Mary's River. He sold it for from one shilling twopence to
one shilling sixpence per pound. It is certain that at this period many
planters on the Sea Islands and contiguous mainland experimented with
long-staple cotton, and probably it was produced by them for market.

One of the earliest reports of export of cotton from the colonies is a
bill of lading which certifies that on July 20, 1751, Henry Hansen
shipped, "in good order and well conditioned, in and upon the good snow
called the Mary, whereof is master under God, for this present voyage,
Barnaby Badgers, and now riding in the harbor of New York, and by God's
grace bound for London--to say--eighteen bales of cotton-wool, being
marked and numbered as in the margin, and are to be delivered in like
good order and conditioned, at the aforesaid port of London--the danger
of the sea only excepted--unto Messrs. Horke and Champior or their
assigns, he or they paying freight for the said goods, three farthings
per pound, primage and average accustomed."

The feeling regarding the culture and manufacture of cotton in the
colonies at this period may be gathered from the following extract from
a letter of July 7, 1749, addressed by the Georgia office of London to
the Governor of Georgia: "You say, sir, likewise in your letter, that
the people of Vernonburgh and Acton are giving visible appearance of
revising their industry; that they are propagating large quantities of
flax and cotton, and that they are provided with weavers, who have
already wove several large pieces of cloth of a useful sort, whereof
they sold divers, and some they made use of in their own families. The
account of their industry is highly satisfactory to the trustees; but as
to manufacturing the produces they raise, they must expect no
encouragement from the trustees, for setting up manufactures which may
interfere with those of England might occasion complaints here, for
which reason you must, as they will, discountenance them; and it is
necessary for you to direct the industry of these people into a way
which might be more beneficial to themselves and would prove
satisfactory to the trustees and the public; that is, to show them what
advantages they will reap from the produce of silk, which they will
receive immediate pay for, and that this will not interfere with or
prevent their raising flax or cotton, or any other produces for
exportation, unmanufactured."

A pamphlet entitled _A Description of South Carolina_ states that cotton
was imported to Carolina from the West Indies, and it is probable that
the early shipments from this country were of this West Indian cotton,
although English writers mentioned it as an import of Carolina cotton.

Donnell says: "The first regular exportation of cotton from Charleston
was in 1785, when one bag arrived at Liverpool, per ship Diana, to John
and Isaac Teasdale & Co. The exportation of cotton from the United
States could not have been much earlier, for we find in 1784 eight bags
shipped to England were seized on the ground of fraudulent importation,
as it was not believed that so much cotton could be produced in the
United States."

The exportation during the next six years was successively 6, 14, 109,
389, 842, and 81 bags.

Dana gives the following _data_ concerning the export movement from 1739
to 1793:

     "1739. Samuel Auspourguer, a Swiss living in Georgia, took
     over to London, at the time of the controversy about the
     introduction of slaves, a sample of cotton raised by him in
     Georgia. This we may call, in the absence of a better
     starting-point, the first export.

     "1747. During this year several bags of cotton, valued at £3
     11s. 5d. per bag, were exported from Charleston. Doubts as
     to this being of American growth have been expressed, but as
     cotton had been cultivated in South Carolina for many years
     there does not seem to be any reason for such doubts.
     Besides, English writers mention it as an import of Carolina
     cotton.

     "1753. 'Some cotton' is mentioned among the exports of
     Carolina in 1753, and of Charleston in 1757.

     "1764. Eight (8) bags of cotton imported into Liverpool from
     the United States.

     "1770. Three (3) bales shipped to Liverpool from New York;
     ten (10) bales from Charleston; four (4) from Virginia and
     Maryland; and three (3) barrels from North Carolina.

     "1784. About fourteen (14) bales shipped to great Britain,
     of which eight (8) were seized as improperly entered. [See
     above.]

     "1785. Five (5) bags imported at Liverpool.

     "1786. Nine hundred (900) pounds imported into Liverpool.

     "1787. Sixteen thousand three hundred fifty (16,350) pounds
     imported into Liverpool.

     "1788. Fifty-eight thousand five hundred (58,500) pounds
     imported into Liverpool.

     "1789. One hundred twenty-seven thousand five hundred
     (127,500) pounds imported into Liverpool.

     "1790. Fourteen thousand (14,000) pounds imported into
     Liverpool. We can find no reason for this marked decline in
     the exports except it may be that the crop was a failure
     that year. Our first supposition was that the cause was one
     of price, but on examining the quotations in Took's work on
     'high and low prices' we do not see any marked decline in
     the values of other descriptions of cotton, and the American
     staple is not given in his list until 1793.

     "1791. One hundred eighty-nine thousand five hundred
     (189,500) pounds imported into Liverpool, the price
     averaging here 26 cents.

     "1792. One hundred thirty-eight thousand three hundred
     twenty-eight (138,328) pounds imported into Liverpool."

Great difficulty was experienced in separating the seed from the lint of
upland cotton. The work was done by hand, the task being four pounds of
lint cotton per week from each head of a family, in addition to the
usual field-work. This would amount to one bale in two years. A French
planter of Louisiana (Dubreuil) is said to have invented a machine for
separating lint and seed as early as 1742. The demand for such a machine
not being very great at that date, no record as to its character has
been preserved. The roller-gin, in very much the same form as Nearchus,
the admiral of Alexander the Great, found it in India, was still in use.
In 1790 Dr. Joseph Eve, originally from the Bahamas, but then a resident
of Augusta, Georgia, made great improvements on this ancient machine,
and adapted it to be run by horse- or water-power. A correspondent of
the American Museum, writing from Charleston, South Carolina, in July of
that year, states "that a gentleman well acquainted with the cotton
manufacture had already completed and in operation, on the high hills of
Santee, near Statesburg, ginning, carding, and other machines driven by
water, and also spinning-machines with eighty-five spindles each, with
every article necessary for manufacturing cotton." A machine dating
anterior to this year, and having a strong resemblance to the above,
possessing in fact all the essentials of a modern cotton-gin, was
exhibited at the Atlanta Exposition in 1882. It came from the
neighborhood of Statesburg, but its history could not be ascertained.

In 1793 Eli Whitney petitioned for a patent for the invention of the saw
cotton-gin. His claims were disputed, and he defended them in the State
and Federal courts for nearly a generation, obtaining at last a verdict
in his favor. Meanwhile the saw-gin had become an established fact, and
the planter at last had a machine which enabled him to produce cotton at
a cost that would leave him a good profit. The first saw-gin to be run
by water-power was erected in 1795 by James Kincaid near Monticello, in
Fairfield County, South Carolina. Others were put up near Columbia by
Wade Hampton, Sr., in 1797, and in the year following he gathered and
ginned from six hundred acres six hundred bales of cotton.

The cotton exportation from the United States increased from four
hundred eighty-seven thousand six hundred pounds in 1793 to one million
six hundred thousand pounds in 1794, the year in which Whitney's gin was
patented. In 1796, a year after he had improved his machine, the
production had risen to ten million pounds. In fact, the increased
production was so great that the planters began to fear they would
overstock the market, and one of them, upon looking at his newly
gathered crop, exclaimed: "Well, I have done with cultivation of cotton;
there's enough in that gin-house to make stockings for all the people in
America." Yet the production of cotton did not advance with that
rapidity to which we are now accustomed.

The cotton industry being of secondary importance prior to 1790,
information and statistics relative to the amount produced are not
available, but within one hundred years, from 1790 to 1890, the
production of cotton in the United States increased from five thousand
bales to over ten million bales.

The first cotton-mill erected in the United States was built at Beverly,
Massachusetts, in 1787-1788. This was soon followed by others in various
towns along the east border of the country, especially Pawtucket and
Providence, Rhode Island; Boston, Massachusetts; New Haven and Norwich,
Connecticut; New York City; Paterson, New Jersey; Philadelphia,
Pennsylvania; and Statesburg, South Carolina. In them carding and
spinning were done by machinery, but the weaving was on hand-looms
until 1815, at which date a power-loom mill was started at Waltham,
Massachusetts. The use of hand-looms and spinning-wheels for cotton
manufacture was common in all parts of the country before the
Revolution, especially in the Southern colonies, and these continued to
be used by the women in their houses many years after the erection of
cotton factories.


DENISON OLMSTED

Mr. Whitney had scarcely set his foot in Georgia when he was met by a
disappointment which was an earnest of that long series of adverse
events which, with scarcely an exception, attended all his future
negotiations in the same State. On his arrival he was informed that Mr.
B. had employed another teacher, leaving Whitney entirely without
resources or friends, except those whom he had made in the family of
General Greene. In these benevolent people, however, his case excited
much interest, and Mrs. Greene kindly said to him: "My young friend, you
propose studying the law; make my house your home, your room your
castle, and there pursue what studies you please." He accordingly began
the study of law under that hospitable roof.

Mrs. Greene was engaged in a piece of embroidery in which she employed a
peculiar kind of frame called a tambour. She complained that it was
badly constructed, and that it tore the delicate threads of her work.
Mr. Whitney, eager for an opportunity to oblige his hostess, set himself
at work and speedily produced a tambour-frame made on a plan entirely
new, which he presented to her. Mrs. Greene and her family were greatly
delighted with it, and thought it a wonderful proof of ingenuity.

Not long afterward, a large party of gentlemen came from Augusta and the
upper country to visit the family of General Greene, consisting
principally of officers who had served under the General in the
Revolutionary Army. Among the number were Major Bremen, Forsyth, and
Pendleton. They fell into conversation upon the state of agriculture
among them, and expressed great regret that there was no means of
cleaning the green-seed cotton, or separating it from its seed, since
all the lands which were unsuitable for the cultivation of rice would
yield large crops of cotton. But until ingenuity could devise some
machine which would greatly facilitate the process of cleaning, it was
in vain to think of raising cotton for market. Separating one pound of
the clean staple from the seed was a day's work for a woman; but the
time usually devoted to picking cotton was the evening, after the labor
of the field was over. Then the slaves, men, women, and children, were
collected in circles with one whose duty it was to rouse the dozing and
quicken the indolent. While the company were engaged in this
conversation, "Gentlemen," said Mrs. Greene, "apply to my young friend,
Mr. Whitney--he can make anything." Upon which she conducted them into a
neighboring room, and showed them her tambour-frame, and a number of
toys which Mr. Whitney had made or repaired for the children. She then
introduced the gentlemen to Whitney himself, extolling his genius and
commending him to their notice and friendship. He modestly disclaimed
all pretensions to mechanical genius; and when they named their object,
he replied that he had never seen either cotton or cotton-seed in his
life. Mrs. Greene said to one of the gentlemen: "I have accomplished my
aim. Mr. Whitney is a very deserving young man, and to bring him into
notice was my object. The interest which our friends now feel for him
will, I hope, lead to his getting some employment to enable him to
prosecute the study of the law."

But a new turn that no one of the company dreamed of had been given to
Mr. Whitney's views. It being out of season for cotton in the seed, he
went to Savannah and searched among the warehouses and boats until he
found a small parcel of it. This he carried home, and communicated his
intentions to Mr. Miller, who warmly encouraged him, and assigned him a
room in the basement of the house, where he set himself at work with
such rude materials and instruments as a Georgia plantation afforded.
With these resources, however, he made tools better suited to his
purpose, and drew his own wire--of which the teeth of the earliest gins
were made--an article which was not at that time to be found in the
market of Savannah. Mrs. Greene and Mr. Miller were the only persons
ever admitted to his workshop, and the only persons who knew in what way
he was employing himself. The many hours he spent in his mysterious
pursuits afforded matter of great curiosity and often of raillery to the
younger members of the family. Near the close of the winter, the
machine was so nearly completed as to leave no doubt of its success.

Mrs. Greene was eager to communicate to her numerous friends the
knowledge of this important invention, peculiarly important at that
time, because then the market was glutted with all those articles which
were suited to the climate and soil of Georgia, and nothing could be
found to give occupation to the negroes, and support to the white
inhabitants. This opened suddenly to the planters boundless resources of
wealth, and rendered the occupations of the slaves less unhealthy and
laborious than they had been before.

Mrs. Greene, therefore, invited to her house gentlemen from different
parts of the State, and on the first day after they had assembled she
conducted them to a temporary building, which had been erected for the
machine, and they saw with astonishment and delight that more cotton
could be separated from the seed in one day, by the labor of a single
hand, than could be done in the usual manner in the space of many
months.

Mr. Whitney might now have indulged in bright reveries of fortune and of
fame; but we shall have various opportunities of seeing that he tempered
his inventive genius with an unusual share of the calm, considerate
qualities of the financier. Although urged by his friends to secure a
patent and devote himself to the manufacture and introduction of his
machines, he coolly replied that on account of the great expense and
trouble which always attend the introduction of a new invention, and the
difficulty of enforcing a law in favor of patentees, in opposition to
the individual interests of so large a number of persons as would be
concerned in the culture of this article, it was with great reluctance
that he should consent to relinquish the hopes of a lucrative
profession, for which he had been destined, with an expectation of
indemnity either from the justice or the gratitude of his countrymen,
even should the invention answer the most sanguine anticipations of his
friends.

The individual who contributed most to incite him to persevere in the
undertaking was Phineas Miller, Esq. Mr. Miller was a native of
Connecticut and graduate of Yale College. Like Mr. Whitney, soon after
he had completed his education at college, he came to Georgia as a
private teacher in the family of General Greene, and after the decease
of the general he became the husband of Mrs. Greene. He had qualified
himself for the profession of law, and was a gentleman of cultivated
mind and superior talents; but he was of an ardent temperament, and
therefore well fitted to enter with zeal into the views which the genius
of his friend had laid open to him. He had also considerable funds at
command, and proposed to Mr. Whitney to become his joint adventurer, and
to be at the whole expense of maturing the invention until it should be
patented. If the machine should succeed in its intended operation, the
parties agreed, under legal formalities, "that the profits and
advantages arising therefrom, as well as all privileges and emoluments
to be derived from patenting, making, vending, and working the same,
should be mutually and equally shared between them." This instrument
bears date May 27, 1793, and immediately afterward they began business,
under the firm of Miller & Whitney.

An invention so important to the agricultural interest, and, as has
proved, to every department of human industry, could not long remain a
secret. The knowledge of it soon spread through the State, and so great
was the excitement on the subject that multitudes of persons came from
all quarters of the State to see the machine; but it was not deemed safe
to gratify their curiosity until the patent-right had been secured. But
so determined were some of the populace to possess this treasure that
neither law nor justice could restrain them--they broke open the
building by night and carried off the machine. In this way the public
became possessed of the invention; and before Mr. Whitney could complete
his model and secure his patent, a number of machines were in successful
operation, constructed with some slight deviation from the original,
with the hope of evading the penalty for violating the patent-right.

As soon as the copartnership of Miller & Whitney was formed, Mr. Whitney
repaired to Connecticut, where, as far as possible, he was to perfect
the machine, obtain a patent, and manufacture and ship for Georgia such
a number of machines as would supply the demand.

Within three days after the conclusion of the copartnership, Mr. Whitney
having set out for the North, Mr. Miller commenced his long
correspondence relative to the cotton-gin. The first letter announces
that encroachments upon their rights had already commenced. "It will be
necessary," says Mr. Miller, "to have a considerable number of gins
made, to be in readiness to send out as soon as the patent is obtained,
in order to satisfy the absolute demand, and make people's heads easy on
the subject; _for I am informed of two other claimants for the honor of
the invention of cotton-gins, in addition to those we knew before_."

On June 20, 1793, Mr. Whitney presented his petition for a patent to Mr.
Jefferson, then Secretary of State; but the prevalence of the yellow
fever in Philadelphia--which was then the seat of government--prevented
his concluding the business relative to the patent until several months
afterward. To prevent being anticipated, he took, however, the
precaution to make oath to the invention before the notary public of the
city of New Haven, which he did October 28th of the same year.

Mr. Jefferson, who had much curiosity in regard to mechanical
inventions, took a peculiar interest in this machine, and addressed to
the inventor an obliging letter, desiring further particulars respecting
it, and expressing a wish to procure one for his own use. Mr. Whitney
accordingly sketched the history of the invention, and of the
construction and performances of the machine. "It is about a year," says
he, "since I first turned my attention to constructing this machine, at
which time I was in the State of Georgia. Within about ten days after my
first conception of the plan I made a small though imperfect model.
Experiments with this encouraged me to make one on a larger scale; but
the extreme difficulty of procuring workmen and proper materials in
Georgia prevented my completing the larger one until some time in April
last. This, though much larger than my first attempt, is not above
one-third as large as the machines may be made with convenience. The
cylinder is only two feet two inches in length and six inches diameter.
It is turned _by hand_, and requires the strength of one man to keep it
in constant motion. It is the stated task of one negro to clean fifty
weight--I mean fifty pounds after it is separated from the seed--of the
green-seed cotton per day." In the same letter Mr. Jefferson assured Mr.
Whitney that a patent would be granted as soon as the model was lodged
in the Patent Office. In mentioning the favorable notice of Mr.
Jefferson to his friend Stebbins, he adds, with characteristic
moderation, "_I hope, by perseverance, I shall make something of it
yet._"

At the close of this year (1793) Mr. Whitney was to return to Georgia
with his cotton-gins, and Mr. Miller had made arrangements for
commencing business immediately after his arrival. The plan was to erect
machines in every part of the cotton district and engross the entire
business themselves. This was evidently an unfortunate scheme. It
rendered the business very extensive and complicated, and, as it did not
at once supply the demands of the cotton-growers, it multiplied the
inducements to make the machines in violation of the patent. Had the
proprietors confined their views to the manufacture of the machines and
to the sale of patent-rights, it is probable they would have avoided
some of the difficulties with which they afterward had to contend. The
prospect of making suddenly an immense fortune by the business of
ginning, where every third pound of cotton (worth at that time from
twenty-five to thirty-three cents) was their own, presented great and
peculiar attractions. Mr. Whitney's return to Georgia was delayed until
the following April. The importunity of Mr. Miller's letters, written
during the preceding period, urging him to come on, evinces how eager
the Georgia planters were to enter the new field of enterprise which the
genius of Whitney had laid open to them. Nor did they at first, _in
general_, contemplate availing themselves of the invention unlawfully.
But the minds of the more honorable class of planters were afterward
deluded by various artifices, set on foot by designing men, with the
view of robbing Mr. Whitney of his just right.

One of the greatest difficulties experienced by men of enterprise, at
the period under review, was the extreme scarcity of money. In order to
carry on the manufacture of cotton-gins, and to make advances in the
purchase of cotton and establishments for ginning, to an extent in any
degree proportioned to their wishes, Miller & Whitney required a much
greater capital than they could command; and the sanguine temperament of
Mr. Miller was constantly prompting him to advance in hazards much
further than the more cautious spirit of Mr. Whitney would follow. But
even the latter found it necessary sometimes to borrow money at an
enormous interest. The first loan (for $2000) was made on terms which
were deemed at that time peculiarly favorable; yet the company were to
pay 5 per cent. premium in addition to the lawful interest. This was in
1794. In consequence of the numerous speculations in new lands into
which so many of our countrymen were deluded, and the want of confidence
created by the very application for a loan, the pressure for money was
continually increasing. In 1796 Mr. Whitney applied to a friend in
Boston to raise money for him on a loan, and received the following
reply: "I applied to one of those vultures called brokers, who are
preying on the purse-strings of the industrious, and was informed that
he can procure the sum you wish at a premium of 20 per cent. on the
following conditions, viz.: You must make over and deposit with him
public securities, such as funded stock, bank stock, or any kind of
State notes, or Connecticut reservation land certificates, sufficient,
at the going prices, fully to secure the debt and premium." In a more
embarrassed state of Mr. Miller's private affairs, several years
afterward, he paid the enormous interest of 5, 6, and even 7 per cent.
_per month_.

We have said that the loan contracted by Mr. Whitney, in 1794, at a
premium of 5 per cent. in addition to the lawful interest, was regarded
as peculiarly favorable; this is evident from the fact that, during the
same year, Mr. Miller urges him to contract a new loan, if possible, for
$3000, at 12 or 14 per cent. provided it could be extended over a year.

In July, 1794, Mr. Whitney was confined by a severe illness, from which
he recovered slowly; but his business received a still further
interruption from a very fatal sickness, the scarlet fever, which
prevailed in New Haven during this year, and which attacked a number of
his workmen.

Under all these discouragements Mr. Miller was constantly writing the
most urgent letters from Georgia, to press forward the manufacture of
machines. "Do not let a deficiency of money, do not let anything," says
Mr. Miller, "hinder the speedy construction of the gins. The people of
the country are almost running mad for them, and much can be said to
justify their importunity. When the present crop is harvested, there
will be a real property of at least $50,000, yes, of $100,000, lying
useless, unless we can enable the holders to bring it to market. Pray
remember that we must have from fifty to one hundred gins between this
and another fall, if there are any workmen in New England or in the
Middle States to make them. In two years we will begin to take long
steps up-hill, in the business of patent ginning, fortune favoring."

The general resort of the planters to the cultivation of cotton, and its
consequent production in vast quantities, the value of which depended
entirely upon the chance of getting it cleaned by the gin, created great
uneasiness, which first displayed itself in this pressure upon Miller &
Whitney, and afterward afforded great encouragement to the marauders
upon the patent-right, who were now becoming numerous and audacious.

The _roller-gin_ was at first the most formidable competitor with
Whitney's machine. It extricated the seeds by means of rollers, crushing
them between revolving cylinders, instead of disengaging them by means
of teeth. The fragments of seeds which remained in the cotton rendered
its execution much inferior in this respect to Whitney's gin, and it was
also much slower in its operation. Great efforts were made, however, to
create an impression in favor of its superiority in other respects.

But a still more formidable rival appeared early in the year 1795, under
the name of the _saw-gin_. It was Whitney's gin, except that the teeth
were cut in circular rims of iron, instead of being made of wires, as
was the case in the earlier forms of the patent gin. The idea of such
teeth had early occurred to Mr. Whitney, as he afterward established by
legal proof. But they would have been of no use except in connection
with the other parts of his machine, and, therefore, this was a palpable
attempt to evade the patent-right, and it was principally in reference
to this that the lawsuits were afterward held.

It would be difficult to estimate the full value of Mr. Whitney's
labors, without going into a minuteness of detail inconsistent with our
limits. Every cotton garment bears the impress of his genius, and the
ships that transported it across the waters were the heralds of his
fame, and the cities that have risen to opulence by the cotton trade
must attribute no small share of their prosperity to the inventor of the
cotton-gin. We have before us the declaration of the late Mr. Fulton,
that Arkwright, Watt, and Whitney--we would add Fulton to the
number--were the three men who did most for mankind, of any of their
contemporaries; and in the sense in which he intended it, the remark is
probably true.




EXECUTION OF LOUIS XVI

MURDER OF MARAT: CIVIL WAR IN FRANCE

A.D. 1793

THOMAS CARLYLE

     In the early days of the French Revolution many moderates
     who favored reform of the monarchy, but not its abolition,
     were wholly alienated by the condemnation and execution of
     Louis XVI, after what has been regarded as a mock trial by
     the National Convention. It was a still graver effect of
     this tragedy that it impelled the leading European powers to
     join in the great coalition against France contemplated in
     the Convention of Pillnitz (August, 1791).

     Scarcely less was the influence upon the internal affairs of
     France from the murder of Marat by Charlotte Corday.

