The Glorious Cause (55 page)

“Doctor, from what I have heard in America, there were some in your country who knew nothing of King George until his warships destroyed your towns. People often believe what is convenient.”

“Quite so. Your king and some of his generals may not believe it is
convenient
to have you off commanding an army somewhere. I can understand your disappointment. But that does not mean we will not cause our own havoc.”

Lafayette could not hide his mood, but Franklin saw curiosity as well.

“General, a French warship has been refitted and offered to an American captain, to use as he will in the waters around the English coast. With the additional support already promised him from several French vessels, I believe he can cause considerable discomfort in British ports. I have advised him only to avoid barbarism, not to exact revenge on British civilians for the brutality their navy has inflicted in America. His family is Scottish, and he’s a Virginian now. Perhaps you know him? His name is John Paul Jones.”

The ship was now called the
Bonhomme Richard
, a tribute to Franklin himself, his
Poor Richard’s Almanack
now extremely popular throughout France. Captain Jones had become popular himself, had already given birth to a reputation in France as a keen naval officer who preyed effectively on British merchantmen. But he had yet to face a challenge from a British warship, and when his small fleet sailed for British waters, the French officers he commanded were not yet convinced this American could even survive a serious naval battle, much less command one.

The British ship was the
Serapis
, a forty-gun frigate that was newer, larger, and far more maneuverable than the
Bonhomme Richard
. The fight began at dusk, the two ships swirling about each other in a storm of fire and smoke. When Jones could not outflank the
Serapis
, he rammed her, his crew casting hooks over her rails. With the two ships locked together, their gunners poured a continuous hell of grapeshot and canister into the faces of the enemy. On the
Bonhomme Richard
, Jones sent marksmen up into the rigging, musket fire now adding to the carnage below. On the deck of the
Serapis
, no man could survive, and finally, with both ships taking on water at a dangerous rate, an American shell was lobbed into the main hatchway of the British ship. The explosion ripped the
Serapis
apart from within, and with both crews exhausted and bloodied, Jones himself aimed a single gun at the main mast of the
Serapis
and fired. As the mast toppled into the sea, the British lowered their flag.

The extraordinary victory had been achieved within sight of a stunned audience on the British shore, and though the destruction of both ships could not be measured as any sizable loss to either side, the prestige gained by the fledgling American navy sent a shock through all of Europe.

The
Bonhomme Richard
did not survive another day, the damage too great, the leaking hull finally giving way. But her captain would fight again, and no matter his future, his place in history had been secured. It was the first American naval victory against a foreign man-o-war. Those who survived the fight would remember the two ships locked together, both captains fighting with sword and pistol. For a long while, the victory had seemed to favor the
Serapis
, her captain facing his foe with a haughty demand that the
Bonhomme Richard
accept certain defeat and lower her flag. It was the reply of her captain that would be remembered, the voice echoing out through the smoke and fire, heard by the men on both sides:

“I have not yet begun to fight.”

43. CORNWALLIS

S
EPTEMBER 1779

He had returned to New York in July to a command that had absorbed the despair of the city around it. Clinton had put on a good show of welcoming him back, and if nothing else, his arrival was a distraction from the mundane duties of a paralyzed army. But the glad tidings had been swept away in a matter of days. Every officer in New York knew that Clinton saw Cornwallis as the primary threat to his authority, and the acrimony only worsened the mood in the headquarters. Cornwallis was not surprised by Clinton’s hostility, but he would not engage in the gossip and disparaging that seemed to provide an entertaining distraction to bored officers. He had returned to America because there were, after all, some personal connections for him in the army. He had rarely allowed himself to dwell on friendships with fellow officers, the nature of the army so mobile and transient. As he began the search for familiar faces, he learned that James Grant was gone, had been chosen by Clinton to lead the force that sailed to the West Indies. But others, Leslie, even Knyphausen, had welcomed him as the friend he had become. He was surprised they knew of Jemima’s death, the personal so often separate from the official. Their warmth had surprised him, as well as their kindness for the obvious pain he carried.

He felt no trace of homesickness for England, could not even picture his children in his mind, a tormenting guilt that forced him awake in the late hours of sleepless nights. Their anguish was no less than his, but he was still consumed by grief, her death draining him of compassion so that he felt he had nothing to offer even his own family. He tried to forgive himself, reminded himself that his sister and brother had children of their own. They had always accepted his son and daughter in a spirit of family, and accepted them now. But the guilt would drive him to quiet tears, and he could not escape that they were so much a part of her, so much a part of what had been torn away from him. If it meant he was a failure as a father, that was a chain he would wear another day.

He spent most of his time in the house on Long Island, and it was no less a garrison now than it had been before. On every road, past every peaceful farm and field, cavalry was stationed, and the simple joy of a ride in the countryside was made ugly by the necessary presence of guards. But his love for the outdoors had not returned, and long days were made longer as he stayed close to his office. As much dread as he felt for any meeting with Clinton, the couriers who brought the orders had at least provided him some distraction. Though the summer heat had magnified the stench of the city, the discomfort of his own boredom took him to headquarters hoping that perhaps this time, some new plan had been approved. Despite Cornwallis’ personal despair, he had to have faith that Lord Germain and Henry Clinton would stumble far enough through their ongoing war of words to agree on a strategy, some plan to take this army again into the field.

