Killing England

by Bill O'Reilly

  Now two long lines of soldiers face each other on a country road. On the right side are the French, dazzling in their glistening uniforms and military countenance. Despite their regal bearing, the foreigners have suffered grievously: two-thirds of the 389 allied casualties are French.

  On the left side stand the rebels, many dirty and nearly barefoot. “The Americans, though not all in uniform or their dress so neat, yet exhibited an erect soldierly air, and every countenance beamed with satisfaction and joy,” an eyewitness reports.

  At the end of the columns, waiting to receive the official sword of surrender from Cornwallis, Generals Washington and Rochambeau wait on horseback. Admiral de Grasse, the man whose vessels made a British escape by sea impossible, is too sick to attend. Thousands of soldiers and locals have come to see this momentous occasion. But though the French bands played up-tempo marching music during the period of assembly, their instruments are now still. Observers will later remark on the complete silence reigning over what will come to be known as “Surrender Field.”

  Soon, the tattoo of British drums announces the arrival of the defeated army. Some eight thousand British troops are about to become prisoners of war. Marching eyes right, focusing on the French while ignoring the Americans, the entirety of Cornwallis’s army advances down the road. Their newly issued uniforms are amazingly clean and bright, a supply of new clothing somehow surviving the shelling of Yorktown.

  The British soldiers do not step with their typical precision. Their faces are haggard and insolent. “Their step was irregular, and their ranks frequently broken,” one American later noted.

  In a display of ego, Lord Cornwallis has chosen not to attend the public surrender personally. In his place on horseback, leading the British column, rides Gen. Charles O’Hara, the British second-in-command.

  Upon arriving before Washington and Rochambeau, O’Hara extends his sword to the French general.

  Rochambeau refuses to accept it, motioning for O’Hara to give the weapon to General Washington. O’Hara does so.

  But Washington will not tolerate the British insolence. Instead of accepting the sword from O’Hara, he motions to Gen. Benjamin Lincoln, his own second-in-command. Not incidentally, it was Lincoln who, one year ago, remained in Charleston at the behest of the local populace and endured an embarrassing surrender to the British.

  Lincoln accepts the sword—and then hands it back, an act of chivalry allowing O’Hara the honor of not leaving the surrender in disgrace.

  Now it is time for each remaining British and Hessian also to surrender.

  The scene is deliberately emotional, but it is the final moment of the British march that brings many to tears. For, in addition to the two hundred cannon and two thousand swords that Washington has captured, each British soldier must lay down his personal arms. Some cry as they hurl their muskets to the ground in great piles. Others grow angry when the order “ground arms” is given.

  “Many of the soldiers manifested a sullen temper, throwing their arms on the pile with violence, as if determined to render them useless,” one eyewitness later states.

  * * *

  But the war is not yet over.

  The rebels now control almost all of America, but General Clinton and his seventeen-thousand-man force are still hunkered down in New York. For once, the man who managed every detail of the war for so many years allows himself to enjoy the moment.

  His Excellency George Washington immediately writes to inform Congress that Cornwallis has fallen. He then hands the missive to a trusted aide, who will ride night and day to deliver the shocking news.

  The killing of England is almost complete.

  29

  PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

  OCTOBER 24, 1781

  10:00 A.M.

  Congress is jubilant.

  An exhausted and feverish Lt. Col. Tench Tilghman stands at the front of their meeting room, reading aloud General Washington’s report from Yorktown. As ordered, Tilghman has traveled three hundred miles nonstop to Philadelphia. He is Washington’s longest-serving aide and has been entrusted by the general with ensuring that Congress quickly receive word of Cornwallis’s surrender.

  Lieutenant Colonel Tilghman has succeeded. The officer who once marveled of Washington that “the weight of the whole war may justly be said to lay upon his shoulders” now shares the joyous news that that burden has been lifted.

  Tilghman galloped into Philadelphia shortly after midnight. He was nearly arrested, but upon sharing his good news with the city’s watchmen, the word was shouted on street corners in the early morning darkness. Church bells soon pealed. Cannons fired at dawn. In order not to delay the celebration, Congress has decided to convene one hour earlier than usual.

  As Tilghman speaks, the members sit quietly in their seats, savoring each word. This is the same chamber in which the Declaration of Independence was signed, but the original patriots left the Congress years ago. In their place is a new generation of American legislators, among them a Virginian named James Madison. In just a few short months, Alexander Hamilton will also serve in this chamber.

  “A reduction of the British Army under Lord Cornwallis is most happily effected,” Washington’s letter begins.

  There is more—another few hundred words of description and platitudes—but the delegates in Congress know all they need to know.

  Once Tilghman finishes reading the letter, they stand as one and cheer. Cries of “huzzah” fill the air. A proclamation is issued, calling for a national day and night of celebration and thanks. The members then vote to march together to the local Lutheran church “and return thanks to Almighty God.”

  * * *

  But the war is not over. George Washington remains vigilant, even conducting the grim business of hanging nine American deserters found among the new British prisoners of war. The general spares the lives of twelve other deserters, but orders that they be tied to a post and lashed one hundred times across their bare backs.

