Mackesy P. The War for America, 1775-1783

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country was violently opposed, as Hillsborough and Stormont had maintained it was,1 to yielding Gibraltar on any

terms. Now even the King began to veer. He was against another year's war and would have closed with the new

offer if it could not be bettered, yet he greatly preferred St Lucia and Martinique to Guadeloupe with Dominica,

which was a captured British island. The Cabinet was brought to agree to the offer, but insisted that if Spain

retained West Florida she must pay for it with Trinidad. Even this agreement was reached only after a bitter eight-

hour wrangle. The Cabinet was now split into two almost equal halves; and in a heated statement to the King

Richmond declared that he had agreed to the American terms only in order to stand the firmer against France and

Spain: Guadeloupe was negligible, and nothing could compensate for the loss of Gibraltar, 'the brightest jewel of

the Crown'.2

Vergennes was stunned by the new developments. But as Shelburne had guessed, he could not afford to imperil the

conclusion of peace without a further effort, and he now put forward two new propositions. First, France might add

St Lucia to Dominica and Guadeloupe; and since this would make Martinique insecure, she would exchange that

island with Britain for an equivalent in India or the West Indies. Alternatively, if the British government would

confidentially inform the French what they would offer Spain to drop her claim to Gibraltar, France would

undertake the negotiation with Spain on the British behalf. King George would have preferred the first proposition

if he could have found an equivalent to yield for Martinique, for he believed that peace would be incomplete unless

we got rid of 'this proud fortress' of Gibraltar, the source of constant lurking enmity with Spain.3 But no equivalent

could be offered by which England would not be the loser; and the Cabinet, taking up the second proposition,

agreed to make the roundest possible offer to Spain. If she would forget Gibraltar, she should have Minorca and

both the Floridas.

Vergennes placed this offer before Aranda; and to his astonishment and relief the Spanish Ambassador accepted on

the spot. So the peace was concluded. With Holland a final settlement was not reached till 1784, but it followed the

pattern determined by the Great Powers. France recovered St Lucia, but of her conquests in the Lesser Antilles she

retained only Tobago. In Newfoundland she recovered the islands of St Pierre and Miquelon, with an extension of

her fishing rights along the west coast; in India her trading posts were restored, but she did not recover a military

or political footing as she had once hoped. Spain gained the most in terms of territory: not Gibraltar, but Minorca

and West Florida which she had captured, and

1 Above, p. 372.

2 G 4005, 4007, 4009.

3 G 40201, 4034.

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East Florida which she had not. In return she restored the Bahamas to Britain, and acknowledged the British right

to cut Honduras logwood within defined boundaries. Holland who had contributed least to the allied war-effort,

gained nothing. Indeed she was lucky to retain Trincomalee, which Britain would have retained if France had

appropriated the Cape. England retained Negapatam on the mainland of India, obtained the right to navigate and

trade freely in the Spice Islands, and refused to discuss the question of Neutral Rights which had brought Holland

into the war.

The peace was made, and Shelburne had now to defend it in Parliament. He had worked in secret. His colleagues

resented their exclusion, and he had not explained his far-reaching hopes that a new mercantile understanding

would emerge from the settlement with America. Keppel, soon to resign, made a last vain protest against the

Bourbon peace. He argued that the 109 ships of the line in service could fight on against the 123 French and

Spaniards, many of which were in a deplorable condition; could win a decisive battle in the West Indies, pull down

the naval power of our enemies, and obtain a better peace. Shelburne called on Sir John Jervis to combat the

argument; and the future victor of St Vincent produced perhaps the most unrestrained indictment of the navy's

condition which emerged in the whole course of the war. He argued 'the crazy state of our ships', the neglect of the

officers and indiscipline of the men, the wretched state of the dockyards, the supineness and corruption in the

departments; and, on a strategic plane, the improbability of forcing the enemy to decisive battle. Is this a credible

picture? It bears no resemblance to the fleet with which Hood had manoeuvred at St Kitts and Rodney at the

Saints, or to the Channel fleet with which Howe had relieved Gibraltar. Inevitably ships deteriorated towards the

end of a long war, but the enemy were in worse case than the British. Almost at the same moment off San

Domingo Sir Samuel Hood was writing that, formidable though the enemy were, 'we should never again be in so

good a condition for recovering the nation's honour, as at this present moment nothing is wanting, I am very

confident, to effect it, but unanimity at home and a regard to whom the King's fleets and armies are trusted'.1