     Jean Paul Marat, sometimes called, from the name of a paper
     which he published, the "Friend of the People," was one of
     the most ultra-revolutionary of the Jacobin leaders in the
     National Convention. By his murder the "Red
     Republicans"--the extreme radical party in the Convention,
     called the "Mountain" because they occupied the higher seats
     in the hall--were confirmed in their determination to
     destroy their opponents, the moderate republicans, called
     Girondists or Girondins. Many of the Girondist leaders,
     among them some of the most distinguished men in France,
     were soon sent to the guillotine, and the Reign of Terror
     was fully inaugurated. Carlyle calls Marat "atrocious," and
     so most writers regard him, but there are not wanting some
     to vindicate his character and purposes.

     These tragic scenes, and the opening of the civil war which
     followed, known as the War of La Vendée, are depicted by
     Carlyle in that manner, all his own, which invests his
     history of the French Revolution at once with the element of
     realism and an air of romance.

     Louis XVI was first deposed by the National Convention, and
     then brought to trial for conspiring with foreign enemies of
     France, for aiming to subvert French liberties, and for
     being the cause of the massacre of the Swiss Guards who
     defended the Tuileries (August 10, 1792) against a mob
     seeking the King's life. Louis was found "guilty," and,
     after a long wrangle in the Convention over the question of
     punishment, a small majority was given (January 20, 1793)
     for the decree of death. It was voted that there should be
     no delay of the execution.


To this conclusion, then, hast thou come, O hapless Louis! The Son of
Sixty Kings is to die on the Scaffold by form of Law. Under Sixty Kings
this same form of Law, form of Society, has been fashioning itself
together these thousand years; and has become, one way and other, a most
strange Machine. Surely, if needful, it is also frightful, this Machine;
dead, blind; not what it should be; which, with swift stroke, or by cold
slow torture, has wasted the lives and souls of innumerable men. And
behold now a King himself, or say rather Kinghood in his person, is to
expire here in cruel tortures; like a Phalaris shut in the belly of his
own red-heated Brazen Bull! It is ever so; and thou shouldst know it, O
haughty tyrannous man: injustice breeds injustice; curses and falsehoods
do verily return "always home," wide as they may wander. Innocent Louis
bears the sins of many generations: he too experiences that man's
tribunal is not in this Earth; that if he had no Higher one, it were not
well with him.

A King dying by such violence appeals impressively to the imagination;
as the like must do, and ought to do. And yet at bottom it is not the
King dying, but the man! Kingship is a coat: the grand loss is of the
skin. The man from whom you take his Life, to him can the whole combined
world do more? Lally went on his hurdle; his mouth filled with a gag.
Miserablest mortals, doomed for picking pockets, have a whole five-act
Tragedy in them, in that dumb pain, as they go to the gallows,
unregarded; they consume the cup of trembling down to the lees. For
Kings and for Beggars, for the justly doomed and the unjustly, it is a
hard thing to die. Pity them all: thy utmost pity, with all aids and
appliances and throne-and-scaffold contrasts, how far short is it of the
thing pitied!

A Confessor has come; Abbé Edgeworth, of Irish extraction, whom the King
knew by good report, has come promptly on this solemn mission. Leave the
Earth alone, then, thou hapless King; it with its malice will go its
way, thou also canst go thine. A hard scene yet remains: the parting
with our loved ones. Kind hearts environed in the same grim peril with
us; to be left _here_! Let the Reader look with the eyes of Valet Cléry
through these glass doors, where also the Municipality watches, and see
the cruelest of scenes:

"At half-past eight, the door of the anteroom opened: the Queen appeared
first, leading her Son by the hand; then Madame Royale and Madame
Elizabeth: they all flung themselves into the arms of the King. Silence
reigned for some minutes; interrupted only by sobs. The Queen made a
movement to lead his Majesty towards the inner room where M. Edgeworth
was waiting unknown to them: 'No,' said the King, 'let us go into the
dining-room; it is there only that I can see you.' They entered there; I
shut the door of it, which was of glass. The King sat down, the Queen on
his left hand, Madame Elizabeth on his right, Madame Royale almost in
front; the young Prince remained standing between his Father's legs.
They all leaned toward him, and often held him embraced. This scene of
woe lasted an hour and three-quarters; during which we could hear
nothing; we could see only that always when the King spoke, the sobbings
of the Princesses redoubled, continued for some minutes; and that then
the King began again to speak."

And so our meetings and our partings do now end! The sorrows we gave
each other; the poor joys we faithfully shared, and all our lovings and
our sufferings, and confused toilings under the earthly Sun, are over.
Thou good soul, I shall never, never through all ages of Time, see thee
any more!

Never! O Reader, knowest thou that hard word?

For nearly two hours this agony lasts; then they tear themselves
asunder. "Promise that you will see us on the morrow." He promises: Ah
yes, yes; yet once; and go now, ye loved ones; cry to God for yourselves
and me! It was a hard scene, but it is over. He will not see them on the
morrow. The Queen, in passing through the anteroom, glanced at the
Cerberus Municipals; and, with woman's vehemence, said through her
tears, "_Vous êtes tous des scélérats!_" ("You are all scoundrels!")

King Louis slept sound, till five in the morning, when Cléry, as he had
been ordered, awoke him. Cléry dressed his hair. While this went
forward, Louis took a ring from his watch, and kept trying it on his
finger: it was his wedding-ring, which he is now to return to the Queen
as a mute farewell. At half-past six, he took the Sacrament; and
continued in devotion, and conference with Abbé Edgeworth. He will not
see his Family: it were too hard to bear.

At eight, the Municipals enter: the King gives them his Will, and
messages and effects; which they, at first, brutally refuse to take
charge of: he gives them a roll of gold pieces, a hundred and
twenty-five louis; these are to be returned to Malesherbes, who had lent
them. At nine, Santerre says the hour is come. The King begs yet to
retire for three minutes. At the end of three minutes, Santerre again
says the hour is come. "Stamping on the ground with his right foot,
Louis answers: '_Partons_' ('Let us go')." How the rolling of those
drums comes in through the Temple bastions and bulwarks, on the heart of
a queenly wife; soon to be a widow! He is gone then, and has not seen
us? A Queen weeps bitterly; a King's Sister and Children. Over all these
Four does Death also hover: all shall perish miserably save one; she, as
Duchesse d'Angoulême, will live--not happily.

At the Temple Gate were some faint cries, perhaps from voices of pitiful
women: "_Grâce! Grâce!_" Through the rest of the streets there is
silence as of the grave. No man not armed is allowed to be there: the
armed, did any even pity, dare not express it, each man overawed by all
his neighbors. All windows are down, none seen looking through them. All
shops are shut. No wheel-carriage rolls, this morning, in these streets
but one only. Eighty thousand armed men stand ranked, like armed statues
of men; cannons bristle, cannoneers with match burning, but no word or
movement: it is as a city enchanted into silence and stone: one carriage
with its escort, slowly rumbling, is the only sound. Louis reads, in his
Book of Devotion, the Prayers of the Dying: clatter of this death-march
falls sharp on the ear, in the great silence; but the thought would fain
struggle heavenward, and forget the Earth.

As the clocks strike ten, behold the Place de la Révolution, once Place
de Louis Quinze: the Guillotine, mounted near the old Pedestal where
once stood the Statue of that Louis! Far round, all bristles with
cannons and armed men: spectators crowding in the rear; D'Orléans
Égalité there in cabriolet. Swift messengers, _hoquetons_, speed to the
Town-hall every three minutes: near by is the Convention
sitting--vengeful for Lepelletier. Heedless of all, Louis reads his
Prayers of the Dying; not till five minutes yet has he finished; then
the Carriage opens. What temper he is in? Ten different witnesses will
give ten different accounts of it. He is in the collision of all
tempers; arrived now at the black Maelstrom and descent of Death: in
sorrow, in indignation, in resignation struggling to be resigned. "Take
care of M. Edgeworth," he straitly charges the Lieutenant who is sitting
with them: then they two descend.

The drums are beating: "_Taisez-vous!_" ("Silence!") he cries "in a
terrible voice" (_d'une voix terrible_). He mounts the scaffold, not
without delay; he is in _puce_ coat, breeches of gray, white stockings.
He strips off the coat; stands disclosed in a sleeve-waistcoat of white
flannel. The Executioners approach to bind him: he spurns, resists; Abbé
Edgeworth has to remind him how the Saviour, in whom men trust,
submitted to be bound. His hands are tied, his head bare; the fatal
moment is come. He advances to the edge of the Scaffold, "his face very
red," and says: "Frenchmen, I die innocent: it is from the Scaffold and
near appearing before God that I tell you so. I pardon my enemies; I
desire that France----" A General on horseback, Santerre or another,
prances out, with uplifted hand: "_Tambours!_" The drums drown the
voice. "Executioners, do your duty!" The Executioners, desperate lest
themselves be murdered (for Santerre and his Armed Ranks will strike, if
they do not), seize the hapless Louis: six of them desperate, him singly
desperate, struggling there; and bind him to their plank. Abbé
Edgeworth, stooping, bespeaks him: "Son of Saint Louis, ascend to
Heaven." The Axe clanks down; a King's Life is shorn away. It is Monday,
January 21, 1793. He was aged thirty-eight years four months and
twenty-eight days.

Executioner Samson shows the Head: fierce shout of "_Vive la
République_" rises, and swells; caps raised on bayonets, hats waving:
students of the College of Four Nations take it up, on the far Quais;
fling it over Paris. D'Orléans drives off in his cabriolet: the
Town-hall Councillors rub their hands, saying, "It is done, It is done."
There is dipping of handkerchiefs, of pike-points in the blood. Headsman
Samson, though he afterward denied it, sells locks of the hair:
fractions of the puce coat are long after worn in rings.--And so, in
some half-hour it is done and the multitude has all departed.
Pastry-cooks, coffee-sellers, milkmen sing out their trivial quotidian
cries: the world wags on, as if this were a common day. In the
coffee-houses that evening, says Prudhomme, Patriot shook hands with
Patriot in a more cordial manner than usual. Not till some days after,
according to Mercier, did public men see what a grave thing it was.

In the leafy months of June and July, several French Departments
germinate a set of rebellious _paper_-leaves, named Proclamations,
Resolutions, Journals, or Diurnals, "of the Union for Resistance to
Oppression." In particular, the Town of Caen, in Calvados, sees its
paper-leaf of _Bulletin de Caen_ suddenly bud, suddenly establish itself
as Newspaper there; under the Editorship of Girondin National
Representatives!

For among the proscribed Girondins are certain of a more desperate
humor. Some, as Vergniaud, Valazé, Gensonné, "arrested in their own
houses," will await with stoical resignation what the issue may be.
Some, as Brissot, Rabaut, will take to flight, to concealment; which, as
the Paris Barriers are opened again in a day or two, is not yet
difficult. But others there are who will rush, with Buzot, to Calvados;
or far over France, to Lyons, Toulon, Nantes and elsewhither, and then
rendezvous at Caen: to awaken as with war-trumpet the respectable
Departments; and strike down an anarchic "Mountain" Faction; at least
not yield without a stroke at it. Of this latter temper we count some
score or more, of the Arrested, and of the Not-yet-arrested: a Buzot, a
Barbaroux, Louvet, Guadet, Pétion, who have escaped from Arrestment in
their own homes; a Salles, a Pythagorean Valady, a Duchâtel, the
Duchâtel that came in blanket and nightcap to vote for the life of
Louis, who have escaped from danger and likelihood of Arrestment. These,
to the number at one time of Twenty-seven, do accordingly lodge here, at
the "_Intendance_, or Departmental Mansion," of the town of Caen in
Calvados; welcomed by Persons in Authority; welcomed and defrayed,
having no money of their own. And the _Bulletin de Caen_ comes forth,
with the most animating paragraphs: How the Bordeaux Department, the
Lyons Department, this Department after the other is declaring itself;
sixty, or say sixty-nine, or seventy-two respectable Departments either
declaring, or ready to declare. Nay Marseilles, it seems, will march on
Paris by itself, if need be. So has Marseilles Town said, That she will
march. But on the other hand, that Montélimart Town has said, No
thoroughfare; and means even to "bury herself" under her own stone and
mortar first--of this be no mention in _Bulletin de Caen_.

Such animating paragraphs we read in this new Newspaper; and fervors and
eloquent sarcasm: tirades against the "Mountain," from the pen of Deputy
Salles; which resemble, say friends, Pascal's _Provincials_. What is
more to the purpose, these Girondins have got a General-in-chief, one
Wimpfen, formerly under Dumouriez; also a secondary questionable General
Puisaye, and others; and are doing their best to raise a force for war.
National Volunteers, whosoever is of right heart: gather in, ye national
Volunteers, friends of Liberty; from our Calvados Townships, from the
Eure, from Brittany, from far and near: forward to Paris, and extinguish
Anarchy! Thus at Caen, in the early July days, there is a drumming and
parading, a perorating and consulting: Staff and Army; Council; Club of
_Carabots_, Anti-Jacobin friends of Freedom, to denounce atrocious
Marat. With all which, and the editing of _Bulletins_, a National
Representative has his hands full.

At Caen it is most animated; and, as one hopes, more or less animated in
the "Seventy-two Departments that adhere to us." And in a France begirt
with Cimmerian invading Coalitions, and torn with an internal La Vendée,
_this_ is the conclusion we have arrived at: to put down Anarchy by
Civil War! _Durum et durum_, the Proverb says, _non faciunt murum_. La
Vendée burns: Santerre can do nothing there; he may return home and brew
beer. Cimmerian bombshells fly all along the North. That Siege of Mainz
is become famed; lovers of the Picturesque (as Goethe will testify),
washed country-people of both sexes, stroll thither on Sundays, to see
the artillery work and counterwork; "you only duck a little while the
shot whizzes past." Condé is capitulating to the Austrians; Royal
Highness of York, these several weeks, fiercely batters Valenciennes.
For, alas, our fortified Camp of Famars was stormed; General Dampierre
was killed; General Custine was blamed--and indeed is now come to Paris
to give "explanations."

Against all which the Mountain and atrocious Marat must even make head
as they can. They, anarchic Convention as they are, publish Decrees,
expostulatory, explanatory, yet not without severity; they ray forth
Commissioners, singly or in pairs, the olive-branch in one hand, yet
the sword in the other. Commissioners come even to Caen; but without
effect. Mathematical Romme, and Prieur named of the _Côte d'Or_,
venturing thither, with their olive and sword, are packed into prison:
there may Romme lie, under lock and key, "for fifty days"; and meditate
his New Calendar, if he please. Cimmeria, La Vendée, and Civil War!
Never was Republic One and Indivisible at a lower ebb.

Amid which dim ferment of Caen and the World, History specially notices
one thing: in the lobby of the Mansion de l'Intendance, where busy
Deputies are coming and going, a young Lady with an aged valet, taking
grave, graceful leave of Deputy Barbaroux. She is of stately Norman
figure; in her twenty-fifth year; of beautiful still countenance: her
name is Charlotte Corday, heretofore styled D'Armans, while Nobility
still was. Barbaroux has given her a Note to Deputy Duperret--he who
once drew his sword in the effervescence. Apparently she will to Paris
on some errand? "She was a Republican before the Revolution, and never
wanted energy."

A completeness, a decision is in this fair female Figure: "by energy she
means the spirit that will prompt one to sacrifice himself for his
country." What if she, this fair young Charlotte, had emerged from her
secluded stillness, suddenly like a Star; cruel-lovely, with
half-angelic, half-dæmonic splendor; to gleam for a moment, and in a
moment be extinguished: to be held in memory, so bright complete was
she, through long centuries! Quitting Cimmerian Coalitions without, and
the dim-simmering Twenty-five Millions within, History will look fixedly
at this one fair Apparition of a Charlotte Corday; will note whither
Charlotte moves, how the little Life burns forth so radiant, then
vanishes swallowed of the Night.

With Barbaroux's Note of Introduction, and slight stock of luggage, we
see Charlotte on Tuesday, July 9th, seated in the Caen Diligence, with a
place for Paris. None takes farewell of her, wishes her Good-journey:
her Father will find a line left, signifying that she has gone to
England, that he must pardon her, and forget her. The drowsy Diligence
lumbers along; amid drowsy talk of Politics, and praise of the Mountain;
in which she mingles not: all night, all day, and again all night. On
Thursday, not long before noon, we are at the bridge of Neuilly; here
is Paris with her thousand black domes, the goal and purpose of thy
journey! Arrived at the Inn de la Providence in the Rue des Vieux
Augustins, Charlotte demands a room; hastens to bed; sleeps all
afternoon and night, till the morrow morning.

On the morrow morning, she delivers her Note to Duperret. It relates to
certain Family Papers which are in the Minister of the Interior's hand;
which a Nun at Caen, an old Convent-friend of Charlotte's, has need of;
which Duperret shall assist her in getting: this then was Charlotte's
errand to Paris? She has finished this, in the course of Friday--yet
says nothing of returning. She has seen and silently investigated
several things. The Convention, in bodily reality, she has seen; what
the Mountain is like. The living physiognomy of Marat she could not see;
he is sick at present, and confined to home.

About eight on the Saturday morning, she purchases a large sheath-knife
in the Palais Royal; then straightway, in the Place des Victoires, takes
a hackney-coach. "To the Rue de l'École de Médecine, Number 44." It is
the residence of the Citoyen Marat! The Citoyen Marat is ill, and cannot
be seen; which seems to disappoint her much. Her business is with Marat,
then? Hapless beautiful Charlotte; hapless squalid Marat! From Caen in
the utmost West, from Neuchâtel in the utmost East, they two are drawing
nigh each other; they two have, very strangely, business together.
Charlotte, returning to her Inn, despatches a short Note to Marat;
signifying that she is from Caen, the seat of rebellion; that she
desires earnestly to see him, and "will put it in his power to do France
a great service." No answer. Charlotte writes another Note, still more
pressing; sets out with it by coach, about seven in the evening,
herself. Tired day-laborers have again finished their Week; huge Paris
is circling and simmering, manifold, according to its vague wont: this
one fair Figure has decision in it; drives straight--toward a purpose.

It is a yellow July evening, we say, the thirteenth of the month; eve of
the Bastille day, when "M. Marat," four years ago, in the crowd of the
Pont Neuf, shrewdly required of that Besenval Hussar-party, which had
such friendly dispositions, "to dismount, and give up their arms, then";
and became notable among Patriot men. Four years: what a road he has
travelled; and sits now, about half-past seven o'clock, stewing in
slipper-bath; sore-afflicted; ill of Revolution Fever--of what other
malady this History had rather not name. Excessively sick and worn, poor
man; with precisely eleven-pence-halfpenny of ready-money, in paper;
with slipper-bath; strong three-footed stool for writing on, the while;
and a squalid--Washerwoman, one may call her: that is his civic
establishment in Medical-School Street; thither and not elsewhither has
his road led him. Not to the reign of Brotherhood and Perfect Felicity;
yet surely on the way toward that?

Hark, a rap again! A musical woman's voice, refusing to be rejected: it
is the Citoyenne who would do France a service. Marat, recognizing from
within, cries, "Admit her!" Charlotte Corday is admitted: "Citoyen
Marat, I am from Caen the seat of rebellion, and wished to speak with
you." "Be seated, _mon enfant_. Now what are the Traitors doing at Caen?
What Deputies are at Caen?"

Charlotte names some Deputies.

"Their heads shall fall within a fortnight," croaks the eager "People's
Friend" clutching his tablets to write.

"_Barbaroux, Pétion_" writes he with bare shrunk arm, turning aside in
the bath: _Pétion_, and _Louvet_, and--Charlotte has drawn her knife
from the sheath; plunges it, with one sure stroke, into the writer's
heart.

"_À moi, chère amie!_" ("Help, dear!") No more could the Death-choked
say or shriek. The helpful Washerwoman running in, there is no Friend of
the People, or Friend of the Washerwoman left; but his life with a groan
gushes out, indignant, to the shades below.

And so Marat, "People's Friend" is ended: the lone Stylites has been
hurled down suddenly from his Pillar--whitherward? He that made him
knows. Patriot Paris may sound triple and tenfold, in dole and wail;
reëchoed by Patriot France; and the Convention, "Chabot pale with
terror, declaring that they are to be all assassinated," may decree him
Pantheon Honors, Public Funeral, Mirabeau's dust making way for him; and
Jacobin Societies, in lamentable oratory, summing up his character,
parallel him to One, whom they think it honor to call "the good
Sansculotte"--whom we name not here; also a Chapel may be made, for the
urn that holds his Heart, in the Place du Carrousel; and new-born
children be named Marat; and Lago-di-Como Hawkers bake mountains of
stucco into unbeautiful Busts; and David paint his Picture, or
Death-Scene; and such other Apotheosis take place as the human genius,
in these circumstances, can devise: but Marat returns no more to the
light of this Sun. One sole circumstance we have read with clear
sympathy, in the old _Moniteur_ Newspaper: how Marat's Brother comes
from Neuchâtel to ask of the Convention, "that the deceased Jean Paul
Marat's musket be given him." For Marat, too, had a brother and natural
affections; and was wrapt once in swaddling clothes, and slept safe in a
cradle like the rest of us. Ye children of men! A sister of his, they
say, lives still to this day in Paris.[40]

As for Charlotte Corday, her work is accomplished; the recompense of it
is near and sure. The _chère amie_, and neighbors of the house, flying
at her, she "overturns some movables," entrenches herself till the
gendarmes arrive; then quietly surrenders; goes quietly to the Abbaye
Prison: she alone quiet, all Paris sounding, in wonder, in rage or
admiration, round her. Duperret is put in arrest, on account of her; his
Papers sealed--which may lead to consequences. Fauchet, in like manner;
though Fauchet had not so much as heard of her. Charlotte, confronted
with these two Deputies, praises the grave firmness of Duperret,
censures the dejection of Fauchet.

On Wednesday morning, the thronged Palais de Justice and Revolutionary
Tribunal can see her face; beautiful and calm: she dates it "Fourth day
of the Preparation of Peace." A strange murmur ran through the Hall, at
sight of her, you could not say of what character. Tinville has his
indictments and tape papers; the cutler of the Palais Royal will testify
that he sold her the sheath-knife; "All these details are needless,"
interrupted Charlotte; "it is I that killed Marat."

"By whose instigation?"

"By no one's."

"What tempted you, then?"

"His crimes!"

"I killed one man," added she, raising her voice extremely
(_extrêmement_), as they went on with their questions, "I killed one man
to save a hundred thousand; a villain to save innocents; a savage wild
beast to give repose to my country. I was a Republican before the
Revolution; I never wanted energy."

There is therefore nothing to be said. The public gazes astonished: the
hasty limners sketch her features, Charlotte not disapproving: the men
of law proceed with their formalities. The doom is Death as a murderess.
To her Advocate she gives thanks; in gentle phrase, in high-flown
classical spirit. To the Priest they send her she gives thanks; but
needs not any shriving, any ghostly or other aid from him.