  Washington lingers in Yorktown in case British reinforcements sailing from New York City arrive. But while an enemy fleet does appear off the Virginia coast on October 24, the British soon sail back to New York after learning of Cornwallis’s surrender. That same day, October 29, sees the last of the British prisoners of war turned over to the authority of the Virginia militia for imprisonment.

  Within two weeks of the battle, Washington knows it is time to return north. He sends two brigades of his army south to assist Gen. Nathanael Greene, who is still flushing the British out of South Carolina. The remainder of the army will march north to New York, among them General von Steuben.

  Admiral de Grasse and the French fleet have long overshot their deadline for returning to the West Indies. Informing “Mon Petit General,” as the six-foot-two de Grasse refers to Washington, that it is time to leave, the admiral orders his ships south. It is November 4 when the French saviors finally sail away.

  General Rochambeau, however, remains in Virginia. The climate suits him, and he is in no hurry to return to New York for the winter. So, the French stay behind as the Continental Army returns to the Hudson River Valley.

  * * *

  Sensing that there is no longer a role for him in the rebel army, the Marquis de Lafayette obtains permission from Congress to sail home for France.

  “The end of this campaign is truly brilliant for the allied troops,” he writes to his wife shortly after the siege, giving perhaps the best description of Yorktown.

  “There was a rare coordination in our movements, and I would be finicky indeed if I were not pleased with the end of my campaign in Virginia. You must have been informed of all the toil the superiority and talents of Lord Cornwallis gave me, and of the advantage that we then gained in recovering lost ground, until at length we had Lord Cornwallis in the position we needed in order to capture him.

  “It was then that everyone pounced on him.”

  * * *

  On November 5, George Washington departs Yorkt
own. His stepson is about to die from malaria, and the general must return to Mount Vernon to be with a grieving Martha. He saddles his horse Nelson and rides home. However, he will not stay long, planning to winter in Philadelphia with Martha, enjoying months of congratulatory parties and festive balls as the celebration spreads throughout the colonies.

  But George Washington is still a battle commander. And he will remain so until he hears from King George.

  30

  HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT

  LONDON, ENGLAND

  NOVEMBER 27, 1781

  NOON

  King George remains defiant.

  Just two days ago, the news arrived from General Clinton in New York that Yorktown had fallen. It was Lord Germain, the cabinet secretary in charge of America, who received the shocking news first. There had been no previous communication about a potential defeat at Yorktown, or even about a joint American-French offensive against the British.

  Unsure of how to proceed, Lord Germain traveled by carriage to the homes of two other cabinet ministers to seek advice. Within the hour, the three of them presented themselves to the prime minister, Lord North, at his official residence on Downing Street. Speaking directly, Lord Germain informed the prime minister that Yorktown had fallen. North could not have been more distraught, pacing back and forth anxiously, flapping his arms wildly. “Oh, God,” he cried. “It is all over!”

  When later asked to describe the look on North’s face, Germain will state that it was no different than “as if he had taken a ball in the breast.”

  The timing could not have been worse. With the opening of Parliament just two days away, and support for the war already waning, the king’s opening speech would have to be rewritten. The current draft promises that the war will soon come to an end, resulting in a British victory.

  Parliament must soon vote to continue funding British troops in America. Without money, British ships will cease to supply General Clinton in New York, and it will then be only a matter of time before Manhattan Island falls to a siege just like that at Yorktown.

  A messenger is dispatched to the palace at Kew, where King George is spending the weekend with family. The man returns quickly with a reply. The king understands that the speech must be rewritten but issues blunt orders: “I trust that neither Lord Germain nor any Member of the Cabinet will suppose that it makes the smallest alteration in those principles of my conduct, which have directed me in past time, which will always continue to animate me under every event, in the prosecution of the present contest.”

  King George will not give up.

  The final draft of the new speech, written by Lord North and Lord Germain, arrives at midnight on the eve of the opening of Parliament. The king refuses to accept it. He will not deliver any speech unless it states clearly that his government will never accept defeat in America.

  The king enters the House of Lords on November 27. He settles into his throne and begins his speech before the restless gathering. Of Cornwallis’s loss, King George says very little, referring to the debacle as “very unfortunate.”

  He then continues, making it clear that he will not stop fighting. He demands “the firm concurrence and assistance of Parliament, in order to frustrate the designs of their enemies, which were equally prejudicial to the real interests of America, and to those of Great Britain.”

  But the lords in attendance do not support the king this time. In the subsequent debate taking place after George’s departure, the antiwar Whigs assume the majority.

  King George does not yet know, or perhaps does not want to admit, that it is finally over.

  31

  PARIS, FRANCE

  APRIL 15, 1782

  11:00 A.M.

  Benjamin Franklin knows the British are done and is about to exact revenge.

  Four months after King George learns of Cornwallis’s defeat at Yorktown, Dr. Franklin receives British diplomat Richard Oswald in his Passy home. It is Monday morning, and Oswald has spent the last week traveling from London, having just arrived yesterday afternoon. Like the Doctor, the Scottish-born Oswald, who made part of his fortune as a slave trader, is an elderly man. He is blind in one eye. Both men are in their eighth decade and have lived their many years in both England and America.