Keppel quit the Ministry as soon as the preliminaries were signed. Richmond remained at the Ordnance, which he

professed to regard as a purely military post, but withdrew from the Cabinet. 'I know', he wrote to a friend,

that this country wants peace and that after the waste of men and money we have had, that further exertions

must be difficult to make; but as by the Treaty with America

1 Keppel, II, 4034; CL, Shelburne, Vol. 72, p. 523; G 406, 40642.

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we had in fact agreed with her there was little doubt but we should soon have detached her from France or

at least have had in her a very cool enemy. I am persuaded that this circumstance must have operated on

France, and that her fleet and that of Spain were in a very bad condition, whilst ours was more numerous

and in better order than it had been at any period. Under these circumstances I think that if we had stuck to

our first and better terms we should have had them, or that if our enemies had been obstinate we had the

fairest prospect in the course of next summer of striking some essential blow against their fleet, besides

attacking the weak possessions of Spain already much distressed by the rebellion in her provinces.1

This reasoning follows to a remarkable degree the view once held by George III and Germain, though the King had

since abandoned it in his bitterness at the surrender to America.

Richmond's disgust was focused on the yielding of Trincomalee and Tobago; but the peace terms were not the only

reason to mistrust the government. Shelburne had excited the fears of conservatives with a radical programme of

internal reform which made even Fox look like a compararively safe man. He had no feeling for the sense of the

House of Commons, and in spite of warnings he believed that his majority was secure. Fox was waiting to exploit

the miscalculation. On 17 February the debates on the peace treaties began, and a week later Shelburne resigned

after defeats in both Houses. Once more the King faced an alliance of the main Opposition parties, determined to

force their way into office. For six weeks he refused to accept the inevitable, and the country was virtually without

an executive; but early in April 1783 he sent for the coalition's leaders. On the 26th of that month a new Secretary

of State wrote his first despatches to the commanders in the Leeward Islands, belatedly announcing the cancellation

of the South Sea expedition. For their different reasons both Mathew and Pigot must have read them with curious

feelings. For the signature at the foot of the page was North's.

Reflections on a Lost War

In the first days of the Rockingham Ministry a friend of Charles Fox had met one of Rochambeau's aides de camp

in Ratisbon. They discussed the American War. 'No opinion was clearer', the Frenchman said, 'than that though the

people of America might be conquered by well disciplined European troops, the country of America was

unconquerable.'2

1 Duke University MSS., XVIII F (27 Jan. 1783, Richmond to the Bishop of Exeter: printed, from the

Richmond papers, in Olson, The Radical Duke, 1934). Cf. General Haldimand: 'My soul is completely

bowed down with grief at seeing that we (with no absolute necessity), have humbled ourselves so much as

to accept such humiliating boundaries'. (Riedesel Memoirs, II, 169).

2 CL, Shelburne, Vol. 34, No. 2 (16 April 1782, John Trevor to Fox).

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This was true, and if England had been opposed by a united population, her effort to recover the rebellious colonies

would have been vain from the beginning. She might indeed have destroyed the Continental Army, occupied all the

centres of population, and dispersed the rebel assemblies. But what would have followed? The causes of the

rebellion might have remained, and the bitterness of the civil war would certainly have survived. Guerrilla fighting

might have been kept up indefinitely till Britain tired of the contest and withdrew from a country she could not

govern, leaving a very different America to emerge from the anarchy.1

Yet though it may be that Britain never evolved a constructive political plan, her military effort was based on a

better reasoned concept than mere reconquest and policing by her handful of regular troops. She relied, as General

Robertson had said, on helping the good Americans to overcome the bad: the British army would break the power

of the rebels, and organise and support the loyalists who would police the country.

The reader may feel that the loyalists have not been sufficiently examined. Yet we are faced by a society in turmoil

and confusion. Were there errors in the political handling of the Americans? We enter the nightmare world of

loyalist literature: a looking-glass world in which rebels are fiends incarnate, and the British generals avoid victory

in order to line their pockets with bribes and plunder or to favour the political Opposition at home: a world in

which Shelburne conducts his peace negotiations to promote his stock-jobbing, and even the loyalist ranks are

infiltrated by highly placed fellow-travellers of the rebels. If Thomas Jones can claim on one page that a Drogheda

massacre at Fort Washington would have ended the war, and on another that a general emulation of Carleton's

leniency to prisoners would have been decisive, how shall posterity judge? How could run-of the-mill soldiers

cope with the situation? It seemed impossible to satisfy the loyalists, persecuted, robbed and bitter, and at the same

time to conciliate the rebels. General Howe attempted to hold the balance, and disappointed every group.2 The

loyalists complained that he was too lenient to the rebels; the troops that he was too kind to the civil population as

a whole; the population that he was lax in protecting them from the troops. The problem needed a strong and

imaginative administrator. The revolution was an unprecedented event, and no guidance could be sought from

history. Only a Viceroy of genius, with his hands freed from the direct control of military operations in the field,

might have risen above the tide of spiritual disorder which engulfed New York.