On this same evening, therefore, about half past seven o'clock, from the
gate of the Conciergerie, to a City all on tip-toe, the fatal Cart
issues; seated on it a fair young creature, sheeted in red smock of
Murderess; so beautiful, serene, so full of life; journeying toward
death--alone amid the World. Many take off their hats, saluting
reverently; for what heart but must be touched? Others growl and howl.
Adam Lux, of Mainz, declares that she is greater than Brutus; that it
were beautiful to die with her: the head of this young man seems turned.
At the Place de la Révolution, the countenance of Charlotte wears the
same still smile. The executioners proceed to bind her feet; she
resists, thinking it meant as an insult; on a word of explanation, she
submits with cheerful apology. As the last act, all being now ready,
they take the neckerchief from her neck; a blush of maidenly shame
overspreads that fair face and neck; the cheeks were still tinged with
it when the executioner lifted the severed head, to show it to the
people. "It is most true," says Forster, "that he struck the cheek
insultingly; for I saw it with my eyes: the Police imprisoned him for
it."

But during these same hours, another guillotine is at work on another;
Charlotte, for the Girondins, dies at Paris to-day; Chalier, by the
Girondins, dies at Lyons to-morrow.

From rumbling of cannon along the streets of that City, it has come to
firing of them, to rabid fighting: Nièvre Chol and the Girondins
triumph; behind whom there is, as everywhere, a Royalist Faction waiting
to strike in. Trouble enough at Lyons; and the dominant party carrying
it with a high hand! For, indeed, the whole South is astir;
incarcerating Jacobins; arming for Girondins: wherefore we have got a
"Congress of Lyons"; also a "Revolutionary Tribunal of Lyons," and
Anarchists shall tremble. So Chalier was soon found guilty, of
Jacobinism, of murderous Plot, "address with drawn dagger on the sixth
of February last"; and, on the morrow, he also travels his final road,
along the streets of Lyons, "by the side of an ecclesiastic, with whom
he seems to speak earnestly"--the axe now glittering nigh. He could
weep, in old years, this man, and "fall on his knees on the pavement,"
blessing Heaven at sight of Federation Programmes or the like; then he
pilgrimed to Paris to worship Marat and the Mountain: now Marat and he
are both gone--we said he could not end well. Jacobinism groans
inwardly, at Lyons, but dare not outwardly. Chalier, when the Tribunal
sentenced him, made answer: "My death will cost this City dear."

Montélimart Town is not buried under its ruins; yet Marseilles is
actually marching, under order of a "Lyons Congress"; is incarcerating
Patriots; the very Royalists now showing face. Against which a General
Cartaux fights, though in small force, and with him an Artillery Major,
of the name of--Napoleon Bonaparte. This Napoleon, to prove that the
Marseillese have no chance ultimately, not only fights but writes;
publishes his _Supper of Beaucaire_, a Dialogue which has become
curious. Unfortunate Cities, with their actions and their reactions!
Violence to be paid with violence in geometrical ratio; Royalism and
Anarchism both striking in--the final net-amount of which geometrical
series, what man shall sum?

Is not La Vendée still blazing--alas too literally--rogue Rossignol
burning the very corn-mills? General Santerre could do nothing there.
General Rossignol in blind fury, often in liquor, can do less than
nothing. Rebellion spreads, grows ever madder. Happily those lean
Quixote figures, whom we saw retreating out of Mainz, "bound not to
serve against the Coalition for a year," have got to Paris. National
Convention packs them into post-vehicles and conveyances; sends them
swiftly, by post, into La Vendée. There valiantly struggling in obscure
battle and skirmish, under rogue Rossignol, let them, unlaurelled, save
the Republic and "be cut down gradually to the last man."

Does not the Coalition, like a fire-tide, pour in; Prussia through the
opened Northeast; Austria, England through the Northwest? General
Houchard prospers no better there than General Custine did. Let him look
to it! Through the Eastern and the Western Pyrenees Spain has deployed
itself; spreads, rustling with Bourbon banners, over the face of the
South. Ashes and embers of confused Girondin civil war covered that
region already. Marseilles is damped down, not quenched--to be quenched
in blood. Toulon, terror-struck, too far gone for turning, has flung
itself, ye righteous Powers, into the hands of the English! On Toulon
Arsenal there flies a flag--nay not even the Fleur-de-lis of a Louis
Pretender; there flies that accursed St. George's Cross of the English
and Admiral Hood! What remnant of sea-craft, arsenals, roperies, war
navy France had, has given itself to these enemies of human nature,
"_ennemis du genre humain_." Beleaguer it, bombard it, ye Commissioners
Barras, Fréron, Robespierre Junior; thou General Cartaux, General
Dugommier; above all, thou remarkable Artillery-Major, Napoleon
Bonaparte! Hood is fortifying himself, victualling himself; means,
apparently, to make a new Gibraltar of it.

But lo, in the Autumn night, late night, among the last of August, what
sudden red sun-blaze is this that has risen over Lyons City; with a
noise to deafen the world? It is the Powder-tower of Lyons, nay the
Arsenal with Four Powder-towers, which has caught fire in the
Bombardment; and sprung into the air, carrying "a hundred and seventeen
houses" after it. With a light, one fancies, as of the noon sun; with a
roar second only to the Last Trumpet! All living sleepers far and wide
it has awakened. What a sight was that, which the eye of History saw, in
the sudden nocturnal sun-blaze!

The roofs of hapless Lyons, and all its domes and steeples made
momentarily clear; Rhone and Saône streams flashing suddenly visible;
and height and hollow, hamlet and smooth stubble-field, and all the
region round; heights, alas, all scarped and counterscarped, into
trenches, curtains, redoubts; blue Artillery-men, little Powder
devilkins, plying their hell-trade there through the _not_ ambrosial
night! Let the darkness cover it again; for it pains the eye. Of a
truth, Chalier's death is costing the City dear. Convention
Commissioners, Lyons Congresses have come and gone; and action there was
and reaction; bad ever growing worse; till it has come to this;
Commissioner Dubois-Crancé, "with seventy thousand men, and all the
Artillery of several Provinces," bombarding Lyons day and night.

Worse things still are in store. Famine is in Lyons, and ruin and fire.
Desperate are the sallies of the besieged; brave Précy, their National
Colonel and Commandant, doing what is in man: desperate but ineffectual.
Provisions cut off; nothing entering our city but shot and shell! The
Arsenal has roared aloft; the very Hospital will be battered down, and
the sick buried alive. A black Flag hung on this latter noble Edifice,
appealing to the pity of the besiegers; for though maddened, were they
not still our brethren? In their blind wrath, they took it for a flag of
defiance, and aimed thitherward the more. Bad is growing ever worse
here; and how will the worse stop, till it have grown worst of all?
Commissioner Dubois will listen to no pleading, to no speech, save this
only: "We surrender at discretion."

Lyons contains in it subdued Jacobins; dominant Girondins; secret
Royalists. And now, mere deaf madness and cannon-shot enveloping them,
will not the desperate Municipality fly, at last, into the arms of
Royalism itself? Majesty of Sardinia was to bring help, but it failed.
Emigrant D'Autichamp, in name of the Two Pretender-Royal-Highnesses, is
coming through Switzerland with help; coming, not yet come: Précy hoists
the Fleur-de-lis!

At sight of which all true Girondins sorrowfully fling down their arms.
Let our Tricolor brethren storm us then and slay us in their wrath; with
_you_ we conquer not. The famishing women and children are sent forth:
deaf Dubois sends them back--rains in more fire and madness. Our
"redoubts of cotton-bags" are taken, retaken; Précy under his
Fleur-de-lis is valiant as Despair. What will become of Lyons? It is a
siege of seventy days.

Or see, in these same weeks, far in the Western waters: breasting
through the Bay of Biscay, a greasy dingy little Merchant ship, with
Scotch skipper; under hatches whereof sit, disconsolate, the last
forlorn nucleus of Girondism, the Deputies from Quimper! Several have
dissipated themselves, whithersoever they could. Poor Riouffe fell into
the talons of Revolutionary Committee and Paris Prison. The rest sit
here under hatches; reverend Pétion with his gray hair, angry Buzot,
suspicious Louvet, brave young Barbaroux, and others. They have escaped
from Quimper, in this sad craft; are now tacking and struggling; in
danger from the waves, in danger from the English, in still worse danger
from the French--banished by Heaven and Earth to the greasy belly of
this Scotch skipper's Merchant vessel, unfruitful Atlantic raving round.
They are for Bordeaux, if peradventure hope yet linger there. Enter not
Bordeaux, O Friends! Bloody Convention Representatives, Tallien and such
like, with their Edicts, with their Guillotine, have arrived there;
Respectability is driven under ground; Jacobinism lords it on high. From
that Réole landing-place, or "Beak of Ambès," as it were, pale Death,
waving his Revolutionary Sword of Sharpness, waves you elsewhither!

On one side or the other of that Bec d'Ambès, the Scotch Skipper with
difficulty moors, a dexterous greasy man; with difficulty lands his
Girondins; who, after reconnoitring, must rapidly burrow in the Earth;
and so, in subterranean ways, in friends' back-closets, in cellars,
barn-lofts, in caves of Saint-Emilion and Libourne, stave off cruel
Death. Unhappiest of all Senators!

FOOTNOTES:

[40] Written in 1836-1837.--ED.




THE REIGN OF TERROR

A.D. 1794

FRANÇOIS P. G. GUIZOT

     By the Reign of Terror, or the "Terror," is meant that
     period of the first revolution in France during which the
     ruling faction caused thousands of obnoxious persons to be
     sent to the guillotine. The Terror is usually considered as
     beginning in March, 1793, when the Revolutionary Tribunal
     was established by the National Convention. This tribunal
     was an extraordinary court empowered to deal with all acts
     or persons hostile to the Revolution.

     In July, 1793, Robespierre became a member of the Committee
     of Public Safety, and, with Saint-Just, was most prominently
     connected with the Terror. He secured a decree, known as the
     decree of the 22d Prairial, "to accelerate the movements of
     the Committee, and open for them a shorter route to the
     guillotine," whereby persons marked for death might be
     executed as soon as recognized. Against this bloody decree
     it is said that even the "Mountain"--the Red Republican
     party in the Convention--recoiled. It was nevertheless
     remorselessly carried out, and "caused torrents of blood to
     flow."

     The climax of the Terror was reached in 1794, and its end
     came in July of that year, when Robespierre and his
     associates were overthrown. It was followed by a reaction
     against the excesses of the revolutionists, the closing of
     the radical clubs of the Jacobins and others, and the
     release of those whom the Revolutionary Tribunal had
     imprisoned on suspicion. The tribunal itself, together with
     the Committee of Public Safety, who had executed the fierce
     will of the Convention, was speedily swept away.


It is a hideous spectacle to contemplate the enthusiasm of crime, and
see men madly intoxicating themselves with their own atrocities. The
Revolutionary Tribunal was in operation from March, 1793; the registry
of condemnations had reached the number of five hundred seventy-seven.
From 22 Prairial to 9 Thermidor (June 10, to July 27, 1794), two
thousand two hundred eighty-five unfortunates perished on the scaffold.
Fouquier-Tinville[41] comprehended the thought of Robespierre. For the
dock he had substituted benches, upon which he huddled together at one
time the crowd of the accused. One day he erected the guillotine in the
very hall of the tribunal.

The Committee of Public Safety had a moment of fright. "Thou art wishing
then to demoralize punishment!" cried Collot d'Herbois. A hundred sixty
accused persons had been brought from the Luxembourg under pretence of a
conspiracy in prison. The lower class of prisoners were encouraged to
act as spies, thus furnishing pretexts for punishment. The judges sat
with pistols ready to hand; the President cast his eyes over the lists
for the day and called upon the accused. "Dorival, do you know anything
of the conspiracy?" "No!"

"I expected that you would make that reply; but it won't succeed. Bring
another."

"Champigny, are you not an ex-noble?"

"Yes."

"Bring another."

"Guidreville, are you a priest?"

"Yes, but I have taken the oath."

"You have no right to say any more. Another."

"Ménil, were you not a domestic of the ex-constitutional Menou?"

"Yes."

"Another."

"Vély, were you not architect for Madame?"

"Yes, but I was disgraced in 1789."

"Another."

"Gondrecourt, is not your father-in-law at the Luxembourg?"

"Yes."

"Another."

"Durfort, were you not in the bodyguard?"

"Yes, but I was dismissed in 1789."

"Another."

So the examination went on. The questions, the answers, the judgment,
the condemnation, were all simultaneous. The juries did not leave the
hall; they gave their opinions with a word or a look. Sometimes errors
were evident in the lists. "I am not accused," exclaimed a prisoner one
day.

"No matter; what is thy name? See, it is written now. Another."

M. de Loizerolles perished under the name of his father. Jokes were
mingled with the sentences. The Maréchale de Mouchy was old, and did not
reply to the questions of President Dumas. "The _citoyenne_ is deaf"
(_sourde_), said the registrar; "Put down that she has conspired
secretly" (_sourdement_), replied Dumas.

It became necessary to forbid Fouquier-Tinville to send more than sixty
victims a day to the scaffold. "Things go well, and see the heads fall
like slates with my file-firing; the next decade we shall do better
still; I shall want at least four hundred fifty." The lists were
prepared in the prison itself, by the class of informers known as
_moutons_.[42] The public accuser, like the judges and the jailers, was
often ignorant of the names of the human flock crowded in the dungeons.
Death recalled them to recollection. In the evening, under the windows
of each prison, the list of the victims of the day was shouted out.
"These are they who have gained prizes in the lottery of Saint
Guillotine." The unfortunates who crowded to the windows thus learned
the tidings of the execution of those they loved. The horrors of the
unforeseen and unknown were added to the agonies of death and
separation. Under the windows of the Conciergerie the names of the
Maréchale de Noailles, the Duchesse d'Ayen and the Vicomtesse de
Noailles, who died together on the scaffold, were proclaimed. Among the
prisoners was Madame la Fayette, herself awaiting death; happily she did
not recognize in the coarse accents of the criers the cherished names of
her grandmother, mother, and sister. The peasants of the Vendée[43] came
to die at Paris, like the Carmelites of Compiègne or the magistrates of
Toulouse. It was astonishing that there still remained in the dungeons
great lords and noble ladies, bearing the most illustrious names in the
history of France; on the 8th and 9th Thermidor the poets Roucher and
André Chénier; Baron Trenck, famous for his numerous escapes; the
Maréchale d'Armentières, the Princesse de Chimay, the Comtesse de
Narbonne, the Duc de Clermont-Tonnerre, the Marquis de Crussol, and the
Messieurs de Trudaine, counsellors of the Parliament of Paris, perished
upon the scaffold.

Insulters always surrounded the scaffold, but their number had
decreased; the Committee of Public Safety no longer had recourse to the
popular manoeuvres of its early days. Terror was now sufficient to
insure the silence and submission of the victims. Paris grew weary of
the horrors of which it was witness; the odor of blood had driven away
the residents from the houses adjacent to the Place de la Révolution; a
new guillotine had been erected upon the Place du Trône. Upon the route
along which ran the fatal carts shops were closed, and passers-by
endeavored to avoid meeting the procession. A few rare loungers of the
lowest class alone walked in the gardens of the Tuileries and the
Champs-Élysées. All was silent, but pity was growing in the minds of
men. The distant sound of the horrors that were general throughout
France redoubled the terror of Paris.

The provincial sufferings were not uniform, and the fury of the
representative commissioners was unequally distributed. Either by a
happy chance, or it might be by an instinctive knowledge of the
character of the population, the revolutionary scaffold was never set up
in Lower Normandy; the Vendée, on the contrary, expiated its long
resistance in its blood, and Carrier filled with terror the city of
Nantes, always favorable to revolution. He had tried guillotine and
grape-shot, but both were too tardy in their action to suit his zeal. He
conceived the idea of crowding the condemned into ships with valves,
launched upon the Loire: the beautiful river saw these unfortunates
struggling in its waters. Henceforth the executioners tied the prisoners
together by one hand and one foot; these "Republican Marriages," as they
were called, insured the speedy death of the victims. The waters of the
Loire became infected; its shores were covered with corpses; the fishes
themselves could no longer serve as nourishment for human beings; fever
decimated the inhabitants of Nantes. The fury of Carrier bordered on
madness: he caused the little Vendean infants, collected by Breton
charity, to be cast into the water. "It is necessary," said he, "to slay
the wolves' cubs."

The same terror also, and the same atrocities which desolated the West,
reigned in the North and the South. In the Department of Vaucluse,
Maignet, in the Pas-de-Calais, Joseph Lebon, had obtained the erection
of local revolutionary tribunals. "The arrests which I have ordered in
the Departments of Vaucluse and the Bouches-du-Rhône amount to twelve
or fifteen thousand," wrote Maignet to his friend Couthon. "It would
require an army to conduct them to Paris; besides, it is necessary to
appal, and the blow is only terrifying when struck in the sight of those
who have lived with the guilty." They had felled the tree of liberty in
the little town of Bédouin; sixty-three of the inhabitants were
executed; the rest fled. "I have wished to give the national vengeance a
grand character," wrote Maignet to the Committee of Public Safety, "and
I have ordered that the town should be given to the flames. If you think
this new measure too rigorous, let me know your wishes, and do not read
my letter to the Convention." To the complaints of Rovère,
representative of Vaucluse, Robespierre replied, "We are content with
Maignet; he knows well how to guillotine." Joseph Lebon established an
orchestra close by the guillotine; he caused the _Ça ira_[44] to be sung
during the executions, which he witnessed from his balcony. Formerly a
priest and well esteemed, he was moderate at the outburst of the
Revolution, but his reason had yielded to the dizziness of despotic
power; it was of a veritable madman that Barère said: "Lebon has
completely beaten the aristocrats, and he has protected Cambrai against
the approaches of the enemy; besides, what is there that is not
permitted to the hatred of a republican against the aristocracy? The
Revolution and revolutionary measures must only be spoken of with
respect. Liberty is a virgin whose veil it is culpable to raise."

For some time Robespierre had appeared but rarely at the Committee of
Public Safety; he reserved himself for the department of general police,
that is to say, the direction of the "Terror" throughout France.
Underhand dissensions and jealousies began to creep in among these
criminals, secretly disquieted by projects of which they were
reciprocally suspicious. Billaud-Varennes and Collot d'Herbois dreaded
Robespierre and began to conspire against him. Robespierre established
himself with the Jacobins, as in an impregnable fortress. The President
and Vice-President of the Revolutionary Tribunal, and the commandant of
the armed forces, Henriot, awaited his orders. They pressed him to take
action against the enemies whom he had himself denounced to the
Jacobins. "Formerly," said he, "on the 13th Messidor [July 1st], the
underhand faction that has sprung from the remnant of the followers of
Danton and Camille Desmoulins attacked the committees _en masse_; now
they prefer to attack a few members in particular; in order to succeed
in breaking the bundle, they attribute to a single individual that which
appertains to the whole Government. They dare not say that the
Revolutionary Tribunal has been instituted in order to swallow up the
National Convention; they have spoken of a dictator, and named him; it
is I who have been thus designated, and you would tremble if I told you
in what place."

A dictatorship had, in fact, been spoken of, but it was Saint-Just, on
returning from the army, who had uttered this terrible word, in a
conference of the Committees of Public Safety and General Security
expressly convoked by Robespierre. The latter had proposed the
institution of four great revolutionary tribunals, in order to forge new
weapons for himself; but the conference refused. Robespierre went out
irritated and gloomy. "Misfortune has reached a climax," cried
Saint-Just. "You are in a state of anarchy. The Convention is inundating
France with laws inoperative and often impracticable. The
representatives accompanying the armies dispose at their will of the
public fortune and our military destinies; the representatives sent as
Commissioners to the Provinces usurp all power and amass gold for which
they substitute assignats. How can such political and legislative
disorder be regulated? I declare upon my honor and my conscience, I see
only one means of safety; and that is the concentration of power in the
hands of one man who has enough genius, force, patriotism, and
generosity to become the embodiment of public authority. It is
necessary, above all, to have a man endowed with long practical
knowledge of the Revolution, its principles, its phases, its modes of
action, and its agents. Finally, he must be a man who has the general
good-will and confidence of the people in his favor, and who is at once
a virtuous and inflexible as well as an incorruptible citizen. That man
is Robespierre; it is he only who can save the State. I ask that he be
invested with the dictatorship, and that the committees make a
proposition to this effect at the Convention to-morrow."

The imprudence of the speech equalled the audacity of the act. The
members of the two councils looked at each other, hesitating to accept
the declaration of war. A few of them contended for their lives against
the vengeance of Robespierre and his friends. "This Robespierre is
insatiable," said Barère, with anger. "Let him ask for Tallien, Bourdon
de l'Oise, Thuriot, Guffroy, Rovère, Lecointre, Panis, Barras, Fréron,
Legendre, Monestier, Dubois Crancé, Fouché, Cambon, and all the
Dantonist remnant, well and good; but to Duval, Audouin, Léonard
Bourdon, Vadier, Vauland, it is impossible to consent."

The two parties waited face to face, shrinking from the blows they were
about to exchange, counting on the impatience or temerity of their
adversaries. The boldest among the opposition ventured on a circuitous
attack by denouncing the sect of mystic dreamers led by a demented
woman, Catherine Théot, styled by her followers, Mother of God. Her
principal disciple was Gerle, formerly prior of the Chartreuse, and a
member of the Constituent Assembly. When the papers of this handful of
maniacs were seized, the copy of a letter to Robespierre was found; he
was to have been the Messiah of the sect. Vadier denounced at the
Convention this elementary school of fanaticism, discovered on a third
floor in the Rue Contrescarpe, and who were connected, he said, with the
machinations of Pitt; but he dared not speak of the letter to
Robespierre. The latter undoubtedly took some interest in Catherine
Théot, for he did not allow the affair to be followed up; the prophetess
died in prison soon after.

Robespierre had said to a deputation from Aisne: "In the situation in
which it now is, gangrened by corruption, and without power to remedy
it, the Convention can no longer save the Republic: both will perish
together. The proscription of patriots is the order of the day. For
myself, I have already one foot in the tomb, in a few days I shall place
the other there; the rest is in the hands of Providence."

Nevertheless he began the attack, urged forward by men who had attached
their fortunes to his own, and by the disquietudes which agitated his
sour and dissatisfied spirit. He could no longer put up with advice even
from his most faithful friends, and the inflexible Saint-Just told him
to calm himself; "Empire is for the phlegmatic." A menacing petition
from the Jacobins preceded by a few hours a grand discourse from the
dictator. He always reckoned on the effect of his discourses, and all
the committees, one after another, had suffered from the asperity of his
attacks. "The accusations are all concentrated upon me," said he; "if
anyone casts patriots into prison in place of shutting up the
aristocrats there, it is said that Robespierre wills it. If the numerous
agents of the Committee of General Security extend their vexations and
rapine in all directions, it is said that Robespierre has sent them; if
a new law irritates the property-holders, it is Robespierre who is
ruining them; and meanwhile, in what hands are your finances? In the
hands of feuillants, of known cheats, of the Cambons, Mallarmés and
Ramels. Survey the field of victory, look at Belgium; dissensions have
been sown among our generals, the military aristocracy is protected,
faithful generals are persecuted, the military administration is
enveloped with a suspicious authority; they talk to you of war with
academic lightness, as if it cost neither blood nor labor. The truths
that I bring you are surely equal to epigrams.