Clinton sat hunched over behind his desk, the room silent, poised for another round of explosions. His face was red, a permanent state now, and Cornwallis waited with the others for the tirade to resume.

“Do they find some sport in this? I only imagine this to be some sort of perverse game. Lord Germain, Lord North, prancing around the drawing rooms of their grand estates in a brandy-soaked quest for some new means to torment me. It is a game they have mastered. This one, however, I must assuredly credit to Lord Sandwich. As first lord of the Admiralty, this would be his doing.”

The conversation was one-sided, and Cornwallis knew the rest of the officers would simply endure.

He was not surprised that Admiral Lord Howe was gone, had already returned to England. The two brothers Howe were in many ways a team, and though each man had responsibility for his own branch of the service, no one truly expected Richard Lord Howe to remain in America while William Howe was skewered by Parliament.

Before he had sailed from England, Cornwallis had been summoned to the official hearings, but would not provide ammunition for William Howe’s detractors. It was always so simple for the king’s opponents to make a target of one man, to hold him up as a symbol of so many failures of policy. Cornwallis knew both the successes and the failings of William Howe, knew that it was the failings that would plague Howe for the rest of his life. It was not up to Parliament to make it worse.

Admiral Howe’s replacements thus far had been a strange merry-go-round of inept commanders, and Cornwallis had observed the appointments from England with bewilderment. It was as though Lord Sandwich was toying with American naval operations as a means to provide his aging commanders their one final hurrah. As each man was shuffled into place, his incompetence would be revealed usually as an unwillingness to perform any real duty at all. For several months, the result had been a powerful navy willed into inaction by men who cared more for the peaceful glory of retirement than for actually confronting the French.

Clinton’s fury was directed at yet another man who had been dredged from the halls of the Admiralty, Marriot Arbuthnot, perhaps the most abrasive, unpleasant, and bombastic officer in the navy. Arbuthnot had been commander of the naval force in Halifax. Now, growing feeble in his late sixties, he was the latest selection by Lord Sandwich to rescue the war from the army and in the process, torment Henry Clinton.

“We will be graced presently by another of the highly exalted
Old Ladies
of the Admiralty. Certainly most of you have some acquaintance with Admiral Arbuthnot.”

There were small groans, and Clinton seemed pleased at the response.

“Yes, well, we shall come to know him in much more detail. If there is one benefit to his arrival, it is that he will not remain here long. There is some urgency in London that this command provide assistance to the governor of Jamaica. Apparently, the French fleet in the West Indies is preparing an invasion of that island, for what reason I have no possible idea. However, such a threat to the king’s interests must be answered, and this command has been ordered to supply troops. It is of no concern to Lord Germain that this post has already been depleted to the extreme. However, orders will be obeyed. Admiral Arbuthnot is to sail to Jamaica, transporting a force numbering some four thousand men. Someone in this room will command that force. Despite my better judgment, I would ask for your involvement.”

Cornwallis felt a ray of light cutting through him, said, “If it is acceptable, sir, I will go.”

The room fell quiet, and Cornwallis could see the surprise on Clinton’s face, twisting slowly into a smile.

“I am greatly pleased by your suggestion, General. I had thought a junior man, but, no, this matter requires our most serious consideration. You are a most appropriate choice. So it will be!”

L
ATE
S
EPTEMBER 1779

The mission was organized with astounding speed, and Cornwallis had no doubt that Clinton’s sudden efficiency had much more to do with his glee over his departure than with any concerns for Jamaica.

He had thought little of the conditions he would find in the tropics, or the heat and misery he might endure. No matter what challenges Cornwallis would confront, the mission would carry him far from the challenge of maintaining his sanity in New York. The bonus lay in the mission itself. Once in Jamaica, for the first time in his career, Cornwallis would have a truly independent command.

They sailed into a rising sun, the transports and escorting warships turning southward, sliding briskly along the New Jersey coast. They had been at sea three days, enough time for the troops to rid themselves of seasickness, the open air cleansing the depths of the largest transports. On the long voyages, Cornwallis had once passed the time by writing letters, most of them to Jemima. But now, he stayed on deck nearly all day, a slow methodical pacing, focusing first on the low dark strip of land to the west, then the amazing contrast, the open sea, the great yawning abyss to the east. When the call came from the lookouts, he had paid little mind, heard something from the officers of a signal from a small courier vessel. But when the ship lowered her sails, he forced himself to accompany the grotesque Arbuthnot to receive the smaller boat sliding alongside, the courier with the message. The ship had come up from the West Indies, and the news was not what anyone was expecting. Admiral d’Estaing had sailed north out of the Caribbean, not west. If there was a danger from the French fleet, it was now toward New York, or perhaps a second campaign to Rhode Island. Cornwallis was bewildered by Arbuthnot, the old man insisting the French must certainly invade Halifax. Regardless of the French intentions, it was clear that the threat to Jamaica was gone.