1 There is an interesting discussion of this in R. R. Palmer, Age of the Democratic Revolution.

2 Howe's problem is discussed in Anderson, 2323.

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It is certain that the loyalists were not a majority, nor were they evenly distributed. But the British government

relied on war-weariness (of which there were ample signs) to make the bulk of the population subside with relief

into acquiescence. And had they destroyed the organised armies of the rebellion they might well have succeeded.

Yet was it ever possible to destroy the rebel armies? It has been argued that Washington had only to lie back in the

mountains and avoid battle; and that the British, dependent on navigable rivers for their communications, could not

penetrate the country far and fast enough to force him to fight. 'In such a country as America', the Duke of

Wellington was to write, 'very extensive, thinly peopled, and producing but little food in proportion to their extent,

military operations by large bodies are impracticable, unless the party carrying them on has the uninterrupted use of

a navigable river, or very extensive means of land transport, which such a country can rarely supply.'1 But

Wellington was thinking specifically of operations based on Canada; and before Saratoga Washington gave Howe

several opportunities to destroy the main body of the rebel army.

It is generally assumed that even if Britain had an opportunity to reconquer America in the first two years of the

war, it ended at Saratoga: that thereafter the rebels, with victory behind them and the promise of supplies from

their European ally, were able to hold their own; while the British, over-extended and deprived of their command

of the seas, allowed the strength of their American offensive to ebb as they struggled to defend their other

possessions. But this is an over-simplification. When the King and Germain persisted in the struggle against

mounting difficulties, they believed that victory was still possible, and that the effort was proportioned to the

stakes. And there were good grounds for their hopes.

If England could have won the command of the oceans, the game would have been in her hands. France would

have been unable to deploy her military power beyond the seas; and England, after sweeping up as many of the

French and Spanish islands in the Caribbean as she thought necessary to her prosperity and security, would have

been free to concentrate her military resources in America. With another 10,000 men and the assured command of

American waters, even Clinton should have been able to destroy or paralyse Washington's army. The seizure of the

Hudson Highlands, or a strong offensive in Virginia, could have made it impossible for Washington to detach

against Cornwallis in the Carolinas; and freed from the necessity of holding his own force together or plunging

forward in pursuit of Greene, Cornwallis might well have consolidated his hold on South Carolina and expanded

methodically northwards. What he needed was security from outside

1 Gurwood, Selections from the Wellington Despatches, No. 879.

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intervention to enable him to disperse his regular battalions, support and supervise his militia, and hunt down

guerrilla bands with his mobile columns. Whether the victory would have proved worth winning in the long run is

a speculation which the historian of the war is not obliged to face: it is enough that it could have been won.

But all this depended on maritime superiority, which proved elusive. Decisive naval victory was rare in the days of

sail; and in the past two wars it had taken several years of sustained pressure to wear down the enemy's resources

and establish a clear control of ocean communications. In the American War attrition was a slower process, for the

French government's resources were not depleted by a land war in Europe. Moreover the two Bourbon powers,

whose fleets had been worn down in succession in the past contests, entered the American War almost together.

Against these odds it was out of the question to maintain the close and sustained blockade of Brest which in the

Seven Years War had been both a substitute for battle and a means of forcing it. Still less was it possible to

challenge the combined fleets of France and Spain at their main point of effort in European waters.

Yet even without the unqualified and general command of the sea, it might have been possible to retain a high

degree of strategic initiative. Though the Royal Navy's efficiency had been eroded by peace, overconfidence, and

political feuding, its past victories gave it the moral advantage over the enemy, who never shook off their

consciousness of it; and in spite of French efforts in the years of peace, the administrative and planning machinery

of the British navy remained inherently better. Germain and George III strove to win the initiative by boldness and

surprise, and to gain a local superiority in a vital theatre which would lead to victory.

There were difficulties in the way: difficulties of space, time and weather. The spring expeditions were held up by

slow preparations and contrary winds until the enemy fleet was ready to threaten their passage, so that further

delay was imposed to await the protection of the Channel fleet. Thus Clinton's reinforcements for 1779 arrived so

late as to give him reasons for a barren campaign; Garth's fresh regiments for Jamaica in 1780 arrived too late to

feed the offensive on the Spanish Main; and their escorting squadron with which Rodney might have snatched a

victory in the Leeward Islands arrived when the opportunity had passed. Uncertainty and miscalculations about the

enemy hampered planning: ignorance of d'Estaing's destination in 1778 yielded the initiative to the enemy;

miscalculations of French plans in 1779 led to a naval inferiority in the West Indies and prevented the switching of

troops to Clinton; uncertainty in 1780 enabled the French to wrest a superiority in the western theatres while

Sandwich refused to reduce the home fleet. The uncertain communications across the Atlantic

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frustrated the Admiralty's intention to reinforce the Leeward Islands from America in 1780. All these difficulties

weighed heavily because England had no margin of force to redress an error; for as Sandwich once told an officer,

the misplacing of a single ship became a grave misfortune.