"There exists a conspiracy against public liberty; it owes its force to
a criminal coalition which intrigues in the very bosom of the
Convention. That coalition has its accomplices in the Committee of
General Security, and in the _bureaux_, which they control. Some members
of the Committee of Public Safety are implicated in this plot; the
coalition thus formed seeks to ruin patriots and the country. What is
the remedy for this evil? To punish the traitors, to purify the
Committee of General Security, and subordinate it to the Committee of
Public Safety; to purify this committee itself, and constitute it the
Government under the authority of the National Convention, which is the
centre of authority and the chief judicial power. Thus would all the
factions be crushed by raising on their ruins the power of justice and
liberty. If it is impossible to advocate these principles without being
set down as ambitious, I shall conclude that tyranny reigns among us,
but not that I ought to hold my tongue; for what can be objected to a
man who is right, and who knows how to die for his country? I am put
here in order to combat crime, not to govern it. The time has not yet
come when good men can serve their country with impunity."

They listened in silence; no applause, no complaint had interrupted the
orator. For a long time the Convention had been unaccustomed to see the
masters of their fortunes and their lives making appeal to their supreme
authority. Their _rôle_ had long been limited to taking part in
oratorical tournaments and voting decrees. They did not yield, however,
to the seduction, and their faces remained grave and sombre. No one rose
to speak, but they began to exchange a few remarks, and a murmur ran
from bench to bench. The glove was thrown down, but as yet no champion
advanced to take it up. At length, and as if the courage of all was
reanimated at once by the same resolution, Vadier, Cambon, and
Billaud-Varennes rose together to mount the tribune. Cambon had been
wounded in his just pride as a financier and an honest man; he could
scarcely wait his turn.

"It is time," cried he, "to speak the entire truth. Is it I who need to
be accused of making myself master in any respect? The man who has made
himself master of everything, the man who paralyzes our will, is he who
has just spoken--Robespierre." At the same moment and from all lips came
the same cries. "It is Robespierre," said Billaud-Varennes. "It is
Robespierre," repeated Panis and Vadier. "Let him give an account of the
crimes of the deputies whose death he demanded from the Jacobins." And
as he hesitated, troubled by the vehemence of the attacks, "You who
pretend to have the courage of virtue, have the courage of truth," cried
Charlier to him; "name, name the individuals." In the midst of a growing
confusion the Assembly revoked the order to print the discourse of
Robespierre. It was to the two committees, filled with his enemies, that
the denunciation of the dictator was referred.

Robespierre took refuge with the Jacobins; he was troubled by the
opposition he had encountered, without being able to draw from it new
forces for the struggle. He redelivered his discourse, this time
welcomed with loud applause. "My friends," said he, "that which you have
just heard is my dying testament. I have seen to-day that the league of
the wicked is too strong for me to hope to escape it. I am ready to
drink the hemlock."

"I will drink it with thee," cried David. The men of action were less
resigned. Henriot spoke of marching on the Convention, but Robespierre
still wished to speak; it was the course of May 31st that he wanted to
follow. The hall was crowded; people entered without tickets.

"Name thy enemies," they shouted to Robespierre; "name them; we will
deliver them to thee." Collot d'Herbois arrived, attempting a few
protestations of devotion; he was hooted and constrained to retire.
Hesitation and doubt still troubled every spirit and paralyzed every
hand. Collot and Billaud-Varennes returned to the Committee of Public
Safety. There they found Saint-Just, who had to read a report, but he
had not brought it with him. The two new-comers apostrophized him with
violence. "Thou art the accomplice of Robespierre; the project of your
infamous triumvirate is to assassinate us all, but if we succumb you
will not long enjoy the fruit of your crimes--the people will tear you
in pieces; thy pockets are full of denunciations against us; produce thy
lists." They advanced menacingly; Saint-Just shrank back, very pale. As
he went out he promised to read his report next day. Neither of the two
parties had as yet taken any effectual measure; they had contracted the
habit of being very prodigal of words. Tallien had endeavored to gain
over all that remained of the Left; three times he was repulsed by
Boissy d'Anglas and his friends. As he returned once more to the charge,
"Yes," they at length replied, with an ingenuousness almost cynical,
"yes, if you are the strongest." Tallien was intrusted to direct the
attack in the Convention.

Saint-Just had just entered; he had not appeared at the Committee of
Public Safety. "You have blighted my heart," he wrote to his colleagues,
"I am about to open it at the National Assembly." He presented himself,
however, as reporter of the Committee. In seeing him pass, Tallien,
occupied in assembling his forces, said loudly, "It is the moment; let
us enter." Saint-Just commenced: "I am not of any faction; I fight
against all. The course of events has brought it about that this tribune
should be perhaps the Tarpeian rock to him who shall come to tell you
that the members of the Government--" Tallien did not leave him time to
finish; he demanded leave to speak upon a motion of order. "Nor I
either; I am not of any faction; I only belong to myself and to
liberty. It is I who will make you hear the truth: no good citizen can
restrain his tears over the unfortunate condition of public affairs.
Yesterday a member of the Government was here alone and denounced his
colleagues: to-day another comes to do as much by him; these dissensions
aggravate the evils of our country. I demand that the veil be torn
away." Applause echoed from all parts of the hall.

Saint-Just wished to continue his speech. "Thou art not reporter,"
shouted the members. He remained motionless in the tribune, while
Billaud-Varennes came and stood beside him. He cast his eyes over the
hall. "I see here," said he, "one of the men who yesterday, at the
Jacobins, promised the massacre of the National Convention; let him be
arrested." The officers obeyed. "The Assembly is at the present time in
danger of massacre on every hand," continued Billaud; "it will perish if
it is feeble." The contagion of courage spread from man to man; all the
deputies stood up waving their hats. "Be tranquil," they cried to the
orator; "we will not give way." "You will tremble when you see in what
hands you are," continued Billaud; "the armed force is confided to
parricidal hands. The chief of the National Guard is an infamous
conspirator, the accomplice of Hébert; Lavalette was a noble, driven out
of the Army of the North and saved by Robespierre, whom he obeys. The
Revolutionary Tribunal is in his hands; everywhere he has made his will
supreme, and has sought to render himself absolute master; he has
dismissed the best Revolutionary Committee of Paris, he has ceased to
frequent the Committee of Public Safety since the day after the decree
of the 22d Prairial, which has been so disastrous to patriots. He
excites the Jacobins against the Assembly." A few feeble protestations
were now heard. "There is some murmuring, I think," said the speaker,
insolently.

He was about to continue the course of his accusations; but beside him
in the tribune Robespierre had replaced Saint-Just. His natural pallor
had become livid, rage sparkled in his glance. "I demand liberty to
speak," he cried. A single shout echoed through the hall. "Down with the
tyrant! Down with the tyrant!" "I demand liberty to speak," Robespierre
violently repeated. Tallien dashed into the tribune. "I demand that the
veil be torn away immediately," he cried; "the work is accomplished,
the conspirators are unmasked. Yesterday, at the Jacobins, I saw the
army of the new Cromwell formed, and I have come here armed with a
poignard to pierce his heart if the Assembly has not the courage to
decree his accusation. I demand the arrest of Henriot and his staff.
There will be no May 31st, no proscription; national justice alone will
strike the miscreants."

"I demand that Dumas be arrested," added Billaud-Varennes, "as well as
Boulanger [formerly lieutenant of Ronsin in the Vendée]; he was the most
ardent yesterday night at the Jacobins."

Meanwhile Robespierre was still in the tribune. Several times he strove
to begin speaking, but the same cry drowned his voice, "Down with the
tyrant!" The little group of those who were faithful to him, close
pressed together, followed him with their eyes without speaking, without
seconding his efforts; the mass of the Assembly, so docile a few days
before, was agitated with a violence that became more and more hostile.
Barère hesitated no longer. It is said that he had prepared two
statements; one favorable to and the other hostile to Robespierre. He
proposed to abolish the grade of commandant-general, and to call to the
bar the mayor Fleuriot and the National agent Payan, to answer there for
public tranquillity. The decree was voted; on all sides arose
accusations against Robespierre, everyone hastening to denounce him. "I
demand liberty to speak, to bring back this discussion to its true end
and aim," said Tallien. Robespierre raised his head; "I shall know well
how to bring it there," said he, in those imperious accents which
formerly cowed the Assembly. Tallien continued without noticing the
interruption. "The conspiracy is quite complete in the discourse read
and reread yesterday. It is there that I find arms to strike down this
man, whose virtue and patriotism have been so much vaunted; this man,
who appeared three days only after August 10th; this man, who has
abandoned his post at the Committee of Public Safety, in order to come
and calumniate his colleagues. It is not necessary to discuss in any
particular detail of the tyrant's career; his whole life condemns him."

Robespierre clutched at the tribune with both hands. He no longer sought
aid from the "Mountain," henceforth roused against him; he turned his
face toward the "Plain." "It is to you pure and virtuous men that I
address myself; I don't talk with scoundrels." "Down with the tyrant!"
responded the "Plain." Thuriot, who presided, rang his bell. "President
of assassins," cried Robespierre, "yet once more I demand liberty to
speak." His voice grew feebler. "The blood of Danton is choking him,"
cried Gamier de l'Aude. "Will this man long remain master of the
Convention?" asked Charles Duval. "Let us make an end! A decree, a
decree!" shouted Lasseau, at length. "A tyrant is hard to strike down,"
said Fréron, in a loud voice. Robespierre remained in the tribune,
turning in his hands an open knife, alone, exposed to the vengeful anger
of them all. "Send me to death!" he cried to his enemies. And the voices
replied: "Thou hast merited it a thousand times. Down with the tyrant!"

The decree was voted in the midst of tumult. "I ask to share the lot of
my brother," cried the younger Robespierre. "It is understood," said
Lanchet, "that we have voted the arrest of the two Robespierres, of
Couthon, and Saint-Just." "I ask to be comprised in the decree,"
protested Lebas, faithfully devoted to Saint-Just. "The triumvirate of
Robespierre, Couthon, and Saint-Just," said Fréron, "recalls the
proscriptions of Sylla. Couthon is a tiger thirsting for the blood of
the National representatives; he has dared to speak at the Jacobins of
five or six heads of the Convention; our corpses were to be the steps
for him to mount the throne!" The paralytic made a gesture of bitter
disdain. "I _mount_ the throne!" said he.

Thuriot proclaimed the decree; the acclamations that re-echoed were
furious, intoxicated with the joy of triumph. "Long live liberty! Long
live the Republic! Down with the tyrants; to the bar with the accused."
The officers, still bewildered with such an abrupt and sudden change,
had not dared to lay a hand upon the fallen dictator; rage broke forth
in the ranks of the Assembly. Robespierre and his brother, Saint-Just,
Lebas, descended slowly to the place lately reserved for their enemies.
Couthon had just placed himself there. The decree of arrest dispersed
them in different prisons; they had set out when the Assembly suspended
its sitting for an instant. "Let us go out together," said Robespierre.
The crowd, like the Assembly, gazed on them without acclamations and
without manifesting any sympathy for them; their army was re-forming
elsewhere.

The Commune of Paris and the club of the Jacobins had not laid down
their arms. An officer was sent to the Hôtel de Ville to announce the
decree, which dismissed Henriot and summoned the Mayor to appear at the
bar. He naively demanded a receipt for his message. "On a day like this
we don't give receipts," replied the Mayor. "Tell Robespierre to have no
fear, for we are here."

The Commune, in fact, was active, while the Committees of the
Convention, stupefied at their own victories, were letting precious time
slip past. Already Henriot, half drunk, galloping along the streets,
stirred up the people, crying out that their faithful representatives
were being massacred, delivering over to insults Merlin de Thionville,
and sending to death the convoy of victims for the day. These the
inhabitants of the Faubourg St. Antoine set about delivering, from
compassion and from a vague instinct that the arrest of Robespierre
necessarily brought about a cessation of executions. The General Council
had sent to the jailers of the prisons an order to refuse to aid in the
incarceration of the accused. Robespierre and his friends were
successively brought to the Mairie. They found themselves again free at
the head of an insurrection precipitately got up, but directed by
desperate men, who felt their lives in danger if power escaped from
them. Henriot, arrested for a moment, and conducted to the Committee of
General Security, had been delivered by Coffinhal at the head of a
handful of men. He was again on horseback, and was menacing in the hall
of their sittings the Assembly, which had again come together.

The tocsin rang forth a full peal; the gates of Paris were closed. The
rising tumult of the insurrection reached the ears of the deputies; each
minute some inauspicious news arrived. It was said that the gunners of
the National Guard, seduced by Henriot, were coming to direct their
artillery against the palace. Collot d'Herbois mounted slowly to the
chair and seated himself there. "Representatives," said he, with a firm
voice, "the moment has come for us to die at our posts; miscreants have
invaded the National palace." All had taken their places; while the
spectators fled from the galleries with uproar and confusion. "I
propose," said Élie Lacoste with a loud voice, "that Henriot be
outlawed." At the same moment the dismissed commandant ordered his men
to fire.

Fearful and troubled, the gunners still hesitated. A group of
representatives went forth from the hall and cried, "What are you doing,
soldiers? That man is a rebel, who has just been outlawed." The gunners
had already lowered their matches, while Henriot fled at full gallop.
Barras had just been named commandant of the forces in his place; seven
representatives accompanied him. "Outlaw all those who shall take arms
against the Convention or who shall oppose its decrees," said Barère;
"as well as those who are eluding a decree of accusation or arrest." The
decree was voted; an officer of the Convention boldly accepted the duty
of bearing it to the Commune. The National agent, Payan, seized it from
him, and for bravado read it with a loud voice before the crowd that was
thronging in the hall of the Hôtel de Ville. He added these words which
were not in the decree, "and all those found at this moment in the
galleries." The spectators disappeared as if struck with terror at the
name of the law. Times were changed. The mobile waves of public opinion
no longer upheld the tyrants overthrown by the accomplices who had now
become their enemies.

It was, without saying it, and possibly without knowing it, the feeling
of this public abandonment and reprobation which paralyzed the energy of
the five accused. Robespierre had arrived pale and trembling in all his
limbs; he had been tranquillized with difficulty. When Couthon, who
alone was retained for a time in the prison of La Bourbe, was at last
brought to the Hôtel de Ville, he found the Council solely occupied with
the attack on the Convention, without making any efforts for rousing the
populace or for the vigorous resumption of power. "Have the armies been
written to?" he asked. "In the name of whom?" said Robespierre,
disheartened but calm. "Of the Convention which exists wherever we are;
the rest are but a handful of factious men, who are about to be
dispersed by armed force." Robespierre reflected; he shook his head. "We
must write in the name of the French people," said he. The words "_Au
nom du peuple_" were found in his handwriting on a sheet of paper.

It was also in the name of the people that Barras and his companions
reunited the battalions of the sections which slowly assembled; some had
recalled their men from the Hôtel de Ville. The new military school, the
École de Mars, had not appeared well disposed toward Lebas, who had
written to the Commandant Labretèche to hinder his pupils from ranging
themselves under the banners of the Convention; the young men marched
willingly at the request of Barras. The gunners collected on the Place
de Grève permitted Léonard Bourdon to approach. "Go!" said Tallien to
him, "and let the sun when it rises find no more traitors living." The
crowd dispersed on hearing the proclamation which outlawed the Commune
of Paris. The gunners abandoned their pieces; a few hours later they
came to seek them to protect the Convention. "Is it possible," cried
Henriot, as he came forth from the Hôtel de Ville, "that these
scoundrels of gunners have abandoned me? Presently they will be
delivering me to the Tuileries!" He ran to announce the desertion to the
assembled Council-General. Coffinhal, indignant at his cowardice, seized
him by the shoulder and pushed him out by the window. The agents of the
police arrested him in a sewer.

Meanwhile the section of the Gravilliers had put itself in marching
order, commanded by Léonard Bourdon and by a gendarme named Méda,
intelligent and devoted, and who had acquired an ascendency over those
around him. He advanced toward the Hôtel de Ville without encountering
any obstacle. Méda cried, in mounting the flight of steps, "Long live
Robespierre!" He penetrated into the hall, obstructed by the crowd; the
club of the Jacobins was deserted, Legendre had had the door closed; all
the leaders of the Revolution were assembled round the proscribed
representatives. They were discussing and vociferating, without ardor,
however, and without any true hope. Robespierre was seated at a table,
his head on his left hand, his elbow supported by his knee.

Méda advanced toward him, pistols in hand. "Surrender, traitor!" he
cried. Robespierre raised his head. "It is thou who art a traitor," he
said, "and I will have thee shot." At the same instant the gendarme
fired, fracturing the lower jaw of Robespierre. As he fell, his brother
opened the window, and, passing along the cornice, leaped out upon the
Place. He was dying when they came to pick him up.

Saint-Just, leaning over toward Lebas, said, "Kill me." Lebas, looking
him in the face, replied: "I have something better to do," pressing the
trigger of his pistol. He was dead when a fresh report resounded from
the staircase; Méda, who pursued Henriot, had just drawn on Couthon; his
bearer fell grievously wounded. The prisoners, formerly all-powerful,
now dying or condemned, were collected in the same room; thither
Robespierre and Couthon had been brought; the corpse of Lebas lay on the
floor; the crowd who besieged the gates wanted to throw the wounded into
the river. Couthon had great difficulty in making it understood that he
was not dead; Robespierre could not speak, and was carried on a chair to
the door of the Convention. A feeling of horror manifested itself in the
Assembly, "No, not here! not here!" was the cry. A surgeon came to
attend to the wounded man in the hall of the Committee of Public Safety;
he recovered from his swoon, and walked alone toward his chair; until
then he had been extended upon a table, a little deal box supporting his
wounded head. The blood flowed slowly from his mouth, and at times he
made a movement to wipe it away; his clothes and his face were smeared
with it. Robespierre appeared insensible to the injuries of those who
surrounded him; he made no complaint, inaccessible and alone in death as
in life. They carried him to the Conciergerie, where Saint-Just and
Couthon had just arrived. All had been outlawed; no procedure, no delay,
retarded their execution. Saint-Just, looking at a table of the _Rights
of Man_ hanging in the hall, said, "It is I, however, who have done
that."

The Conciergerie slowly filled; with Dumas, Fleuriot, Payan, Lavalette,
a large proportion of the members of the Council-General had been
arrested. The prisoners already retained here were pressing to the bars
of their windows, curious as to the noise that reached their ears, and
the vague rumors which had already excited mortal fears among the
informers. Before the room where were imprisoned Madame de Beauharnais
and Madame de Fontenay (afterward Madame Tallien), a woman appeared,
who, in a marked manner, held up a stone (_pierre_), enveloped it in her
dress (_robe_), and then made a gesture of beheading. The prisoners
comprehended, a thrill of joy pervaded their gloomy abode; all the
oppressed believed themselves already delivered.

It was five o'clock, and the carts had just drawn up as usual at the
gate of the prison, but this time they waited for the executioners. The
procession defiled before a dense crowd; all the windows were full of
spectators, all the shops were open, and joy sparkled in every
countenance. Robespierre and his friends had wearied with executions the
people of Paris; the sanguinary emotions to which they had been so long
accustomed regained their first relish; it was Robespierre that they
were about to see die. He was half stretched out in the cart, livid, and
with a blood-stained cloth round his face. When the executioner snatched
it from him on the scaffold, a terrible cry was heard, the first sign of
suffering the condemned had given. To this shriek cries of joy responded
from all around, which were repeated at each stroke from the fatal axe.
In two days a hundred three executions violently sealed the vengeance of
the Convocation. The justice of God and that of history bide their time.

Robespierre had successively vanquished all his enemies; clever and
bold, protected and served by his reputation for virtue, seconded by the
growing terror which his name inspired, he had usurped the entire power,
and confiscated the Revolution for the profit of despotism. He succumbed
under the blows of those who had constantly pushed him to the front;
wearied or frightened by the tyranny whose vengeance they themselves
dreaded. The hands which overthrew the terrible dictator were not pure
hands, and revolutionary passions continued to animate many minds, but
the public instincts did not err for an instant. The conquerors of the
9th Thermidor could in their turn seize upon power, and the greater
number of them had had no other intention; but they might no longer
spill blood at their pleasure without hindrance and without control. The
culminating point of sufferings and crimes had been attained. Without
wishing it and without knowing it, from envy or from fear, the
"_Thermidoriens_," as they began to be called, in striking down the
triumvirate had changed the course of the Revolution. The nation, always
prompt to concentrate upon the name of one man its affections or its
hatreds, panting and lacerated as it was, began to breathe; the
prisoners ceased to expect death daily; their friends already hoped for
their liberty; timid people ventured forth from their hiding-places; the
bold loudly manifested their joy. People dared to wear mourning for
those who had died on the scaffold; widows came forth from houses in
which they had kept themselves shut up; absent ones reappeared in the
bosom of their families. Robespierre was no more.

The Convention had revolted almost unanimously against the tyrant;
scarcely was he struck down, when it found itself again a prey to
divisions. Public demonstrations of joy and relief were manifested
everywhere, and this disquieted some of the leaders of the conspiracy
formerly directed against Robespierre; they had thought to overthrow him
in order themselves to occupy his place, and already they perceived that
two tendencies were manifesting themselves in the country. The one,
feeble as yet in the Convention, and with no other point of support than
the remnant of the Right, disposed to retrace the course of events, and
even to visit upon their authors the iniquities committed; the other,
disquieted and gloomy, determined to defend the Revolution at any
hazard, even though it might be at the price of new sacrifices. The
small party of the Thermidorians, Tallien at their head, began to form
themselves between these two irreconcilable parties. The reaction as yet
bore no definite name, it did not and could not exercise any power;
desired or dreaded, it was at the bottom of every thought, it influenced
all decisions, often rendering them apparently contrary. The terrible
glory of Robespierre, and the crushing weight that rests upon his
memory, are due to the sudden transformation effected by his death. In
outward semblance, and for some time longer, the customary terms were
employed, but the character of the situation was radically changed.

FOOTNOTES:

[41] Public accuser before the Revolutionary Tribunal.--ED.

[42] Decoys; literally, sheep.--ED.

[43] The royalist War of La Vendée against the Republic was now
raging.--ED.

[44] "It will go." One of the most popular songs at the beginning of the
Revolution (1789), said to have been suggested by Benjamin Franklin,
who, in speaking of the progress of the American Revolution, said: "Ça
ira" meaning, "It will succeed."--ED.




THE DOWNFALL OF POLAND

A.D. 1794

SIR ARCHIBALD ALISON

     That the French Revolution was not more actively interfered
     with by the powers of Eastern Europe was largely due to the
     fact that they were all busy with a spoliation of their own.
     When Kosciuszko, the great Polish patriot and hero, failed
     in his endeavor to rescue his country from foreign thraldom,
     the doom of the ancient kingdom was sealed. In the following
     year (1795) the third and final partition of Poland--between
     Russia, Austria, and Prussia--was made. This destruction of
     a heroic nationality was bewailed by the friends of liberty
     throughout the world, and it was told in passionate regret
     how "Freedom shrieked, as Kosciuszko fell."

     Although brave and liberty-loving, the people of Poland had
     not kept pace with political progress among the more
     advanced nations. In the fourteenth century Poland had risen
     to her greatest power. Her political character, from ancient
     days, was peculiar, being at once monarchical and
     republican. But she had a feudalism of her own, which
     survived long after the European feudal system was outgrown
     by other nations. Her political system was cumbrous and
     lacking in unity. The first partition, by the powers above
     named (1772), left her in still worse disorder. A new
     constitution proved unsatisfactory, one party favoring it,
     another seeking to overthrow it. Russian interference was
     invoked, the Polish patriots resisted, but in 1792 they were
     defeated, and Russia, with Prussia, made the second
     partition of Poland in 1793.