  Oswald informs Franklin that the British government has given him no special instructions but is open to informal negotiations to end the war. But while the British are finally willing to discuss peace, Franklin is far more interested in payback. Since the war began, the British have burned homes and businesses and treated captives without the dignity usually afforded prisoners of war. They have also looted and plundered at will. In short, they have treated Americans with nothing but contempt. The issue to Franklin is not just peace, but compensation for these wrongs.

  Franklin himself has suffered much at the hands of the British. There is no amount of money to recompense the public humiliation he experienced in London, or the loss of his once-close relationship with his son William. So, realizing that Great Britain’s empire is tottering, Franklin presents an obstacle to Oswald’s proposed negotiation with the utterance of one simple word: Canada.

  * * *

  The British path to peace began on February 27, when a resolution was passed in the House of Commons calling for King George to end the war. Despite his earlier threats to abdicate, out of shame for losing the colonies, the king defers. On March 4, the members get their response: George is in agreement.

  That same day, Parliament passes a second resolution confirming that Great Britain’s offensive war in America is over. The resolution reads:

  This house will consider as enemies to his Majesty all those who shall endeavour to frustrate his Majesty’s paternal care for the ease and happiness of his people by advising, or by any means attempting, the further prosecution of offensive war on the continent of North America for the purpose of reducing the colonies to obedience by force.

  For good measure, the Parliament takes even more aggressive action on that day, recalling Gen. Henry Clinton from New York. In Clinton’s place is a new commander in chief, Sir Guy Carleton. After returning to England, both Lord Cornwallis and Gen. Benedict Arnold allied themselves against Clinton, blaming the loss at Yorktown on his strategic ineptitude.

  Surprisingly, Arnold has become a celebrity in London. No less than King George has been seen holding long conversations with the traitor in the royal gardens. The king finds an ally in Arnold, both of them believing the fight should not be abandoned. But in the streets of London, the public response to Parliament’s ending the war is so enthusiastic that George is fearful rioting might break out if he dissents.

  Yet, while the British no longer wish to fight, they remain too proud to admit defeat.

  This makes Benjamin Franklin wary. Writing to George Washington on April 2, the Doctor urges vigilance:

  The English seem not to know either how to continue the war, or to make peace with us.… I think we should not therefore relax in our preparations for a vigorous campaign, as that nation is subject to sudden fluctuations; and though somewhat humiliated at present, a little success in the West Indies may dissipate their present fears, recall their natural insolence, and occasion the interruption of negotiation and a continuance of the war.

  * * *

  Benjamin Franklin does not plan to make things easy for England. His contention that the king should give the colony of Canada to America for restitution is an outrageous demand. Canada is not Oswald’s to give; nor does Franklin really expect it. Instead, the Doctor’s audacious request is a statement to the British that the Americans will not be content with simply gaining independence.

  “We do not consider ourselves as under necessary bargaining for a thing that is our own—which we have bought at the expense of much blood and treasure—and which we are in possession of.”1

  So it is that the seventy-seven-year-old Pennsylvanian, living comfortably in a Paris suburb, now holds power over the British Empire.

 
For Dr. Benjamin Franklin, revenge is indeed sweet.

  32

  NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK

  AUGUST 10, 1782

  DAY

  The British and their Loyalist sympathizers are trapped.

  As peace talks continue in Paris, Benjamin Franklin’s son William panics. Like many Loyalists, he has come to New York City seeking sanctuary. But Article 10 of Lord Cornwallis’s capitulation agreement at Yorktown strips the Tories of all protection from justice.1 When the British inevitably sail home, the Loyalists will be treated not as prisoners of war but as traitors. Now, here at New York’s Assembly Hall, the younger Franklin gathers with other Loyalists to write a petition requesting the king’s protection.

  “Great Britain thus permits her friends to be sacrificed,” writes one New York Loyalist. “A halter will be the only reward a great many of them will receive for their loyalty.”2

  William Franklin longs to make his home in London, but his request to leave New York was denied by Gen. Henry Clinton before the general’s departure three months ago. Franklin serves as president of the Board of Associated Loyalists and is so popular that one group of Loyalists has nicknamed their corner of New York City “Fort Franklin.” Clinton believed that Franklin’s presence in New York would bolster Loyalist spirits, sending a defiant message that all was not lost. Indeed, acting on his own authority as president of the board, William Franklin sentenced a captured American soldier to death to avenge the hanging of a Loyalist.

  That action outraged General Washington, who now demands that Franklin be handed over to the Americans to stand trial. Washington has established headquarters in Newburgh, fifty-five miles north of New York City. Though he is still wary of the British, His Excellency is comforted by the fact that American prisoners of war are now being loaded on board ships to be returned from England. That knowledge, plus the imminent departure of the French general Rochambeau and his men for the West Indies, is making it obvious to Washington that his invasion of New York City will be impossible. Thus, he begins ordering that all wagons and horses that were borrowed by the military be returned to their rightful owners, a sure sign that the war is coming to an end.