Only one thing could have relieved the pressure. The navy's strategic reserve was the home fleet. If the risk of

invasion could have been defied and more ships detached abroad, the local superiority which England needed

could have been achieved. But the fear of invasion haunted Sandwich, the Admiralty and the country. It was this

which prevented the early despatch of Byron in 1778 to counter d'Estaing in America; which delayed the despatch

of Rodney in the autumn of 1779; which prevented the strengthening of Graves and Walsingham when they sailed

in 1780. A second danger in European waters also drew the navy's strength irresistibly into the defensive: the threat

to the Mediterranean garrisons. The first winter relief of Gibraltar and Minorca delayed the refitting of the Channel

fleet, and thus the departure of Graves to America in pursuit of Ternay; and the second relief under Darby delayed

the despatch of reinforcements to Graves on the eve of Yorktown. The final relief which sailed in September 1782

would have been impossible if the Home Fleet had been further reduced for the sake of overseas theatres. Germain

and the King resisted the constant pressure to over-insure in the English Channel, and it is probable that without

their intervention losses in the West Indies would have been still heavier; but not till 1782 was the superiority for

which they had been striving achieved in the Lesser Antilles.

A sustained strategic boldness requires mutual trust between the leaders and a solid foundation of popular support.

Perhaps Lord North was excessively nervous of his parliamentary majority; yet the internal tensions of his Cabinet

and the public suspicion which surrounded Germain and Sandwich made it impossible to be sure that the country

would accept an occasional reverse as the price of boldness.

The cautious and disjointed strategy which resulted was echoed by the timidity of the commanders in America. The

decision to use a large army against the rebels had been based on the need for a quick victory, and its only

justification would have been a succession of rapid and decisive blows to destroy the military and political organs

of the rebellion: for a slow and remorseless grinding in which military victory in the field played no part, the great

army would have been an expensive and vulnerable tool. But to achieve victory a spirit of enterprise was needed.

'Happy the army in which an untimely boldness frequently appears', wrote Clausewitz; and among the younger

officers in America there were seeds of bold and aggressive leadership. But among the Generals only Cornwallis

showed him-

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self to be a bold commander in the field; for Burgoyne was a mere gambler with 'more sail than ballast'. And at the

very top there was petrification. While the American commanders were products of a revolutionary situation in

which timid men did not rise, learning the trade of war as they practised it, with everything to lose by defeat and

everything to gain by victory, Howe and Clinton were members of a stable political community who had arrived

and could not be shaken from their perch. They had only to play the game safely to draw their emoluments and

retain their position. Their fertility of invention was spent in devising reasons for inaction.

In the Cabinet the leading opponent of boldness was Sandwich. Jealous of his department's autonomy, he also

shared his naval colleagues' obsession with the idea of invasion; and to this fear was added a personal fear of

blame as misfortunes accumulated. This was not the stuff of which great war ministers are made; and Sandwich

became the chief advocate of a policy which yielded the initiative to the enemy and could only have led to disaster

if it had not been resisted. Nor was he an easy colleague in a co-operative enterprise. Yet his merits were

considerable. The political contentions which marred his twelve years at the Admiralty, and the bitterness born of

defeat, were to deny him recognition of his department's great administrative achievements. For the successful

navy of 1782 was his creation.1 'Our natural rivals', runs a memorial of 1783 among the Shelburne papers on the

peacetime navy, ' . . . bending their whole force to the creation of a fleet that has for its bases extensive, invaluable

sugar colonies, compared with which our West Indian islands are but mole hills, have advanced with hasty strides

towards an equality with us, which equality they doubtless would more nearly have gained, but for an exertion on

our part, that must astonish every person that considers it, and that would indeed have been impossible in any

circumstances, but those of a war that threatened our existence as a nation.'2

In Germain Sandwich faced a hostile critic of his department and the chief opponent of his strategy of

conservation. The American Secretary's sanguine temperament drew him always towards an aggressive strategy. It

might be argued that in this war optimism was not the most necessary attribute in high places: that it was more

necessary to withdraw from the war by an act of political discretion than to wage it in a spirit of military optimism.