     In 1794 Kosciuszko was made commander-in-chief and dictator
     of Poland. The insurrection began with the murder of the
     Russians in Warsaw. But the Poles suffered from their own
     dissensions as before, and met with the disaster that led to
     their national extinction.


There is a certain degree of calamity which overwhelms the courage; but
there is another, which, by reducing men to desperation, sometimes leads
to the greatest and most glorious enterprises. To this latter state the
Poles were now reduced. Abandoned by all the world, distracted with
internal divisions, destitute alike of fortresses and resources, crushed
in the grasp of gigantic enemies, the patriots of that unhappy country,
consulting only their own courage, resolved to make a last effort to
deliver it from its enemies. In the midst of their internal convulsions,
and through all the prostration of their national strength, the Poles
had never lost their individual courage, or the ennobling feelings of
civil independence. They were still the redoubtable hussars who broke
the Mussulman ranks under the walls of Vienna, and carried the Polish
eagles in triumph to the towers of the Kremlin; whose national cry had
so often made the Osmanlis tremble, and who had boasted in their hours
of triumph that if the heaven itself were to fall they would support it
on the points of their lances. A band of patriots at Warsaw resolved at
all hazards to attempt the restoration of their independence, and they
made choice of Kosciuszko, who was then at Leipsic, to direct their
efforts.[45]

This illustrious hero, who had received the rudiments of military
education in France, had afterward served, not without glory, in the War
of Independence in America. Uniting to Polish enthusiasm French ability,
the ardent friend of liberty and the enlightened advocate for order,
brave, loyal, and generous, he was in every way qualified to head the
last struggle of the oldest republic in existence for its national
independence. But a nearer approach to the scene of danger convinced
him that the hour for action had not yet arrived. The passions, indeed,
were awakened; the national enthusiasm was full; but the means of
resistance were inconsiderable, and the old divisions of the Republic
were not so healed as to afford the prospect of the whole national
strength being exerted in its defence. But the public indignation could
brook no delay; several regiments stationed at Pultusk revolted, and
moved toward Galicia; and Kosciuszko, albeit despairing of success,
determined not to be absent in the hour of danger, hastened to Cracow,
where on March 3d he closed the gates and proclaimed the insurrection.

Having, by means of the regiments which had revolted, and the junction
of some bodies of armed peasants--imperfectly armed, indeed, but full of
enthusiasm--collected a force of five thousand men, Kosciuszko left
Cracow, and boldly advanced into the open country. He encountered a body
of three thousand Russians at Raslowice, and, after an obstinate
engagement, succeeded in routing it with great slaughter. This action,
inconsiderable in itself, had important consequences; the Polish
peasants exchanged their scythes for the arms found on the field of
battle, and the insurrection, encouraged by this first gleam of success,
soon communicated itself to the adjoining provinces. In vain Stanislaus
disavowed the acts of his subjects; the flame of independence spread
with the rapidity of lightning, and soon all the freemen in Poland were
in arms. Warsaw was the first great point where the flame broke out. The
intelligence of the success at Raslowice was received there on April
12th and occasioned the most violent agitation. For some days afterward
it was evident that an explosion was at hand; and at length, at daybreak
on the morning of the 17th, the brigade of Polish guards, under the
direction of their officers, attacked the governor's house and the
arsenal, and was speedily joined by the populace. The Russian and
Prussian troops in the neighborhood of the capital were about seven
thousand men; and after a prolonged and obstinate contest in the streets
for thirty-six hours, they were driven across the Vistula with the loss
of above three thousand men in killed and prisoners, and the flag of
independence was hoisted on the towers of Warsaw.

One of the most embarrassing circumstances in the situation of the
Russians was the presence of above sixteen thousand Poles in their
ranks, who were known to sympathize strongly with these heroic efforts
of their fellow-citizens. Orders were immediately despatched to Suvaroff
to assemble a corps and disarm the Polish troops scattered in Podolia
before they could unite in any common measures for their defence. By the
energy and activity of this great commander, the Poles were disarmed
brigade after brigade, and above twelve thousand men reduced to a state
of inaction without much difficulty--a most important operation, not
only by destroying the nucleus of a powerful army, but by stifling the
commencement of the insurrection in Volhynia and Podolia. How different
might have been the fate of Poland and Europe had they been enabled to
join the ranks of their countrymen!

Kosciuszko and his countrymen did everything that courage or energy
could suggest to put on foot a formidable force to resist their
adversaries; a provisional government was established and in a short
time a force of forty thousand men was raised. But this force, though
highly honorable to the patriotism of the Poles, was inconsiderable when
compared with the vast armies which Russia and Prussia could bring up
for their subjugation. Small as the army was, its maintenance was too
great an effort for the resources of the kingdom, which, torn by
intestine factions, without commerce, harbors, or manufactures; having
no national credit, and no industrious class of citizens but the Jews,
now felt the fatal effects of its long career of democratic anarchy. The
population of the country, composed entirely of unruly gentlemen and
ignorant serfs, was totally unable at that time to furnish those
numerous supplies of intelligent officers which are requisite for the
formation of an efficient military force; while the nobility, however
formidable on horseback in the Hungarian or Turkish wars, were less to
be relied on in a contest with regular troops, where infantry and
artillery constituted the great strength of the army, and courage was
unavailing without the aid of science and military discipline.

The central position of Poland, in the midst of its enemies, would have
afforded great military advantages, had its inhabitants possessed a
force capable of turning it to account; that is, if they had had, like
Frederick the Great in the Seven Years' War, a hundred fifty thousand
regular troops--which the population of the country could easily have
maintained--and a few well-fortified towns, to arrest the enemy in one
quarter, while the bulk of the national force was precipitated upon them
in another. The glorious stand made by the nation in 1831, with only
thirty thousand regular soldiers at the commencement of the
insurrection, and no fortifications but those of Warsaw and Modlin,
proves what immense advantages this central position affords, and what
opportunities it offers to military genius like that of Skrynecki to
inflict the most severe wounds even on a superior and well-conducted
antagonist. But all these advantages were wanting to Kosciuszko; and it
augments our admiration of his talents, and of the heroism of his
countrymen, that with such inconsiderable means they made so honorable a
stand for their national independence.

No sooner was the King of Prussia informed of the revolution at Warsaw
than he moved forward at the head of thirty thousand men to besiege that
city; while Suvaroff, with forty thousand veterans, was preparing to
enter the southeastern parts of the kingdom. Aware of the necessity of
striking a blow before the enemy's forces were united, Kosciuszko
advanced with twelve thousand men to attack the Russian General,
Denisoff; but, upon approaching his corps, he discovered that it had
united to the army commanded by the King in person. Unable to face such
superior forces, he immediately retired, but was attacked next morning
at daybreak near Sekoczyre by the allies, and after a gallant resistance
his army was routed, and Cracow fell into the hands of the conquerors.
This check was the more severely felt, as about the same time General
Zayonscheck was defeated at Chelne and obliged to recross the Vistula,
leaving the whole country on the right bank of that river in the hands
of the Russians.

These disasters produced a great impression at Warsaw; the people as
usual ascribed them to treachery, and insisted that the leaders should
be brought to punishment; and although the chiefs escaped, several
persons in an inferior situation were arrested and thrown into prison.
Apprehensive of some subterfuge if the accused were regularly brought to
trial, the burghers assembled in tumultuous bodies, forced the prisons,
erected scaffolds in the streets, and after the manner of the assassins
of September 2d, put above twelve persons to death with their own hands.
These excesses affected with the most profound grief the pure heart of
Kosciuszko; he flew to the capital, restored order, and delivered over
to punishment the leaders of the revolt. But the resources of the
country were evidently unequal to the struggle; the paper money, which
had been issued in their extremity, was at a frightful discount; and the
sacrifices required of the nation were, on that account, the more
severely felt, so that hardly a hope of ultimate success remained.

The combined Russian and Prussian armies, about thirty-five thousand
strong, now advanced against the capital, where Kosciuszko occupied an
intrenched camp with twenty-five thousand men. During the whole of July
and August the besiegers were engaged in fruitless attempts to drive the
Poles into the city; and at length a great convoy, with artillery and
stores for a regular siege, which was ascending the Vistula, having been
captured by a gentleman named Minewsky at the head of a body of
peasants, the King of Prussia raised the siege, leaving a portion of his
sick and stores in the hands of the patriots. After this success the
insurrection spread immensely and the Poles mustered nearly eighty
thousand men under arms. But they were scattered over too extensive a
line of country in order to make head against their numerous enemies--a
policy tempting by the prospect it holds forth of exciting an extensive
insurrection, but ruinous in the end, by exposing the patriotic forces
to the risk of being beaten in detail. Scarcely had the Poles recovered
from their intoxication at the raising of the siege of Warsaw when
intelligence was received of the defeat of Sizakowsky, who commanded a
corps of ten thousand men beyond the Bug, by the Russian grand army
under Suvaroff. This celebrated General, to whom the principal conduct
of the war was now committed, followed up his successes with the utmost
vigor. The retreating column was again assailed on the 19th by the
victorious Russians, and after a glorious resistance driven into the
woods between Janoff and Biala, with the loss of four thousand men and
twenty-eight pieces of cannon. Scarcely three thousand Poles, with
Sizakowsky at their head, escaped into Siedlice.

Upon receiving the accounts of this disaster, Kosciuszko resolved, by
drawing together all his detachments, to fall upon Fersen before he
joined Suvaroff and the other corps which were advancing against the
capital. With this view he ordered General Poninsky to join him, and
marched with all his disposable forces to attack the Russian General,
who was stationed at Maccowice; but fortune on this occasion cruelly
deceived the Poles. Arrived in the neighborhood of Fersen's position he
found that Poninsky had not yet come up; and the Russian commander,
overjoyed at this circumstance, resolved immediately to attack him. In
vain Kosciuszko despatched courier after courier to Poninsky to advance
to his relief. The first was intercepted by the Cossacks, and the second
did not reach that leader in time to enable him to take a decisive part
in the approaching combat. Nevertheless the Polish commander, aware of
the danger of retreating with inexperienced troops in presence of a
disciplined and superior enemy, determined to give battle on the
following day, and drew up his little army with as much skill as the
circumstances would admit.

The forces on the opposite sides in this action, which decided the fate
of Poland, were nearly equal in point of numbers; but the advantages of
discipline and equipment were decisively on the side of the Russians.
Kosciuszko commanded about ten thousand men, a part of whom were
recently raised and imperfectly disciplined; while Fersen was at the
head of twelve thousand veterans, including a most formidable body of
cavalry. Nevertheless, the Poles in the centre and right wing made a
glorious defence; but the left, which Poninsky should have supported,
having been overwhelmed by the cavalry under Denisoff, the whole army
was, after a severe struggle, thrown into confusion. Kosciuszko,
Sizakowsky, and other gallant chiefs in vain made the most heroic
efforts to rally the broken troops. They were wounded, struck down, and
made prisoners by the Cossacks who swarmed over the field of battle;
while the remains of the army, now reduced to seven thousand men, fell
back in confusion toward Warsaw.

After the fall of Kosciuszko, who sustained in his single person the
fortunes of the Republic, nothing but a series of disasters overtook the
Poles. The Austrians, taking advantage of the general confusion,
entered Galicia, and occupied the palatinates of Lublin and Sandomir;
while Suvaroff, pressing forward toward the capital, defeated
Mokronowsky, who, at the head of twelve thousand men, strove to retard
the advance of that redoubtable commander. In vain the Poles made the
utmost efforts; they were routed with the loss of four thousand men; and
the patriots, though now despairing of success, resolved to sell their
lives dearly, and shut themselves up in Warsaw to await the approach of
the conqueror. Suvaroff was soon at the gates of Praga, the eastern
suburb of that capital, where twenty-six thousand men and one hundred
pieces of cannon defended the bridge of the Vistula and the approach to
the capital. To assault such a position with forces hardly superior was
evidently a hazardous enterprise; but the approach of winter, rendering
it indispensable that if anything was done at all it should be
immediately attempted, Suvaroff, who was habituated to successful
assaults in the Turkish wars, resolved to storm the city. On November 2d
the Russians made their appearance before the glacis of Praga, and
Suvaroff, having in great haste completed three powerful batteries and
breached the defences with imposing celerity, made his dispositions for
a general assault on the following day.

The conquerors of Ismail advanced to the attack in the same order which
they had adopted on that memorable occasion. Seven columns at daybreak
approached the ramparts, rapidly filled up the ditches with their
fascines, broke down the defences, and pouring into the intrenched camp
carried destruction into the ranks of the Poles. In vain the defenders
did their utmost to resist the torrent. The wooden houses of Praga
speedily took fire, and amid the shouts of the victors and the cries of
the inhabitants the Polish battalions were borne backward to the edge of
the Vistula. The multitude of fugitives speedily broke down the bridges;
and the citizens of Warsaw beheld with unavailing anguish their
defenders on the other side perishing in the flames, or by the sword of
the conquerors. Ten thousand soldiers fell on the spot, nine thousand
were made prisoners, and above twelve thousand citizens, of every age
and sex, were put to the sword--a dreadful instance of carnage which has
left a lasting stain on the name of Suvaroff and which Russia expiated
in the conflagration of Moscow. The tragedy was at an end. Warsaw
capitulated two days afterward; the detached parties of the patriots
melted away, and Poland was no more. On November 6th Suvaroff made his
triumphant entry into the blood-stained capital. King Stanislaus was
sent into Russia, where he ended his days in captivity, and the final
partition of the monarchy was effected.

FOOTNOTES:

[45] Thaddeus Kosciuszko was born in 1755, of a poor but noble family,
and received the first elements of his education in the corps of cadets
at Warsaw. There he was early distinguished by his diligence, ability,
and progress in mathematical science, insomuch that he was selected as
one of the four students annually chosen at that institution to travel
at the expense of the State. He went abroad, accordingly, and spent
several years in France, chiefly engaged in military studies; from
whence he returned in 1778, with ideas of freedom and independence
unhappily far in advance of his country at that period. As war did not
seem likely at that period in the north of Europe, he set sail for
America, then beginning the War of Independence, and was employed by
Washington as his adjutant, and distinguished himself greatly in that
contest beside Lafayette, Lameth, Dumas, and so many of the other ardent
and enthusiastic spirits from the Old World. He returned to Europe on
the termination of the war, decorated with the order of Cincinnatus, and
lived in retirement till 1789, when, as King Stanislaus was adopting
some steps with a view to the assertion of national independence, he was
appointed major-general by the Polish Diet. In 1791 he joined with
enthusiasm in the formation of the Constitution which was proclaimed on
May 5th of that year.--ED.




THE RISE OF NAPOLEON

THE FRENCH CONQUEST OF ITALY

A.D. 1796

SIR WALTER SCOTT

     Napoleon, regarded by many as the most remarkable man of
     modern times, took control of the forces of the French
     Revolution and directed them toward purposes little dreamed
     of by the earlier leaders of the uprising. The excesses of
     the Reign of Terror had caused such a reaction that even in
     Paris men began to talk of restoring the monarchy, and in
     1795 a new tumult began, due in part to the efforts of the
     Royalists. Once more a mob marched against the hall of the
     National Convention; and the general of the national troops
     in the city, uncertain what to do, gladly left affairs in
     the hands of a subordinate, one of the few remaining French
     officers who had received a regular military training under
     the old _régime_. This lesser general, a young man of
     twenty-six, was Napoleon Bonaparte, who had already won
     repute as a military engineer. Bonaparte met the mob as no
     Paris mob had yet been met. He had a row of cannon loaded
     with grape-shot, and these were fired to kill. Many of the
     rabble fell, the rest fled in dismay. "That whiff of
     grape-shot," says Carlyle, "ended the Revolution."

     Bonaparte, made much of by the Convention he had defended,
     was appointed commander of the army fighting on the Italian
     frontier. Ever since Valmy, Revolutionary France had been
     compelled to defend herself against civil war within and the
     attacks of the foreign monarchs, friends and relatives of
     Louis XVI, from without. The tremendous energy of her
     aroused people had made her equal to the task. She had
     conquered Holland and the German lands west of the Rhine,
     she had forced both Prussia and Spain to sue for peace. But
     England from her island throne, and Austria, the most
     powerful of France's continental foes, the most closely
     related to the murdered Queen Marie Antoinette, were still
     threatening the French borders. The Austrians held most of
     Italy and it was against them that Napoleon was despatched.
     He was the first to carry the war away from the French
     border line and into the heart of the countries of her foes.

     France was starving; and Napoleon from the treasuries of
     Italy sent her unlimited supplies; sent her splendid works
     of art. No wonder the impoverished people hailed him with
     delight as their preserver. No wonder the purer aspirations
     after liberty perished in the passion for conquest, spoils,
     and that Frenchest of French vanities, "_la gloire_."


Napoleon has himself observed that no country in the world is more
distinctly marked out by its natural boundaries than Italy. The Alps
seem a barrier erected by nature herself, on which she has inscribed in
gigantic characters "Here let ambition be staid." Yet this tremendous
circumvallation of mountains, as it could not prevent the ancient Romans
from breaking out to desolate the world, so it has been in like manner
found, ever since the days of Hannibal, unequal to protect Italy herself
from invasion. The French nation, in the times of which we treat, spoke
indeed of the Alps as a natural boundary, so far as to authorize them to
claim all which lay on the western side of these mountains, as naturally
pertaining to their dominions; but they never deigned to respect them as
such when the question respected their invading, on their own part, the
territories of other states which lay on or beyond the formidable
frontier. They assumed the law of natural limits as an unchallengeable
rule when it made in favor of France, but never allowed it to be quoted
against her interest.

During the Revolutionary War, the general fortune of battle had varied
from time to time in the neighborhood of these mighty boundaries. The
King of Sardinia possessed almost all the fortresses which command the
passes on these mountains, and had therefore been said to wear the keys
of the Alps at his girdle. He had indeed lost his dukedom of Savoy, and
the county of Nice, in the last campaign; but he still maintained in
opposition to the French a very considerable army, and was supported by
his powerful ally the Emperor of Austria, always vigilant regarding that
rich and beautiful portion of his dominions which lies in the North of
Italy. The frontiers of Piedmont were therefore covered by a strong
Austro-Sardinian army, opposed to the French armies to which Napoleon
had been just named commander-in-chief. A strong Neapolitan force was
also to be added, so that in general numbers their opponents were much
superior to the French; but a great part of this force was cooped up in
garrisons which could not be abandoned.

It may be imagined with what delight the General, scarce aged
twenty-six, advanced to an independent field of glory and conquest,
confident in his own powers, and in the perfect knowledge of the country
which he had acquired, when, by his scientific plans of the campaign,
he had enabled General Dumorbion to drive the Austrians back, and obtain
possession of the Col di Tenda, Saorgio, and the gorges of the higher
Alps. Bonaparte's achievements had hitherto been under the auspices of
others. He made the dispositions before Toulon, but it was Dugommier who
had the credit of taking the place. Dumorbion, as we have just said,
obtained the merit of the advantages in Piedmont. Even in the civil
turmoil of 13th Vendémiaire, his actual services had been overshaded by
the official dignity of Barras, as commander-in-chief. But if he reaped
honor in Italy the success would be exclusively his own; and that proud
heart must have throbbed to meet danger upon such terms; that keen
spirit have toiled to discover the means of success.

For victory, he relied chiefly upon a system of tactics hitherto
unpractised in war, or at least upon any considerable or uniform scale.
As war becomes a profession, and a subject of deep study, it is
gradually discovered that the principles of tactics depend upon
mathematical and arithmetical science; and that the commander will be
victorious who can assemble the greatest number of forces upon the same
point at the same moment, notwithstanding an inferiority of numbers to
the enemy when the general force is computed on both sides.

No man ever possessed in a greater degree than Bonaparte the power of
calculation and combination necessary for directing such decisive
manoeuvres. It constituted indeed his secret--as it was for some time
called--and that secret consisted in an imagination fertile in
expedients which would never have occurred to others; clearness and
precision in forming his plans; a mode of directing with certainty the
separate moving columns which were to execute them, by arranging so that
each division should arrive on the destined position at the exact time
when their service was necessary; and above all, in the knowledge which
enabled such a master-spirit to choose the most fitting subordinate
implements, to attach them to his person, and by explaining to them so
much of his plan as it was necessary each should execute, to secure the
exertion of their utmost ability in carrying it into effect.

Thus, not only were his manoeuvres, however daring, executed with a
precision which warlike operations had not attained before his time; but
they were also performed with a celerity which gave them almost the
effect of surprise. Napoleon was like lightning in the eyes of his
enemies; and when repeated experience had taught them to expect this
portentous rapidity of movement, it sometimes induced his opponents to
wait in a dubious and hesitating posture for attacks, which, with less
apprehension of their antagonist, they would have thought it more
prudent to frustrate and to anticipate.

The forces which Bonaparte had under his command were between fifty and
sixty thousand good troops, having, many of them, been brought from the
Spanish campaign in consequence of the peace with that country; but very
indifferently provided with clothing, and suffering from the hardships
they had endured in those mountains, barren and cold regions. The
cavalry, in particular, were in very poor order; but the nature of their
new field of action not admitting of their being much employed, rendered
this of less consequence. The misery of the French army, until these
Alpine campaigns were victoriously closed by the armistice of Cherasco,
could, according to Bonaparte's authority, scarce bear description. The
officers for several years had received no more than eight livres a
month (twenty-pence sterling a week) in name of pay, and staff-officers
had not among them a single horse. Berthier preserved, as a curiosity,
an order dated on the day of the victory of Albenga, which munificently
conferred a gratuity of three louis d'ors upon every general of
division. Among the generals to whom this donation was rendered
acceptable by their wants were, or might have been, many whose names
became afterward the praise and dread of war. Augereau, Masséna,
Serrurier, Joubert, Lannes, and Murat, all generals of the first
consideration, served under Bonaparte in the Italian campaign.

The plan of crossing the Alps and marching into Italy suited in every
respect the ambitious and self-confident character of the General to
whom it was now intrusted. It gave him a separate and independent
authority, and the power of acting on his own judgment and
responsibility; for his countryman Salicetti, the deputy who accompanied
him as commissioner of the Government, was not probably much disposed to
intrude his opinions. He had been Bonaparte's patron, and was still his
friend. The young General's mind was made up to the alternative of
conquest or ruin, as may be judged from his words to a friend at taking
leave of him. "In three months," he said, "I will be either at Milan or
at Paris;" intimating at once his desperate resolution to succeed, and
his sense that the disappointment of all his prospects must be the
consequence of a failure.

With the same view of animating his followers to ambitious hopes, he
addressed the Army of Italy to the following purpose: "Soldiers, you are
hungry and naked; the Republic owes you much, but she has not the means
to acquit herself of her debts. The patience with which you support your
hardships among these barren rocks is admirable, but it cannot procure
you glory. I am come to lead you into the most fertile plains that the
sun beholds: rich provinces, opulent towns; all shall be at your
disposal. Soldiers, with such a prospect before you, can you fail in
courage and constancy?" This was showing the deer to the hound when the
leash is about to be slipped.