As the fleet turned about, Cornwallis went to his cabin and passed another three days in quiet despair. They would return the troops to New York, and once again, he would plant himself beside Henry Clinton, while the ministry tried to figure out what to do next.

Of all the thirteen colonies, the least settled and thus, the least political was Georgia. For the past year, the British had pushed up from their bases in Florida, had outmanned what resistance the colonial troops could offer. The spoils were Savannah and Augusta. While the loss of those two cities was not likely to change the outcome of the war, it was a clear sign that, with adequate leadership and sufficient force, the British could easily gain the upper hand. Though Georgia could be described as liberated from rebel control, much of the citizenry there had no great loyalty to either side. Subsistence and survival against hostile terrain and hostile Indians drew far more attention than whose flag might fly in the fortified cities. But the British had established a base from which they could look elsewhere, another incursion perhaps, another colony that might be reclaimed for the king.

As Cornwallis endured another long month in New York, the mystery of d’Estaing’s intentions became known. The French fleet had arrived at Savannah, obviously intending to recapture the port from British hands. It was a doomed effort, too reminiscent of the debacle at Newport. In an astounding reminder of d’Estaing’s first failure, a violent storm scattered and damaged much of the French fleet, effectively ending the mission. The colonial forces in the south now had shared the same frustrating experience as Greene and Sullivan at Newport. D’Estaing responded by dividing his fleet, returning half his ships to the West Indies, while d’Estaing himself led the remainder back to France. Though Savannah was still British, d’Estaing had accomplished one unintended success. Clinton continued to sit quietly in New York.

The population, as far as we can determine, is evenly divided. Where we have failed in the past, General, was in believing that New Jersey and Pennsylvania would provide this army with overwhelming support. Time and again, General Howe’s expectations were not met.”

It was an accurate statement, and Cornwallis nodded slowly, still not certain why Clinton was telling him this.

“South Carolina holds opportunity. While I am not quick to leap to the same conclusions of my predecessor, nonetheless, it is a favorable climate for us. Am I wrong to anticipate considerable support for us there? I do not believe so.”

Clinton had answered his own question, and Cornwallis knew when his opinion was not required.

It was unusual for Clinton to summon him alone, and he was still not comfortable, felt as though the private meeting was meant to mask something, protect Clinton from some later blame for a plan that might emerge right now. Clinton had still not revealed any reason for the meeting, continued to talk.

“It has always been difficult to secure the approval of Lord Germain for some plan of which he is not the author. But I have prevailed. From London, the war must seem like one grand theater, from Boston to the islands, one place indistinguishable from the other. The king places enormous value on the West Indies, and thus, we move troops to the West Indies. If he feared for Pensacola, we would no doubt be called upon to send troops to Pensacola. I have protested that weakening New York to such a degree has placed this army in grave peril. Those concerns have been ignored, until now. Perhaps it is perseverance on my part, perhaps the ministry has suddenly remembered that we are still fighting to preserve
all
of the empire, not just the land of sugar cane. In any event, Lord Germain now agrees with me that we cannot make war with the French and simply ignore the colonies. We have afforded Mr. Washington too many advantages as it is.”

Cornwallis would not allow Clinton to bait him into some criticism of William Howe.

“I am relieved, sir, by Lord Germain’s change of heart. I had feared the rebels would be allowed to remain unmolested. It can only add to their strength, and their arrogance.”

“The arrogance, General Cornwallis, is ours! From the beginning of this war, we have done exactly what the rebels would ask of us. We have assaulted them at their strongest point! From the horror we inflicted on ourselves at Breed’s Hill, to John Burgoyne’s stubborn invasion, we have pointed our spear in one direction, and allowed the rebels to slap it aside. Would you have us repeat that absurd strategy?”

Cornwallis took a deep breath.

“Sir, does not the defeat of Mr. Washington end this war? Should that not be our goal?”

“How often have we defeated him thus far, General? We drove him out of New York, we drove him out of New Jersey, we drove him out of Philadelphia. What has it achieved? Look at us! For nearly a year, this command has been hampered by London’s indecision. We weaken ourselves further, send troops to all corners of the earth, while across the Hudson River, our enemy stands tall and taunts us. Now, I am criticized in London for having done so little. How dare those mindless politicians insult me so! For nearly a year, they have granted me a free hand to make raids along the coast. Admirable work, that! Throw terror into farmers and fishermen! Well, General, now there is a new plan! My plan! We have learned a valuable lesson from our success in Georgia, and that success will be repeated in South Carolina. We are no longer going to strike the enemy at his strongest point. We are going to consume him in pieces, one powerful thrust at a time. Once the Carolinas are in our control, we will launch a major assault into Virginia, conquering both that colony and the Chesapeake Bay. What will become of this war if the colonies lose half their territory?”