But the initiative in diplomacy did not lie with Germain: his task was to wage the war, and he was convinced of its

necessity. More than anyone he ensured that the war was not reduced to a crippling defensive, leading

1 See his memorandum on the navy of 1782 in Sandwich, IV, 3614.

2 CL, Shelburne, Vol. 72, p. 237.

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to the loss of every colony and to defeat in detail throughout the world. He was not a great war minister, yet both

as an administrator and planner he had much to commend him. In a more popular cause, and against odds less

heavy, he would have won a place in history at least as respectable as that which is held by the Pitts, Dundases and

Castlereaghs of the wars against Revolutionary France and Napoleon.

The Aftermath

In March 1783 the Lieutenant-Governor of Gibraltar invested General Eliott with the Order of the Bath. The

artillerymen who had served the guns of the fortress through nearly four years of siege prepared an emblematic

firework for the night: it celebrated the defeat of Spain's chief ambition, but it might equally have celebrated the

peace as a whole. America, for whose recovery England had endured so much, was gone for ever, and a valuable

Mediterranean base and trading port had been lost at Minorca; yet the losses in the West Indies were light, and in

the Indian Ocean England had emerged with greater advantages than she had won in 1763. 'The more I reflect',

wrote the King, ' . . . the more I thank Providence for having through so many difficulties, among which the want

of union and zeal at home is not to be omitted, enabled so good a peace . . . to be concluded.'1

Yet though the peace as a whole was infinitely less damaging than might once have been expected, the loss of

America was a fearful defeat. The King tried to console himself with the thought that separation might after all be

for the best: 'Knavery seems to be so much the striking feature of its inhabitants that it may not in the end be an

evil that they become Aliens to this Kingdom'.2 But it would not work. Though he announced the American treaty

to Parliament with dignity, all who heard him were struck by the choke in his voice as he spoke the word

'independence'.

The impact of the defeat was profound. 'If it shall please God to prolong my life to another war some years hence',

wrote Lord Hood, 'I shall look to the event of it with fear and trembling, unless by the all powerful interference of

the Divine Providence, we become an united and rational people.'3 It was not the memory of the political feuding

which dismayed the country, but a general disgust with the established politicians. 'Unhappy England', a nobleman

had written after Yorktown, 'bankrupt in genius as well as other resources does not offer one man . . . capable of

preserving the Empire. An exuberancy of declamatory eloquence is to be found in either House of

1 G 4081.

2 G 3978.

3 G 4062.

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Parliament. But an individual where experience, judgment, integrity, sound discretion unite is not the produce of

this season.'1 This feeling was general, and it attainted the leaders of the Opposition as well as Lord North and his

colleagues. And for the first time the official classes had begun to question the fabric of the Whig oligarchy. The

losing struggle had tested the system and exposed its weakness. Was it right that the administration of the army

should be at the mercy of a haphazard and occasional organisation implemented at the King's pleasure? That the

public purse should support a huge system of sinecures and patronage? That public indignation could be ignored in

the House of Commons? That knowledge of finance in a public servant should be a matter for derision?2

From the outbreak of the next struggle the war machine began to undergo important changes. From 1793 there was

always a Commander-in-Chief to supervise the army's discipline and training at home, and the Secretary at War

was relegated to a financial and administrative role with powers more clearly limited and defined. Permanent

military districts brought regiments constantly under the eye of a general officer. In the same year a Secretary of

State for War was created, to direct the army's operations and speak for it in Cabinet and Parliament.

In the years of peace William Pitt began the huge task of administrative reform. Perhaps the pre-eminence

accorded to him in war and peace owed something to the feeling that under Lord North the country had been

'ruined by distinct Departmental Ministers'.3 His reforms had their roots in two Commissions instituted by North in

the course of the American War. When Burke introduced his bill for economical reform in 1780, North had

promised his assistance to investigate the public accounts. A parliamentary Commission was formed; but North also

created a statutory Commission which, though attacked by the Opposition because it was composed of officials,

was a more effective instrument. It was empowered to examine witnesses on oath, and its chief objects were first,

to examine current accounts and secondly, to recommend speedier accounting procedures, so that reasonably

accurate statements should be available if required by Parliament, and that balances in hand at the end of the year

should be immediately available for spending.4 In the next seven years the Commission wrote fifteen long reports,

which Pitt published as parliamentary papers and made the basis of his efforts for administrative reform.

The operational experience of the war was also remembered. The tactical

1 Lothian, 412.

2 On the last point, see Binney, 2556.

3 Lothian, 412.

4 Binney, 9.

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