The Austro-Sardinian army, to which Bonaparte was opposed, was commanded
by Beaulieu, an Austrian general of great experience and some talent,
but no less than seventy-five years old; accustomed all his life to the
ancient rules of tactics, and unlikely to suspect, anticipate, or
frustrate those plans formed by a genius so fertile as that of Napoleon.

Bonaparte's plan for entering Italy differed from that of former
conquerors and invaders, who had approached that fine country by
penetrating or surmounting at some point or other her Alpine barriers.
This inventive warrior resolved to attain the same object by turning
round the southern extremity of the Alpine range, keeping as close as
possible to the shores of the Mediterranean, and passing through the
Genoese territory by the narrow pass called the Boccheta, leading around
the extremity of the mountains, and betwixt these and the sea. Thus he
proposed to penetrate into Italy by the lowest level which the surface
of the country presented, which must be of course where the range of the
Alps unites with that of the Apennines. The point of junction where
these two immense ranges of mountains touch upon each other is at the
heights of Mount St. Jacques, above Genoa, where the Alps, running
northwestward, ascend to Mont Blanc, their highest peak, and the
Appenines, running to the southeast, gradually elevate themselves to
Monte Velino, the tallest mountain of the range.

To attain this object of turning the Alps in the manner proposed, it was
necessary that Bonaparte should totally change the situation of his
army; those occupying a defensive line, running north and south, being
to assume an offensive position, extending east and west. Speaking of an
army as of a battalion, he was to form into column upon the right of the
line which he had hitherto occupied. This was an extremely delicate
operation to be undertaken in presence of an active enemy, his superior
in numbers; nor was he permitted to execute it uninterrupted.

No sooner did Beaulieu learn that the French General was concentrating
his forces, and about to change his position, than he hastened to
preserve Genoa, without possession of which, or at least of the adjacent
territory, Bonaparte's scheme of advance could scarce have been
accomplished. The Austrian divided his army into three bodies. Colli, at
the head of a Sardinian division, he stationed on the extreme right at
Ceva; his centre division, under D'Argenteau, having its head at
Sasiello, had directions to march on a mountain called Monte Notte, with
two villages of the same name, near to which was a strong position at a
place called Montelegino, which the French had occupied in order to
cover their flank during their march toward the east.

At the head of his left wing, Beaulieu himself moved from Novi upon
Voltri, a small town nine miles west of Genoa, for the protection of
that ancient city, whose independence and neutrality were like to be
held in little reverence. Thus it appears, that while the French were
endeavoring to penetrate into Italy by an advance from Sardinia by the
way of Genoa, their line of march was threatened by three armies of
Austro-Sardinians, descending from the skirts of the Alps, and menacing
to attack their flank. But, though a skilful disposition, Beaulieu's
had, from the very mountainous character of the country, the great
disadvantage of wanting connection between the three separate divisions;
neither, if needful, could they be easily united on any point desired,
while the lower line, on which the French moved, permitted constant
communication and coöperation.

On April 10, 1796, D'Argenteau, with the central division of the
Austro-Sardinian army, descended upon Monte Notte, while Beaulieu on
the left attacked the van of the French army, which had come as far as
Voltri. General Cervoni, commanding the French division which sustained
the attack of Beaulieu, was compelled to fall back on the main body of
his countrymen; and had the assault of D'Argenteau been equally
animated, or equally successful, the fame of Bonaparte might have been
stifled in its birth. But Colonel Rampon, a French officer, who
commanded the redoubts near Montelegino, stopped the progress of
D'Argenteau by the most determined resistance. At the head of not more
than fifteen hundred men, whom he inspired with his own courage, and
caused to swear to maintain their post or die there, he continued to
defend the redoubts, during the whole of the 11th, until D'Argenteau,
whose conduct was afterward greatly blamed for not making more
determined efforts to carry them, drew off his forces for the evening,
intending to renew the attack next morning.

But on the morning of the 12th, the Austrian General found himself
surrounded with enemies. Cervoni, who retreated before Beaulieu, had
united himself with La Harpe, and both advancing northward during the
night of the 11th, established themselves in the rear of the redoubts of
Montelegino, which Rampon had so gallantly defended. This was not all.
The divisions of Augereau and Masséna had marched, by different routes,
on the flank and on the rear of D'Argenteau's column; so that next
morning, instead of renewing his attack on the redoubts, the Austrian
General was obliged to extricate himself by a disastrous retreat,
leaving behind him colors and cannon, a thousand slain, and two thousand
prisoners.

Such was the Battle of Monte Notte, the first of Bonaparte's victories;
eminently displaying the truth and mathematical certainty of
combination, which enabled him on many more memorable occasions, even
when his forces were inferior in numbers, and apparently disunited in
position, suddenly to concentrate them and defeat his enemy, by
overpowering him on the very point where he thought himself strongest.
He had accumulated a superior force on the Austrian centre, and
destroyed it, while Colli, on the right, and Beaulieu himself, on the
left, each at the head of numerous forces, did not even hear of the
action till it was fought and won. In consequence of the success at
Monte Notte, and the close pursuit of the defeated Austrians, the
French obtained possession of Cairo, which placed them on that side of
the Alps which slopes toward Lombardy, and where the streams from these
mountains run to join the Po.

Beaulieu had advanced to Voltri, while the French withdrew to unite
themselves in the attack upon D'Argenteau. He had now to retreat
northward with all haste to Dego, in the valley of the river Bormida, in
order to resume communication with the right wing of his army,
consisting chiefly of Sardinians, from which he was now nearly separated
by the defeat of the centre. General Colli, by a corresponding movement
on the left, occupied Millesimo, a small town about nine miles from
Dego, with which he resumed and maintained communication by a brigade
stationed on the heights of Biastro. From the strength of this position,
though his forces were scarce sufficiently concentrated, Beaulieu hoped
to maintain his ground till he should receive supplies from Lombardy,
and recover the consequences of the defeat at Monte Notte. But the
antagonist whom he had in front had no purpose of permitting him such
respite.

Determined upon a general attack on all points of the Austrian position,
the French army advanced in three bodies upon a space of four leagues in
extent. Augereau, at the head of the division which had not fought at
Monte Notte, advanced on the left against Millesimo; the centre, under
Masséna, directed themselves upon Dego, by the vale of the Bormida; the
right wing, commanded by La Harpe, manoeuvred on the right of all, for
the purpose of turning Beaulieu's left flank. Augereau was the first who
came in contact with the enemy. He attacked General Colli, April 13th.
His troops, emulous of the honor acquired by their companions, behaved
with great bravery, rushed upon the outposts of the Sardinian army at
Millesimo, forced and retained possession of the gorge by which it was
defended, and thus separated from the Sardinian army a body of about two
thousand men, under the Austrian General Provera, who occupied a
detached eminence called Cossaria, which covered the extreme left of
General Colli's position. But the Austrian showed the most obstinate
courage. Although surrounded by the enemy, he threw himself into the
ruinous castle of Cossaria, which crowned the eminence, and showed a
disposition to maintain the place to the last; the rather that, as he
could see from the turrets of his stronghold the Sardinian troops, from
whom he had been separated, preparing to fight on the ensuing day, he
might reasonably hope to be disengaged.

Bonaparte in person came up; and seeing the necessity of dislodging the
enemy from his strong post, ordered three successive attacks to be made
on the castle. Joubert, at the head of one of the attacking columns, had
actually, with six or seven others, made his way into the outworks, when
he was struck down by a wound in the head. General Banal and
Adjutant-General Quenin fell, each at the head of the column which he
commanded; and Bonaparte was compelled to leave the obstinate Provera in
possession of the castle for the night. The morning of the 14th brought
a different scene. Contenting himself with blockading the castle of
Cossaria, Bonaparte now gave battle to General Colli, who made every
effort to relieve it. These attempts were all in vain. He was defeated
and cut off from Beaulieu; he retired as well as he could upon Ceva,
leaving to his fate the brave General Provera, who was compelled to
surrender at discretion.

On the same day, Masséna, with the centre, attacked the heights of
Biastro, being the point of communication betwixt Beaulieu and Colli,
while La Harpe, having crossed the Bormida, where the stream came up to
the soldiers' middle, attacked in front and in flank the village of
Dego, where the Austrian Commander-in-Chief was stationed. The first
attack was completely successful--the heights of Biastro were carried,
and the Piedmontese routed. The assault of Dego was not less so,
although after a harder struggle. Beaulieu was compelled to retreat, and
was entirely separated from the Sardinians, who had hitherto acted in
combination with him. The defenders of Italy now retreated in different
directions, Colli moving westward toward Ceva, while Beaulieu, closely
pursued through a difficult country, retired upon D'Aqui.

Even the morning after the victory, it was nearly wrested out of the
hands of the conquerors. A fresh division of Austrians, who had
evacuated Voltri later than the others, and were approaching to form a
junction with their General, found the enemy in possession of Beaulieu's
position. They arrived at Dego like men who had been led astray, and
were no doubt surprised at finding it in the hands of the French. Yet
they did not hesitate to assume the offensive, and by a brisk attack
drove out the enemy, and replaced the Austrian eagles in the village.
Great alarm was occasioned by this sudden apparition; for no one among
the French could conceive the meaning of an alarm beginning on the
opposite quarter to that on which the enemy had retreated, and without
its being announced from the outposts toward D'Aqui.

Bonaparte hastily marched on the village. The Austrians repelled two
attacks; at the third, General Lanusse, afterward killed in Egypt, put
his hat upon the point of his sword, and advancing to the charge
penetrated into the place. Lannes also, afterward Duke of Montebello,
distinguished himself on the same occasion by courage and military
skill, and was recommended by Bonaparte to the Directory for promotion.
In this Battle of Dego, more commonly called of Millesimo, the
Austro-Sardinian army lost five or six thousand men, thirty pieces of
cannon, with a great quantity of baggage. Besides, the Austrians were
divided from the Sardinians; and the two generals began to show not only
that their forces were disunited, but that they themselves were acting
upon separate motives; the Sardinians desiring to protect Turin, whereas
the movements of Beaulieu seemed still directed to prevent the French
from entering the Milanese territory.

Leaving a sufficient force on the Bormida to keep in check Beaulieu,
Bonaparte now turned his strength against Colli, who, overpowered, and
without hopes of succor, abandoned his line of defence near Ceva, and
retreated to the line of the Tanaro.

Napoleon in the mean time fixed his head-quarters at Ceva, and enjoyed
from the heights of Montezemoto the splendid view of the fertile fields
of Piedmont, stretching in boundless perspective beneath his feet,
watered by the Po, the Tanaro, and a thousand other streams which
descended from the Alps. Before the eyes of the delighted army of
victors lay this rich expanse like a promised land; behind them was the
wilderness they had passed--not indeed a desert of barren sand, similar
to that in which the Israelites wandered, but a huge tract of rocks and
inaccessible mountains, crested with ice and snow, seeming by nature
designed as the barrier and rampart of the blessed regions, which
stretched eastward beneath them. We can sympathize with the
self-congratulation of the General who had surmounted such tremendous
obstacles in a way so unusual. He said to the officers around him, as
they gazed upon this magnificent scene, "Hannibal took the Alps by
storm. We have succeeded as well by turning their flank."

The dispirited army of Colli was attacked at Mondovi during his retreat
by two corps of Bonaparte's army from two different points, commanded by
Masséna and Serrurier. The last General the Sardinian repulsed with
loss; but when he found Masséna, in the mean time, was turning the left
of his line, and that he was thus pressed on both flanks, his situation
became almost desperate. The cavalry of the Piedmontese made an effort
to renew the combat. For a time they overpowered and drove back those of
the French; and General Stengel, who commanded the latter, was slain in
attempting to get them into order. But the desperate valor of Murat,
unrivalled perhaps in the heady charge of cavalry combat, renewed the
fortune of the field; and the horse, as well as the infantry of Colli's
army, were compelled to a disastrous retreat. The defeat was decisive;
and the Sardinians, after the loss of the best of their troops, their
cannon, baggage, and appointments, and being now totally divided from
their Austrian allies, and liable to be overpowered by the united forces
of the French army, had no longer hopes of effectually covering Turin.
Bonaparte, pursuing his victory, took possession of Cherasco, within ten
leagues of the Piedmontese capital.

Thus Fortune, in the course of a campaign of scarce a month, placed her
favorite in full possession of the desired road to Italy, by command of
the mountain-passes, which had been invaded and conquered with so much
military skill. He had gained three battles over forces far superior to
his own; inflicted on the enemy a loss of twenty-five thousand men in
killed, wounded, and prisoners; taken eighty pieces of cannon, and
twenty-one stands of colors; reduced to inaction the Austrian army;
almost annihilated that of Sardinia; and stood in full communication
with France upon the eastern side of the Alps, with Italy lying open
before him, as if to invite his invasion. But it was not even with such
laurels, and with facilities which now presented themselves for the
accomplishment of new and more important victories upon a larger scale,
and with more magnificent results, that the career of Bonaparte's
earliest campaign was to be closed. The head of the royal house of
Savoy, if not one of the most powerful, still one of the most
distinguished in Europe, was to have the melancholy experience, that he
had encountered with the "Man of Destiny," as he was afterward proudly
called, who, for a time, had power, in the emphatic phrase of Scripture,
"to bind kings with chains, and nobles with fetters of iron."

The shattered relics of the Sardinian army had fallen back, or rather
fled, to within two leagues of Turin, without hope of being again able
to make an effectual stand. The sovereign of Sardinia, Savoy, and
Piedmont had no means of preserving his capital, nay, his existence on
the Continent, excepting by an almost total submission to the will of
the victor. Let it be remembered, that Victor Amadeus III was the
descendant of a race of heroes, who, from the peculiar situation of
their territories, as constituting a neutral ground of great strength
betwixt France and the Italian possessions of Austria, had often been
called on to play a part in the general affairs of Europe, of importance
far superior to that which their condition as a second-rate power could
otherwise have demanded. In general, they had compensated their
inferiority of force by an ability and gallantry which did them the
highest credit, both as generals and as politicians; and now Piedmont
was at the feet, in her turn, of an enemy weaker in numbers than her
own. Besides the reflections on the past fame of his country, the
present humiliating situation of the King was rendered more mortifying
by the state of his family connections.

Victor Amadeus was the father-in-law of "Monsieur" (by right Louis
XVIII), and of the Comte d'Artois, the reigning King of France. He had
received his sons-in-law at his court at Turin, had afforded them an
opportunity of assembling around them their forces, consisting of the
emigrant _noblesse_, and had strained all the power he possessed, and in
many instances successfully, to withstand both the artifices and the
arms of the French Republicans. And now, so born, so connected, and with
such principles, he was condemned to sue for peace on any terms which
might be dictated, from a general of France aged twenty-six years, who,
a few months before, was desirous of an appointment in the artillery
service of the Grand Seignior!

An armistice was requested by the King of Sardinia under these
afflicting circumstances, but could only be purchased by placing two of
his strongest fortresses--those keys of the Alps, of which his ancestors
had long been the keepers--Coni and Tortona, in the hands of the French,
and thus acknowledging that he surrendered at discretion. The armistice
was agreed on at Cherasco, but commissioners were sent by the King to
Paris, to arrange with the Directory the final terms of peace. These
were such as victors give to the vanquished.

Besides the fortresses already surrendered, the King of Sardinia was to
place in the hands of the French five others of the first importance.
The road from France to Italy was to be at all times open to the French
armies; and indeed the King, by surrender of the places mentioned, had
lost the power of interrupting their progress. He was to break off every
species of alliance and connection with the combined powers at war with
France, and become bound not to entertain at his court, or in his
service, any French emigrants whatsoever, or any of their connections;
nor was an exception even made in favor of his own two daughters. In
short, the surrender was absolute. Victor Amadeus exhibited the utmost
reluctance to subscribe this treaty, and did not long survive it. His
son succeeded in name to the kingdom of Piedmont; but the fortresses and
passes which had rendered him a prince of some importance were,
excepting Turin and one or two of minor consequence, all surrendered
into the hands of the French.

Viewing this treaty with Sardinia as the close of the Piedmontese
campaign, we pause to consider the character which Bonaparte displayed
at that period. The talents as a general which he had exhibited were of
the very first order. There was no disconnection in his objects, they
were all attained by the very means he proposed, and the success was
improved to the utmost. A different conduct usually characterizes those
who stumble unexpectedly on victory, either by good-fortune or by the
valor of their troops. When the favorable opportunity occurs to such
leaders, they are nearly as much embarrassed by it as by a defeat. But
Bonaparte, who had foreseen the result of each operation by his
sagacity, stood also prepared to make the most of the advantages which
might be derived from it.

His style in addressing the Convention was, at this period, more modest
and simple, and therefore more impressive, than the figurative and
bombastic style which he afterward used in his bulletins. His
self-opinion, perhaps, was not risen so high as to permit him to use the
sesquipedalian words and violent metaphors, to which he afterward seems
to have given a preference. We may remark also, that the young victor
was honorably anxious to secure for such officers as distinguished
themselves the preferment which their services entitled them to. He
urges the promotion of his brethren-in-arms in almost every one of his
despatches--a conduct not only just and generous, but also highly
politic. Were his recommendations successful, their General had the
gratitude due for the benefit; were they overlooked, thanks equally
belonged to him for his good wishes, and the resentment for the slight
attached itself to the Government who did not give effect to them.




OVERTHROW OF THE MAMELUKES

THE BATTLE OF THE NILE

A.D. 1798

CHARLES KNIGHT

     Napoleon's Italian victories forced even Austria to seek
     peace and acquiesce in the extension of the French Republic
     to the Rhine and over a considerable part of Italy. The
     Continent was for a moment at peace, only England remaining
     in open hostility to France. A great invasion was planned to
     subdue the island kingdom, but Britain felt secure in the
     power of her ships which had repeatedly defeated those of
     France, Spain, and Holland.

     The French Government, which had gradually gathered a strong
     fleet on the Mediterranean, now at Bonaparte's urgency
     undertook what has often been regarded as the rather
     visionary attempt of conquering Egypt, perhaps expecting to
     extend French power over all Asia and so destroy British
     trade, the source of Britain's wealth. Egypt was nominally
     subject to Turkey, but was really ruled by the Mamelukes, an
     aristocracy of soldiers who had held the land for centuries.

     Nelson, the English admiral, despatched to discover and
     defeat the French fleet, is England's greatest naval hero.
     He had already won renown as second in command in an
     important victory over the Spaniards off Cape St. Vincent.
     The Battle of the Nile was the first of his three most
     celebrated achievements, the others being the defeat of the
     Danes at Copenhagen[46] and then the final destruction of
     the French and Spanish fleets at Trafalgar.


Bonaparte with great difficulty persuaded the Directory to postpone
their scheme for the invasion of the British Islands, and to permit him
to embark an army for Egypt, the possession of which country, he
maintained, would open to France the commerce of the East, and prepare
the way for the conquest of India. Having subdued Egypt, he would return
before another winter to plant the tricolor on the Tower of London. In
April, Bonaparte was appointed general-in-chief of the Army of the East.
The secret had been well kept.

The French fleet under Admiral Brueys was in the harbor of Toulon,
ready to sail upon its secret destination. Something different from the
invasion of England was in contemplation; for on board the admiral's
ship, L'Orient, were a hundred literary men and artists, mathematicians
and naturalists, who were certainly not required to enlighten the French
upon the native productions or the antiquities of the British Isles.
Bonaparte arrived at Toulon on May 9th, and issued one of his
grandiloquent proclamations to his troops. The armament consisted of
thirteen ships of the line, many frigates and corvettes, and four
hundred transports. The army, which it was to carry to some unknown
shore, consisted of forty thousand men. On May 19th this formidable
expedition left the great French harbor of the Mediterranean.

On the day when Bonaparte arrived at Toulon, Nelson had sailed from
Gibraltar, with three seventy-fours, four frigates, and a sloop, to
watch the movements of the enemy. Since the most daring of British naval
commanders had fought in the Battle of St. Vincent, he had lost an arm
in an unsuccessful attack upon the island of Teneriffe. For some time
his spirit was depressed, and he thought that a left-handed admiral
could never again be useful. He had lost also his right eye, and was
severely wounded in his body. But he had not lost that indomitable
spirit which rose superior to wounds and weakness of constitution. He
rested some time at home; and then, early in 1798, sailed in the
Vanguard to join the fleet under Lord St. Vincent. The Admiralty had
suggested, and Lord St. Vincent had previously determined, that a
detachment of the squadron blockading the Spanish fleet should sail to
the Mediterranean, under the command of Nelson. The seniors of the fleet
were offended at this preference of a junior officer; and men of routine
at home shrugged their shoulders, and feared, with the cold Lord
Grenville, that Nelson "will do something _too_ desperate." He was not
stinted in his means, being finally reënforced with ten of the best
ships of St. Vincent's fleet.

The first operation of Bonaparte was the seizure of Malta. His fleet was
in sight of the island on June 9th. He had other weapons than his cannon
for the reduction of a place deemed impregnable. The Order of St. John
of Jerusalem had held the real sovereignty of the island since 1530.
These Knights of Malta, powerful at sea, had formed one of the bulwarks
of Christendom against the Ottomans. They had gradually lost their
warlike prowess as well at their religious austerity; and Malta,
protected by its fortifications, became the seat of luxury for this last
of the monastic military orders whose occupation was gone. Bonaparte had
confiscated their property in Italy; and he had sent a skilful agent to
the island to sow dissensions among the Knights, and thus to prepare the
way for the fall of the community. There were many French knights among
them, to whom the principal military commands had been intrusted by the
grand master, a weak German.

Bonaparte, on June 9th, sent a demand to the grand master, that his
whole fleet should be permitted to enter the great harbor for the
purpose of taking in water. The reply was that, according to the rules
of the Order, only two ships, or at most four, could be allowed to enter
the port at one time. The answer was interpreted as equivalent to a
declaration of hostility; and Bonaparte issued orders that the army
should disembark the next morning on the coasts of the island wherever a
landing could be effected. The island was taken almost without
opposition; the French Knights declaring that they would not fight
against their countrymen. On June 13th, the French were put in
possession of La Valletta and the surrounding forts. Bonaparte made all
sorts of promises of compensation to the recreant Knights, which the
Directory were not very careful to keep. He landed to examine his prize,
when General Caffarelli, who accompanied him, said, "We are very lucky
that there was somebody in the place to open the doors for us."

Leaving a garrison to occupy the new possession, the French sailed away
on the 20th, with all the gold and silver of the treasury, and all the
plate of the churches and religious houses. "The essential point now,"
says Thiers, "was not to encounter the English fleet"; nevertheless, he
adds, "nobody was afraid of the encounter." Nelson was at Naples on the
day when Bonaparte quitted Malta. He immediately sailed. On the 22d, at
night, the two fleets crossed each other's track unperceived, between
Cape Mesurado and the mouth of the Adriatic. The frigates of the British
fleet had been separated from the main body, and thus Nelson had no
certain intelligence. His sagacity made him conjecture that the
destination of the armament was Egypt. He made the most direct course to
Alexandria, which he reached on the 28th. No enemy was there, and no
tidings could be obtained of them. On the morning of July 1st, Admiral
Brueys was off the same port, and learned that Nelson had sailed away in
search of him. Bonaparte demanded that he should be landed at some
distance from Alexandria, for preparations appeared for the defence of
the ancient city. As he and several thousand troops who followed him
reached the shore in boats, a vessel appeared in sight, and the cry went
forth that it was an English sail. "Fortune," he exclaimed, "dost thou
abandon me? Give me only five days!" A French frigate was the cause of
the momentary alarm. Nelson had returned to Sicily.

The Sultan was at peace with France; a French minister was at
Constantinople. Such trifling formalities in the laws of nations were
little respected by the man who told his soldiers that "the genius of
Liberty having rendered the Republic the arbiter of Europe, had assigned
to her the same power over the seas and over the most distant nations."
Four thousand of the French army were landed, and marched in three
columns to the attack of Alexandria. It was quickly taken by assault.
Bonaparte announced that he came neither to ravage the country nor to
question the authority of the Grand Seignior, but to put down the
domination of the Mamelukes, who tyrannized over the people by the
authority of the beys. He proclaimed to the population of Egypt, in
magnificent language that he caused to be translated into Arabic, that
he came not to destroy their religion. We Frenchmen are true Mussulmans.
Have not we destroyed the pope, who called upon Europe to make war upon
Mussulmans? Have not we destroyed the Knights of Malta, because these
madmen believed that God had called them to make war upon Mussulmans?

Leaving a garrison of three thousand men in Alexandria, the main army
commenced its march to Cairo. Bonaparte was anxious to arrive there
before the periodical inundation of the Nile. The fleet of Brueys
remained at anchor in the road of Abukir. Bonaparte chose the shorter
route to Cairo through the desert of Damanhour, leading thirty thousand
men--to each of whom he had promised to grant seven acres of fertile
land in the conquered territories--through plains of sand without a drop
of water. They murmured, and almost mutinied, but they endured, and at
length reached the banks of the Nile, at Rahmaniyeh, where a flotilla,
laden with provisions, baggage, and artillery, awaited them. The
Mamelukes, with Amurath Bey at their head, were around the French. The
invaders had to fight with enemies who came upon them in detachments,
gave a fierce assault, and then fled. As they approached the great
Pyramids of Gizeh, they found an enemy more formidable than these
scattered bands. Amurath Bey was encamped with twelve thousand Mamelukes
and eight thousand mounted Bedouins, on the west bank of the Nile, and
opposite Cairo.

The French looked upon the great entrepôt, where the soldiers expected
to find the gorgeous palaces and the rich bazaars of which some had read
in Galland's _Arabian Nights_, whose tales they had recounted to their
comrades on their dreary march under a burning sun. They had to sustain
the attack of Amurath and his Mamelukes, who came upon them with the
fury of a tempest. In the East, Bonaparte was ever in his altitudes; and
he now pointed to the Pyramids, and exclaimed to his soldiers, "Forty
centuries look down upon you." The chief attack of the Mamelukes was
upon a square which Desaix commanded. In spite of the desperate courage
of this formidable cavalry, the steadiness of the disciplined soldiery
of the army of Italy repelled every assault; and after a tremendous loss
Amurath Bey retreated toward Upper Egypt. His intrenched camp was
forced, amid a fearful carnage. The conquerors had no difficulty in
obtaining possession of Cairo.

Ibrahim Bey evacuated the city, which on July 25th Bonaparte entered.
His policy now was to conciliate the people instead of oppressing them.
He addressed himself to the principal sheiks, and obtained from them a
declaration in favor of the French. It went forth with the same
authority among the Mussulmans as a brief of the pope addressed to Roman
Catholics. In the grand mosque a litany was sung to the glory of "the
Favorite of Victory, who at the head of the valiant of the West has
destroyed the infantry and the horse of the Mamelukes." A few weeks
later "the Favorite of Victory" was seated in the grand mosque at the
"Feast of the Prophets," sitting cross-legged as he repeated the words
of the _Koran_, and edifying the sacred college by his piety.

From the beginning to the end of July, Mr. Pitt was waiting with anxious
expectation for news from the Mediterranean. During this suspense he
wrote to the Speaker that he "could not be quite sure of keeping any
engagement he might make." It was not till September 26th that the
English Government knew the actual result of the toils and
disappointments to which Nelson had been subjected. When it was known in
England that he had been to Egypt and had returned to Sicily, the
journalists talked of naval mismanagement; and worn out captains who
were hanging about the Admiralty asking for employment marvelled at the
rashness of Lord St. Vincent in sending so young a commander upon so
great an enterprise.

The Neapolitan Ministry, dreading to offend the French Directory,
refused Nelson the supplies of provision and water which he required
before he again started in pursuit of the fleet which "Cæsar and his
fortune bare at once." Sir William Hamilton was our minister at Naples;
his wife was the favorite of the Queen of Naples, and one of the most
attractive of the ladies of that luxurious court. Nelson had a slight
acquaintance with Lady Hamilton; and upon his representations of the
urgent necessity for victualling his fleet, secret instructions were
given that he should be supplied with all he required. In 1805 Nelson
requested Mr. Rose to urge upon Mr. Pitt the claims of Lady Hamilton
upon the national gratitude, because "it was through her interposition,
exclusively, he obtained provisions and water for the English ships at
Syracuse, in the summer of 1798; by which he was enabled to return to
Egypt in quest of the enemy's fleet; to which, therefore, the success of
his brilliant action of the Nile was owing, as he must otherwise have
gone down to Gibraltar to refit, and the enemy would have escaped."

On July 25th Nelson sailed from Syracuse. It was three days before he
gained any intelligence of the French fleet, and he then learned that
they had been seen about four weeks before, steering to the southeast
from Candia. He was again convinced that their destination was Egypt;
and he made all sail for Alexandria. On August 1st he beheld the
tricolored flag flying upon its walls. His anxiety was at an end. For a
week he had scarcely taken food or slept. The signal was made for the
enemy's fleet; and he now ordered dinner to be served, and when his
officers rose to prepare for battle he exclaimed that before the morrow
his fate would be a peerage or Westminster Abbey.

The fleet of Admiral Brueys was at anchor in the bay Abukir. The
transports and other small vessels were within the harbor. Bonaparte
told O'Meara that he had sent an officer from Cairo with peremptory
orders that Brueys should enter the harbor, but that the officer was
killed by the Arabs on the way. Brueys had taken measures to ascertain
the practicability of entering the harbor with his larger ships, and had
found that the depth of water was insufficient. He was unwilling to sail
away to Corfu--as Bonaparte affirmed that he had ordered him to do if to
enter the harbor were impracticable--until he knew that the army was
securely established at Cairo. The French Admiral moored his fleet in
what he judged the best position; a position described by Nelson himself
as "a strong line of battle for defending the entrance of the bay (of
shoals), flanked by numerous gunboats, four frigates, and a battery of
guns and mortars."

The French ships were placed "at a distance from each other of about a
hundred sixty yards, with the van-ship close to a shoal in the
northwest, and the whole of the line just outside a four-fathom
sand-bank; so that an enemy, it was considered, could not turn either
flank." Nelson, with the rapidity of genius, at once grasped this plan
of attack. Where there was room for a French ship to swing, there was
room for an English ship to anchor. He would place half his ships on the
inner side of the French line, and half on the outer side. The number of
ships in the two fleets was nearly equal, but four of the French were of
larger size. At 3 P.M. the British squadron was approaching the bay,
with a manifest intention of giving battle. Admiral Brueys had thought
that the attack would be deferred to the next morning. Nelson had no
intention of permitting the enemy to weigh anchor and get to sea in the
darkness.

By six o'clock Nelson's line was formed, without any precise regard to
the succession of the vessels according to established forms. The shoal
at the western extremity of the bay was rounded by eleven of the
British squadron. The Goliath led the way, and when her commander,
Foley, reached the enemy's van, he steered between the outermost ship
and the shoal. The Zealous--Captain Hood--instantly followed. At twenty
minutes past six the two van-ships of the French opened their fire upon
these vessels, but they were soon disabled. Four other British ships
also took their stations inside the French line. Nelson, in the
Vanguard, followed by five of his seventy-fours, anchored on the outer
side of the enemy. Nine of the French fleet were thus placed between the
two fires of eleven of the British ships. The Leander had not been
engaged, having been occupied in the endeavor to assist the Culloden,
which, coming up after dark, ran aground.

Before the sun went down the shore was crowded with the people of the
country gazing upon this terrible conflict. When darkness fell, the
flashes of the guns faintly indicated the positions of the contending
fleets. Each British ship was ordered to carry four lanterns at her
mizzen-peak, and these were lighted at seven o'clock. Each ship also
went into action with the white ensign of St. George, of which the red
cross in the centre rendered it easily distinguishable in the darkest
night at sea. But there was another illumination, more awful than the
flashes of two thousand cannon, which was that night to strike unwonted
dismay into the bravest of the combatants of either nation. Five of the
French ships had surrendered. The Vanguard had been engaged with the
Spartiate and the Aquilon. Her loss was severe.

A splinter had struck Nelson on the head, cutting a large piece of the
flesh and skin from the forehead, which fell over his remaining eye. He
was carried down to the cockpit, and the effusion of blood being very
great, his wound was held to be dangerous, if not mortal, by the anxious
shipmates around him. He was carried where his men were also carried,
without regard to rank, to be tended by the busy surgeons. These left
their wounded to bestow their care on the first man of the fleet. "No,"
said Nelson, "I will take my turn with my brave fellows." Sidney, in the
field of Zuetphen, taking the cup of water from his lips to give to the
dying soldier, with the memorable words, "This man's necessity is more
than mine," was a parallel example of heroism. The Admiral did wait his
turn; and meanwhile, in the belief that his career was ended, called to
his chaplain to deliver a last token of affection to his wife. The wound
was found to be superficial. He was carried to his cabin, and left
alone, amid the din of the battle.

Suddenly the cry was heard that L'Orient, the French flagship of one
hundred twenty guns, was on fire. Nelson groped his way to the deck, to
the astonishment of the crew, who heard their beloved commander giving
his orders that the boats should be lowered to proceed to the help of
the burning vessel. The Bellerophon had been overpowered by the weight
of metal of L'Orient, and had lost her masts. The Swiftsure had also
been engaged with this formidable vessel. Both had maintained an
unremitting fire upon the French flagship. Admiral Brueys had fallen,
and had died the death of a brave man on his deck. The ship was in
flames; at ten o'clock she blew up, the conflagration having lasted for
nearly an hour. When the explosion came, there was an awful silence. For
ten minutes not a gun was fired on either side. The instinct of
self-preservation, as well as the sudden awe on this sublime event,
produced this pause in the battle.

Some of the French, endeavoring to get out of the vicinity of the
burning wreck, had slipped their cables. The nearest of the English took
every precaution to prevent the combustible materials doing them injury.
The shock of the explosion shook the Alexander, Swiftsure, and Orion to
their kelsons and materially injured them. None of the British ships,
however, took fire. About seventy only of the crew of L'Orient were
saved by the English boats. The battle was resumed by the French ship,
the Franklin; and it went on, at intervals, till daybreak. The contest
was sustained by four French line-of-battle ships, and four of the
English. Finally, two of the French line-of-battle ships and two
frigates escaped. Of thirteen sail of the line, nine were taken, two
were burned. Of the British, about nine hundred men were killed and
wounded. No accurate account was obtained of the French loss. The
estimate which represented that loss at five thousand was evidently
exaggerated. About three thousand French prisoners were sent on shore.
Kléber, the French general, wrote to Napoleon, "The English have had the
disinterestedness to restore everything to their prisoners."

After the victory of the Nile, Nelson returned to Naples. He required
rest; and in the ease and luxury, the flattery and the honors which
there awaited him, he forgot his quiet home, and after a time was
involved in public acts which reflect discredit upon his previously
spotless name. At Palermo, Lord Cochrane had opportunities of
conversation with him. He says, "To one of his frequent injunctions,
'Never mind manoeuvres, always go at them,' I subsequently had reason
to consider myself indebted for successful attacks under apparently
difficult circumstances." Cochrane considered Nelson "an embodiment of
dashing courage, which would not take much trouble to circumvent an
enemy, but being confronted with one would regard victory so much a
matter of course as hardly to deem the chance of defeat worth
consideration." This opinion is borne out by a letter which Nelson wrote
to his old friend, Admiral Locker, from Palermo: "It is you who always
said, 'Lay a Frenchman close and you will beat him'; and my only merit
in my profession is being a good scholar." Nelson was himself a master
who made many good scholars.

M. Thiers, having described the great naval battle of Abukir with
tolerable fairness, admits that it was the most disastrous that the
French navy had yet experienced--one from which the most fatal military
consequences might be apprehended. The news of the disaster caused a
momentary despair in the French army. Bonaparte received the
intelligence with calmness. "Well," he exclaimed, "we must die here; or
go forth, great, as were the ancients." He wrote to Kléber, "We must do
great things"; and Kléber replied, "Yes, we must do great things: I
prepare my faculties." It would have been fortunate for the fame of
Bonaparte, if he had abstained from doing some of "the great things"
which he accomplished while he remained in the East.

The victory of Nelson formed the great subject of congratulation in the
royal speech, when the session was opened on November 20th. "By this
great and brilliant victory, an enterprise of which the injustice,
perfidy, and extravagance had fixed the attention of the world, and was
peculiarly directed against some of the most valuable interests of the
British Empire, has, in the first instance, been turned to the confusion
of its authors."

FOOTNOTES:

[46] The "Battle of the Baltic," April 2, 1801.--ED.




JENNER INTRODUCES VACCINATION

A.D. 1798

SIR THOMAS J. PETTIGREW

     In the advance of medical science no more famous discovery
     has been made than that of vaccination, that is, inoculation
     with the modified virus of a disease, thereby causing a mild
     form of it, in order to prevent a virulent attack. This
     treatment has in recent years been applied by the use of
     various serums and antitoxins against different diseases;
     but, originally and specifically, vaccination, as now
     understood, is inoculation with cowpox for the prevention of
     smallpox.

     Jenner's work in connection with the modern introduction of
     this practice is fully described in the following pages. In
     a more primitive manner inoculation against smallpox was
     practised many centuries ago in India, China, and other
     lands. The first modern accounts of it are said to have been
     given by a Turkish physician in 1714. In England it was
     first actually employed through the efforts of Lady Mary
     Wortley Montagu, who (1716-1718) had observed it in
     Constantinople, and there seen her son inoculated. The
     practice soon spread through Western Europe and to North
     America.

     Jenner's discoveries and demonstrations as to the specific
     value of the vaccine virus of cowpox, which led to the
     modern methods of vaccination for prevention of smallpox,
     proved of such efficacy and importance that the whole credit
     for this service to medical science has been popularly given
     to him. But among the intelligent it detracts nothing from
     his just fame to make due acknowledgment of previous work
     along similar lines.

     There have always been some, since Jenner's time, and are
     still considerable numbers of people in different countries,
     strongly opposed to vaccination for smallpox, on the ground
     of what they deem its unscientific and dangerous nature. But
     the vast majority of medical practitioners, and of the world
     at large, are convinced of its vital benefits, and in
     several countries vaccination is made compulsory by the
     State.


Edward Jenner was born on May 17, 1749. He was a native of Berkeley in
Gloucestershire, England. His father was the vicar of this place, and
his mother was descended from an ancient family in Berkshire. In early
life Jenner was deprived of his father, and the direction of his
education devolved upon an elder brother, the Rev. Stephen Jenner. He
attained a respectable proficiency in the classics, and his taste for
natural history manifested an early development; for, at the age of
nine, he had made a collection of the nests of the dormouse, and he
employed the hours usually devoted by boys to play, in searching for
fossils in the neighborhood. "No childish play to him was pleasing."

Intended for the medical profession, Jenner was apprenticed to Daniel
Ludlow, of Sodbury, near Bristol, to acquire a knowledge of surgery and
pharmacy; and, after the period of his apprenticeship had expired in
1770, he went to London to complete his professional studies, and was a
student at St. George's Hospital, and a resident, for two years, in the
family of the celebrated John Hunter. The similarity of their tastes and
spirit of research will render it a matter of no surprise that he should
become a most favorite pupil. That this was the case in an eminent
degree the correspondence which was maintained between the two great
physiologists sufficiently proves. "There was in both a directness and
plainness of conduct, an unquestionable desire of knowledge, and a
congenial love of truth."

Jenner was remarkable for the neatness and precision with which he made
preparations of anatomy and natural history. His dissection of tender
and delicate organs, his success in minute injections, and the taste he
displayed in their arrangement are said to have been almost unrivalled.
Hunter recommended him to Sir Joseph Banks, to prepare and arrange the
various specimens brought home by the celebrated circumnavigator,
Captain Cook, in his first voyage of discovery in 1771, and he was
solicited to become the naturalist of the succeeding expedition in the
year following; but Jenner's partiality to his native soil, and his
desire of settling in the place of his birth, were too strong to admit
of his being allured into such an appointment. He preferred the
seclusion of a country village; and to this selection do we owe one of
the greatest blessings ever bestowed upon mankind. It is not
unreasonable to suppose that the subject by which he should afterward be
known to the whole world, dwelt upon his mind with considerable force
even at this early period, for the prophylactic powers of the cowpox
were known, or rather rumored of, in a few districts, and the subject
had been mentioned by Jenner to Hunter and others, though he had not
been successful in directing their attention sufficiently to the
importance of it. Indeed, he pressed this subject so much upon his
professional brethren, that, at a medical club at Redborough to which he
belonged, he was threatened to be expelled if he persisted in harassing
them with a proposition which they then conceived had no foundation but
in popular and idle rumor, and which had become so entirely distasteful
to them. It remained, therefore, to Jenner to pursue the inquiry and to
place the whole matter upon a proper physiological basis, by which it
might be rendered permanently beneficial. This inquiry was perfected
amid the labors and anxious toils attendant on the life of "a country
surgeon," with few books to consult, and little leisure to devote to
their perusal. Observation necessarily supplied the place of literary
research; the book of nature was open to his view, and it was one he was
well calculated to comprehend; it surpassed all others, and its
contemplation amply repaid the student.

Of all classes of men with whom it has been the fortune of the writer of
this sketch to associate, there is none, in his opinion, so generally
and so truly amiable as the naturalists. The contemplation of nature
seldom fails to produce an elevation of character; it also begets a
sweetness of disposition flowing from a sense of what is beautiful in
creation; and the evidences of beneficence, everywhere so abundant,
soften the feelings and impart to the individual a sincere benevolence
of heart. This disposition was strikingly manifested in Jenner, to whose
affection, kindness, meekness, good-will, and benevolence so many have
borne the most ample testimony. It was no uncommon thing for Jenner to
be accompanied in his daily professional tour of many miles by friends,
who have eagerly listened to the outpourings of his mind called forth by
the beauties which in the vale of Gloucester surrounded him.

His observations on the structure and economy of the various objects of
natural history were delivered with the most captivating simplicity and
ingenuity. Full of information himself, he delighted to impart it, and
was equally solicitous of obtaining a return from others. He was an
enthusiast in his devotion to nature, and he anxiously desired that all
should participate in the gratification which such a study never failed
to afford. He united in an especial manner a talent for the most
profound observations to a disposition most lively and ardent
distinguished by mirth, playfulness, and wit. With these powers, it is
not surprising that his society should have been much courted; and,
fully engaged as he was by the duties of an extensive practice, he yet
found time to cultivate an acquaintance with polite literature. Many
little productions of his muse have appeared in print; they were
addressed to some of his more favored correspondents, or occasionally
read at convivial meetings, and display the turn of his mind, the
benevolence of his disposition, and the liveliness of his imagination.
His best poetical productions find their subjects in natural history.
_The Signs of Rain_ unites the accuracy of the naturalist with the fancy
of the poet.

Jenner had nearly passed half a century before he made known to the
world his experiments and investigations relative to the vaccine
disease. His first successful vaccination was made May 14, 1769. His
ardor from an early period had been noticed, and it took its rise from
the following accidental circumstance. While a pupil with Mr. Ludlow, a
young countrywoman applied for advice. The subject of smallpox was
mentioned, upon which she observed, "I cannot take that disease, for I
have had the cowpox." This was sufficient to excite the attention of
Jenner, and the incident never escaped his recollection. It is easier to
conceive than to express the emotions which would naturally spring from
reflection on such a subject; his benevolent feelings were at once
aroused to full activity; he pictured to himself all the horrors of that
pestilential and most loathsome disease, disfiguring Nature's greatest
work, slaying thousands upon thousands, and he was yet sufficiently
young to recollect the severity of discipline to which he had himself
submitted in the process preparatory to the practice of inoculation,
which, to use his own words, in that day was no less than that of
"bleeding till the blood was thin; purging till the body was wasted to a
skeleton; and starving on vegetable diet to keep it so."

The patience manifested by Jenner in the prosecution of his inquiry into
the cowpox, the scrutiny to which he subjected every appearance that
presented itself, and the fortitude with which he withstood every
untoward circumstance entitle him to all praise and show forth his
great capabilities for conducting a philosophical investigation. He
divested the subject of all its difficulties and obscurities, and gave
to "vague, inapplicable and useless rumor the certainty and precision of
scientific knowledge." The extent of his anticipations upon this truly
momentous subject do not appear to have been fully stated until 1780,
ten years subsequent to his mention of it to John Hunter. He then
confidentially disclosed to his intimate friend, Edward Gardner--who
gave evidence upon the subject before the committee of the House of
Commons--the opinions he entertained upon the natural history of the
cowpox; dated its origin from the diseased heel of a horse; alluded to
the different diseases with which the hands of the milkers became
affected from handling the infected cows; distinguished that which was
calculated to afford security against the smallpox; and divulged the
hope he entertained of being able finally to eradicate that disease from
the face of the globe. Doctor Baron has recorded the remarkable words
with which this important communication was made:

"I have intrusted a most important matter to you, which I firmly believe
will prove of essential benefit to the human race. I know you, and
should not wish what I have stated to be brought into conversation; for
should anything untoward turn up in my experiments I should be made,
particularly by my medical brethren, the subject of ridicule--for I am
the mark they all shoot at."

Jenner's reasons for concealment did not arise from any selfish or
unworthy motive. The publicity he had always given to the subject and
the efforts he had made among his professional associates to pursue the
inquiry exclude the possibility of entertaining such a suspicion. It
arose from a dread of disappointment and the fear of failure should the
matter be brought forward in a state other than that of a maturity
sufficient to carry conviction immediately upon its promulgation. In the
course of his researches he was led to conclude that swinepox, as well
as cowpox, was only a variety of smallpox. He inoculated his eldest son
with the matter of swinepox and produced a disease similar to a very
mild smallpox. After this, the inoculation of variolous matter would
produce no effect.

He ascertained that cowpox, as it was commonly termed by the milkers,
would frequently fail in effecting a security against the smallpox. This
led him to inquire more particularly into the variety of spontaneous
eruptions to which the teats of the cow were liable, and to discriminate
the different kinds of sores produced by them on the hands of the
milkers, and to establish the character of those which possessed a
specific power over the constitution, and those which had no such
efficacy. He found that instances occurred in which the true cowpox
failed in preventing smallpox; but nothing daunted by this apparently
fatal discovery he set about ascertaining the causes of this deviation.
He found the specific virtues of the virus to have been lost or
deteriorated so that it was rendered capable only of producing a local
affection and had no influence whatever upon the constitution; and by
the greatest ingenuity and patience of observation of the analogies
drawn from the virus of smallpox, aided by his knowledge of the laws of
the animal economy, he discovered that it was only in a certain state of
the vesicle that the virus was capable of affording its protecting
agency, and that when taken under other conditions, or at other periods,
it could produce a local disease, yet that it was not able to manifest
any constitutional effect, or afford immunity from the invasions of the
smallpox.

On May 14, 1796, Jenner inserted lymph taken from the hand of Sarah
Nelmes who was infected with cowpox, into the arm of James Phipps, a
healthy boy about eight years of age. This is the first instance of
regular inoculation of the vaccine disease by Jenner. The boy went
through the disorder, and on July 1st following he had the matter of
smallpox introduced into his arm, but no effect followed. Jenner had not
before seen the cowpox but as presented on the hands of the milkers, nor
had it been transmitted from one human being to another. He was struck
with its great resemblance to the smallpox pustule. The success of this
case must necessarily have operated powerfully upon him, and have urged
him to continue the research with increased energy.

His anticipations thus realized, his intentions accomplished, what must
have been the feelings of such a man as Jenner? They were suited to the
magnitude of the occasion, and mark the character of the philosopher,
distinguished as it ever was by great simplicity, benevolence, and
humility. "While," says he, "the vaccine discovery was progressive, the
joy I felt at the prospect before me of being the instrument destined to
take away from the world one of its greatest calamities, blended with
the fond hope of enjoying independence and domestic peace and happiness,
was often so excessive, that in pursuing my favorite subject among the
meadows I have sometimes found myself in a kind of reverie. It is
pleasant to me to recollect that these reflections always ended in
devout acknowledgments to that Being from whom this and all other
mercies flow." Lord Bacon said that "it is Heaven upon earth to have a
man's mind move in charity, rest in Providence, and turn upon the poles
of truth." Jenner was a striking illustration of the truth of that
remark.

The modesty of Jenner was evidenced in his original intention of
submitting his observations on the cowpox in a paper addressed to the
Royal Society. Doctor Baron tells us that "when the subject was laid
before the president (the late Sir Joseph Banks), Jenner was given to
understand that he should be cautious and prudent; that he had already
gained some credit by his communications to the Royal Society and ought
not to risk his reputation by presenting to the learned body anything
which appeared so much at variance with established knowledge, and
withal so incredible." It came forth most unostentatiously, about the
end of June, 1798, dedicated to his friend Doctor Parry of Bath. Doctor
Jenner visited London in the month of April of that year, and remained
until July 14th. His object in this visit was to demonstrate the disease
to his professional friends, but such was the distrust, or apathy, felt
on the occasion, that Jenner returned to the country, without having
been able to prevail on a single individual to submit to the inoculation
of the virus.

The virus Jenner brought to London was consigned to the care of the late
Mr. Cline, of St. Thomas's Hospital. This celebrated surgeon inserted
some of it, by two punctures, into the hip of a young patient with a
disease of that part of the body. This calescent mode of proceeding was
adopted with the idea of exciting a counter-irritation in the diseased
part. The intention was to convert the vesicles into an issue, after the
progress of the cowpox had been observed. This idea was, however,
abandoned. Smallpox matter was afterward inserted into this child in
three places. It produced a slight inflammation on the third day, and
then subsided. The child was effectually protected against the disease.
Mr. Cline now became very sanguine as to the result and inoculated three
other children with lymph taken from the vesicles of the child, but no
evil effect ensued. The subject began to excite the attention of the
profession, and all were eager to put the matter to the test of
experiment. Mr. Cline urged Doctor Jenner to settle in London. He
promised him ten thousand pounds a year as the result of his practice.
What was his reply?

"Shall I, who even in the morning of my days, sought the lowly and
sequestered paths of life, the valley, and not the mountain; shall I,
now my evening is fast approaching, hold myself up as an object for
fortune and for fame? Admitting it as a certainty that I obtain both,
what stock should I add to my little fund of happiness? My fortune, with
what flows in from my profession, is sufficient to gratify my wishes;
indeed, so limited is my ambition, and that of my nearest connections,
that even were I precluded from future practice I should be enabled to
satisfy all my wants. As for fame, what is it? A gilded butt, forever
pierced with the arrows of malignancy."

That a discovery of such importance to mankind, once divulged, should
bring forth many claimants, and that its author should be subjected to
virulent attacks, is easy to be conceived. Jenner, however, never
thought it necessary to reply to unfounded and harsh aspersions,
satisfied in the strength of his own case, and feeling the justice and
truth of his own claims and position. The practice being now
established, it is unnecessary even to refer to the names of the
opponents of vaccination. Many mistakes, and some of a serious nature,
occurred to interrupt the progress of the discovery; these had been for
the most part foreseen by Jenner, and were satisfactorily explained. In
a letter to a friend, Jenner says, "I will just drop a hint. The vaccine
disease, in my opinion, is not a preventive of the smallpox, but the
smallpox itself; that is to say, the horrible form under which the
disease appears in its contagious state is, as I conceive, a malignant
variety." Again: "What I have said on this vaccine subject is true. If
properly conducted, it secures the constitution as much as variolous
inoculation possibly can. It is the smallpox in a purer form than that
which has been current among us for twelve centuries past." And, in a
letter to Mr. Pruen, "I have ever considered the variola and the vaccine
radically and essentially the same. As the inoculation of the former has
been known to fail, in instances so numerous, it would be very
extraordinary if the latter should always be exempt from failure. It
would tend to invalidate my early doctrine on this point."

It is not necessary here to dwell upon the fatality of the smallpox when
taken in the natural way, or to show that the mortality has been
increased by the practice of inoculation, which creates an atmosphere
for the constant propagation of the disease; these have been
satisfactorily demonstrated in evidence before the House of Commons, and
anyone may readily obtain this information. It is, however, interesting
to record the names of those who, abandoning all prejudice and
solicitous to promote a general good, submitted to the practice at its
earliest period. Mr. Henry Hicks was the first to submit his own
children to the vaccination. Lady Frances Morton (Lady Ducie) was the
first personage of rank who had her child, and her only child,
vaccinated. The Countess of Berkeley was instrumental in forwarding it;
and the children of King William IV were vaccinated by Mr. Knight.

Jenner's discovery entailed upon him a most extensive correspondence,
and obliged him frequently to travel in London. His professional
engagements were not only interrupted, but almost annihilated, and his
private fortune encroached upon by such circumstances. His friends urged
an application to Parliament. A petition to Parliament was presented on
March 17, 1802, and Mr. Addington--later, Lord Sidmouth--informed the
House that he had taken the King's pleasure on the contents of the
petition and that His Majesty recommended it strongly to the
consideration of Parliament. A committee was appointed, of which Admiral
Berkeley was the chairman. A great mass of evidence was brought forward,
and many professional and other persons examined. The Duke of Clarence
gave his testimony, and manifested strongly his conviction of the
prophylactic powers of the vaccine disease. Much opposition was offered
to the claims of Jenner. He felt this deeply, and in a letter to his
friend Mr. Hicks, dated April 28, 1802, he writes: "I sometimes wish
this business had never been brought forward. It makes me feel indignant
to reflect that one who has, through a most painful and laborious
investigation, brought to light a subject that will add to the happiness
of every human being in the world, should appear among his countrymen as
a supplicant for the means of obtaining a few comforts for himself and
family."

The committee reported, and the House voted ten thousand pounds to
Doctor Jenner. An amendment, proposing twenty thousand pounds, was lost
by a majority of three! Sir Gilbert Blane, Doctor Lettsom, and others,
feeling the utter inadequacy of this reward to the merits of the case,
proposed to raise a fund by public subscription; but it was not carried
into effect.

The Royal Jennerian Society was established in 1803, and had the King
for the patron, the Queen for the patroness, and various members of the
royal family and nobility for its supporters. The design of the
institution was to vaccinate the poor gratuitously, and supply virus to
all parts of the world. It effected great good, and reduced the number
of deaths by smallpox in a very remarkable degree. But dissensions
sprang up, chiefly through the conduct of the resident inoculator
recommending practices contrary to the printed regulations of the
society, and it was virtually dissolved in 1806.

Lord Henry Petty--later, Marquis of Lansdowne--was the chancellor of the
exchequer in 1806, and on July 2d brought the subject of vaccination
again before the House of Parliament. Upon this, the College of
Physicians was directed to make inquiry into its state and condition,
and a report was made on April 19, 1807. The report was highly
satisfactory as to the advantages of the practice. On July 29th the
Right Honorable Spencer Perceval,[47] being then chancellor of
exchequer, called the attention of the House to it, and moved an
additional grant of ten thousand pounds, when an amendment to double the
sum was proposed by Mr. Edward Morris, M.P. for Newport, in Cornwall,
and carried by a majority of thirteen. In 1808 the "National Vaccine
Establishment" was formed, where the practice of vaccination and the
supply of lymph has ever since been continued.

Foreign academies and societies enrolled Doctor Jenner in the lists of
their associates, and the medical societies of his own country were not
less anxious to adorn their roster with his name. In 1808 he was elected
a corresponding member of the National Institute, and in 1811 was chosen
an associate, in place of Doctor Mackelyne, deceased. The Empress
Dowager of Russia sent him a diamond ring, accompanied by a letter in
testimony of her admiration of vaccination. She had the first child
vaccinated in Russia named "Vaccinoff," and fixed a pension upon it for
life. The Medical Society of London presented him with a gold medal; the
Physical Society of Guy's Hospital instituted a new order of members,
under the title of "Honorary Associates," and named Jenner for the
first; the nobility and gentry of Gloucestershire presented him with a
handsome gold cup; and various other marks of consideration were
bestowed upon him as testimonies to the benefits he had conferred upon
mankind. He was chosen mayor of his native town; received the freedom of
the corporation of Dublin; the freedom of the city of Edinburgh; and
elected an honorary fellow of the Royal College of Physicians of that
city. In 1813 the University of Oxford granted him a degree of Doctor in
Physic, by a decree of the convocation. The diploma was presented him by
Sir C. Pegge and Doctor Kidd, the professors of anatomy and chemistry.
On this occasion--and a similar honor had not been conferred by the
university on any man for nearly seventy years before--Doctor Jenner
observed, "It is remarkable that I should have been the only one of a
long line of ancestors and relations who was not educated at Oxford.
They were determined to turn me into the meadows, instead of allowing me
to flourish in the groves of Academus. It is better, perhaps, as it is,
especially as I have arrived at your highest honors without complying
with your ordinary rules of discipline." The conduct of the London
College of Physicians, it is painful to remark, was not characterized by
such liberality. The majority of the fellows refused to admit him
without the usual examination. Many of the fellows were anxious upon
the subject, but their wishes did not prevail.

The commander-in-chief of the army, upon the recommendation of the Army
Medical Board and the Lords of the Admiralty, recommended the adoption
of vaccination in the army and navy, and the naval physicians and
surgeons presented a gold medal to Jenner for his discovery. The
practice extended itself through France, Germany, Italy, Spain, Russia,
and the United States. In the East, it overcame even the scruples of the
Hindu and the Chinese. The writer of this memoir, by the kindness of Sir
George Staunton, is in possession of a treatise on vaccination drawn up
by Mr. Pearson and translated by Sir George into the Chinese language.
It was of great use in encouraging the natives to the adoption of the
salutary practice. The King of Prussia submitted his own children to
vaccination. He was the first monarch to do so.

On September 13, 1815, Doctor Jenner lost his wife. He retired to
Berkeley, and thereafter lived in retirement. He died January 26, 1823,
in the seventy-fourth year of his age, and was buried on February 3d in
the chancel of the parish church of Berkeley.

FOOTNOTES:

[47] Two years later Perceval was premier (1809-1812) and he was
assassinated in the lobby of the House of Commons, May 11, 1812.--ED.




CHRONOLOGY OF UNIVERSAL HISTORY

EMBRACING THE PERIOD COVERED IN THIS VOLUME

A.D. 1775-1799

JOHN RUDD, LL.D.


Events treated at length are here indicated in large type; the numerals
following give volume and page.

Separate chronologies of the various nations, and of the careers of
famous persons, will be found in the INDEX VOLUME, with volume and page
references showing where the several events are fully treated.


A.D.

1775. Burke speaks for conciliation with America; Lord Effingham resigns
his military command rather than fight against the colonists of America.

Beginning of the American Revolution: "BATTLE OF LEXINGTON." See xiv, 1.

Fort Ticonderoga and Crown Point surprised by Ethan Allen.

"BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL." See xiv, 19.

Washington appointed Commander-in-Chief by the Continental Congress.

Montgomery slain in an attack on Quebec. See "CANADA REMAINS LOYAL TO
ENGLAND," xiv, 30.

All intercourse between the American colonists and Denmark interdicted
by its King, Christian VII.


1776. General Howe evacuates Boston, March 17th. British repulse at
Charleston by Colonel Moultrie.

Declaration of Independence adopted by the Continental Congress, July
4th. See "SIGNING OF AMERICAN DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE," xiv, 39.

Battle of Long Island; defeat of the Americans. New York occupied by the
British. Howe defeats the Americans at White Plains. Fort Washington
taken by the British November 16th. Washington successfully surprises
the Hessians at Trenton, December 26th.

Riots in England to destroy machinery.

Publication in England of the first volume of Gibbon's _Decline and Fall
of the Roman Empire_.


1777. Washington defeats Cornwallis at Princeton, January 3d. The
British burn Danbury. Ticonderoga captured by Burgoyne. Battles of
Brandywine and Germantown; defeat of the Americans. Lafayette and
Steuben arrive in America.

"DEFEAT OF BURGOYNE AT SARATOGA." See xiv, 51.

Division of the Crim Tartars into two distinct parties, the Russian and
Turkish.

Execution in England of Dr. Dodd for forgery.

Austria annexes Bukowina.


1778. France recognizes the independence of the United States and forms
an alliance with them. Evacuation of Philadelphia by the British. A
French fleet and army arrive in America to aid the United States.
Savannah captured by the British. Massacre of Wyoming. Congress refuses
to treat with the British commissioners.

Beginning of the War of the Bavarian Succession.

Cook discovers the Sandwich (Hawaiian) Islands.

France declares war against England.


1779. Battle of Brier Creek; defeat of the Americans. Stony Point
stormed by the Americans under Wayne.

Paul Jones gains a naval victory off the English coast; see "FIRST
VICTORY OF THE AMERICAN NAVY," xiv, 68.

Repulse by the British of the Americans and French at Savannah.

Spain declares war against England; Gibraltar invested by the French and
Spanish fleets.


1780. Siege and capture of Charleston by the British. First Battle of
Camden; defeat of the Americans. Treachery of Arnold, who agrees to
deliver West Point to the British. Execution of Major André. Victory of
the Americans at King's Mountain.

Gordon "No Popery" riots in England.

England declares war against Holland for allowing Paul Jones to take his
prizes into her harbors.

Revolt of Tupac Amaru in Peru.

"JOSEPH II ATTEMPTS REFORMS IN HUNGARY." See xiv, 85.


1781. Battles of the Cowpens and Guilford Court House; defeat of the
British. British victory at Hobkirk's Hill. Eutaw Springs the scene of a
drawn battle. Cornwallis surrenders at Yorktown. See "SIEGE AND
SURRENDER OF YORKTOWN," xiv, 97.

Arnold burns New London and captures Fort Griswold.

Completion of the ratification of the Articles of Confederation by the
States of the Union.

Continuation of the siege of Gibraltar by the French and Spanish.

Institution of the first Sunday-school at Gloucester, England, by Robert
Raikes.


1782. Evacuation by the British of Savannah and Charleston.

A preliminary treaty of peace between the United States and Great
Britain signed by John Adams, Franklin, Jay, and Laurens. See "CLOSE OF
THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION," xiv, 137.

Great naval victory of the British admiral, Rodney, over the French, in
the West Indies.

Tippoo Sahib, in Mysore, succeeds his father, Hyder Ali.

Grattan secures the independence of the Irish Parliament.

"BRITISH DEFENCE OF GIBRALTAR." See xiv, 116.


1783. Peace of Paris between the United States and Great Britain.

New York evacuated by the British.

Peace of Versailles between Britain, France, and Spain.

Catharine II seizes the Crimea for Russia.

Many colonists of America settle in Canada on conclusion of the war. See
"SETTLEMENT OF AMERICAN LOYALISTS IN CANADA," xiv, 156.

Perfidious massacre of Tartars by Potemkin, Russian general and first
favorite of Catharine II.

A patent granted to Henry Johnson and John Walter of the _Times_ for
stereotype or logographic printing.

"FIRST BALLOON ASCENSION." See xiv, 163.


1784. Treaty of peace between England and Holland.

Founding of the first daily newspaper in America, at Philadelphia.

The scandal of the Diamond Necklace in France.

In Ireland the Peep-o'-Day Boys make their appearance.

Iceland for nearly twelve months desolated by an irruption of Hecla.


1785. Negotiations between the United States and Spain for free
navigation of the Mississippi.

John Adams, first minister of the United States to England, received by
the King.

Establishment of the Philippine Company in Spain.

John Howard, English philanthropist, sets out on his travels to visit
the plague hospitals.

La Pérouse, French Admiral, proceeds to explore the Northern Pacific.


1786. A negro colony sent from London to found the settlement of Sierra
Leone.

Outbreak of Shay's revolt in Massachusetts.

Impeachment of Warren Hastings, England, for peculation in India.

Galvani makes electrical discoveries.


1787. "FRAMING OF THE CONSTITUTION OF THE UNITED STATES." See xiv, 173.

Civil liberty taught in France by Lafayette and his companions in
America, leads to the French Revolution.

Shay's rebellion repressed. Congress undertakes the government of the
Northwest Territory.

Wedgwood manufactures his imitations of Etruscan ware.

Swedenborg's New Jerusalem Church founded.


1788. Revolution in the Austrian Netherlands provinces.

Ratification in eleven of the states of the Constitution of the United
States. Founding of Cincinnati. The members of the Society of Friends in
Philadelphia emancipate their slaves.

Mental derangement of George III of England. A penal settlement formed
by the English in Australia.

Louis XVI of France appoints Necker chief minister. New Assembly of
Notables; the Third Estate admitted, numbering one-half.

War against Russia declared by Sweden.


1789. Washington elected President of the United States. The first
Congress under the Constitution supersedes the Continental Congress.
Inauguration of Washington at New York, April 30. See "INAUGURATION OF
WASHINGTON: HIS FAREWELL ADDRESS," xiv, 197.

War in India between the English and Tippoo Sahib.

A Roman Catholic episcopal see erected at Baltimore, the first in the
United States.

Battle of Fokshani; defeat of the Turks by the Austrians and Russians.

Meeting of the States-General of France; power is seized by the Third
Estate. See "FRENCH REVOLUTION: STORMING OF THE BASTILLE," xiv, 212.

Mutiny of the Bounty, English ship.


1790. Philadelphia becomes the seat of government of the United States.
Harmar makes an unsuccessful expedition against the Indians of the
Northwest Territory.

First issue of French Assignats.

Declaration of independence by the Belgian provinces; Congress of
Brussels convened.


1791. "ESTABLISHMENT OF THE UNITED STATES BANK." See xiv, 230.

Vermont admitted into the Union. Defeat of St. Clair by the Miamis.

Passage of the constitutional act of Canada dividing it into Upper and
Lower Canada.

Buckle-makers of England petition Parliament against the use of
shoe-strings.

Guillotin introduces the machine for decapitation, bearing his name.

"NEGRO REVOLUTION IN HAITI." See xiv, 236.

Flight of the French royal family; they are stopped at Varennes and
taken back to Paris. Insurrections in La Vendée and Brittany; massacres
at Avignon, Marseilles, and Aix.

A new constitution adopted by the King and Diet of Poland, which gives
offence to Catharine of Russia.

Hungary secures constitutional liberties from Leopold II; the rights of
Protestants sanctioned.


1792. Washington reëlected President of the United States. The national
mint established at Philadelphia. Admission of Kentucky into the Union.

Confiscation of the property of the French _Émigrés_; a Girondist
ministry formed by Louis XVI; he is compelled to declare war against
Austria and Prussia. See "REPUBLICAN FRANCE DEFIES EUROPE: BATTLE OF
VALMY," xiv, 252.


1793. Congress passes the first fugitive-slave law of the United States.
Washington begins his second administration.

"INVENTION OF THE COTTON-GIN." See xiv, 271.

"EXECUTION OF LOUIS XVI: MURDER OF MARAT: CIVIL WAR IN FRANCE." See xiv,
295.

Toulon retaken by the French from the English; Napoleon Bonaparte
commands the French artillery.

Further partition of Poland; the western portion annexed by Prussia; she
also seizes Dantzic, a free city; Russia takes the more eastern
provinces.

Volta makes known his galvanic battery.


1794. Battle of Maumee Rapids; the power of the Miamis broken by General
Wayne. The great Whiskey Insurrection in Pennsylvania. Jay arranges a
treaty with Great Britain.

Climax of the Reign of Terror in France; fall and death of Danton;
Robespierre and the Jacobin Club both fall. See "THE REIGN OF TERROR,"
xiv, 311.

Victory of the English, under Lord Howe, over the French fleet.

"DOWNFALL OF POLAND." See xiv, 330.

Trial in England of Hardy, Horne Tooke, and others for constructive high
treason.


1795. Sale of the Western Reserve (in Ohio) of Connecticut.

Holland completely conquered by the French; insurrection in Paris by the
bourgeois against the Convention; the Constitution of the year 111
adopted; Bonaparte crushes the insurrection of Vendémiaire; government
of the Directory.

Formation of the Orange Society in Ireland.

Third partition of Poland.


1796. Tennessee admitted into the Union. John Adams and Thomas Jefferson
elected President and Vice-President of the United States. Publication
of Washington's Farewell Address.

Bonaparte given command of the French in Italy; Sardinia submits; the
Austrians driven from Lombardy; the Cispadane Republic formed.
Unsuccessful attempt of the French on Ireland.

"RISE OF NAPOLEON: FRENCH CONQUEST OF ITALY." See xiv, 339.

Ceylon taken from the Dutch by the English.

Alliance of France with Tippoo Sahib and Spain against England.


1797. Difficulties between the United States and France nearly lead to
war.

Suspension of specie payments in England; naval victories of the
British, Cape Vincent, over the Spaniards, and of Camperdown, over the
Dutch.


1798. Passage in the United States of the Alien and Sedition laws.

"OVERTHROW OF THE MAMELUKES: THE BATTLE OF THE NILE." See xiv, 353.

Imprisonment of the pope and formation of the Roman republic by the
French; the Helvetian republic founded by them.

"JENNER INTRODUCES VACCINATION." See xiv, 363.

Gas-lights introduced by Watt and Boulton.


1798. English expedition against Holland; capture of the Dutch fleet.

Mysore taken by the English; death of Tippoo Sahib.

Sugar first extracted from the beet-root by Achard.

"THE GREAT IRISH REBELLION." See xv, 1.

Count Rumford discovers that heat is a mode of motion.

Greathead, England, invents the lifeboat.

Gradual emancipation of negroes in New York.


1799. Advance into Syria by Napoleon; repulsed from Acre; victorious
over the Turks at Abukir; he reëmbarks for France; Kléber left in
command in Egypt.

Napoleon, Sieyès, and Fouché effect a change of government in France;
military force used; Napoleon first consul.