Nooks and Corners of the New England Coast

After D'Estaing came Rochambeau, and with him a crowd of young officers of noble birth, fortune's favorites, who yet sought with the eagerness of knights-errant to enroll themselves in the ranks of the alliance. Gay, careless, chivalric, and debonair, carrying their high-bred courtesy even to the front of battle, they were worthy sons of the men who at Fontenoy advanced, hat in hand, from the ranks, and saluted their English enemies: "Apres vous, messieurs les Anglais; nous ne tirons jamais les premiers" (After you, gentlemen; we never fire first).

Having in some respects remained much as when the French were here, there is no greater difficulty in beating our imaginary rappel than in supposing Newport peopled when walking at night through its deserted streets.

We suppose an intrenched camp drawn across the island from the sea to the harbor, having town, fleet, and transports under its wing, and batteries on all the points and islands. Twelve days sufficed to secure the position to the satisfaction of Rochambeau, who shrugged his shoulders, saying, as another and greater said after him, "I have them now, these English." Yet Washington, remembering Long Island and Fort Washington, wrote in July to General Heath, "I wish the Count de Rochambeau had taken a position on the main."[284 - Heath then commanded at Providence: he was ordered to meet Rochambeau on his arrival, and extend any assistance in his power.]

Under British rule, Newport wore a muzzle; under French, a collar bristling with steel. The white standard was unfolded to the breeze in all the camps and from the masts of shipping. Tents and marquees were pitched along the line and dotted the green of Canonicut, Rose Island, Coaster's and Goat islands. Bayonets brightly and cannon duskily flashed in the sun everywhere. Sentinels in white uniforms, black gaiters, and woolen epaulets tramped in little paths of their own making. Officers in white, splendidly gold-embroidered, with rich and elegant side-arms, put to the blush such of our poor fellows as chanced in their camps. In every shady spot groups of soldiers, gay and jovial, reclined on the grass, chattering all together, or laughing at the witticism of the company gaillard. The drum – the type military, which has scarcely changed its form in three hundred years – was improvised into the card-table. "Ma fois," "paroles d'honneur," "sacrés" and "milles tonnerres," flew thickly as bullets at Fontenoy.

A finer body of men had probably never taken the field. Many were seasoned in the Seven Years' War. Perfectly disciplined, commanded by generals of experience, they only asked to be led against the hereditary enemy of France. Officers who had mounted guard at the Tuileries, and had been intimate with crowned heads, embraced the campaign with the careless vivacity of school-boys.

In the present region of old houses is a mansion having a high air of respectability; it is situated at the corner of Clarke and Mary streets, and known as the Vernon House. This was the Quartier Général of the Count Rochambeau, one of the four supreme generals of France in those days. The count was a brave old soldier, rather short in stature, rather inclined to fat, with a humane soul and noble heart. He was hampered by his instructions, and his army lost time here, to the vexation of Washington, and chagrin, it is believed, of himself. Hear what he says when teased by a younger soldier to begin the fighting:

"I owe it to the most scrupulous examination of my conscience, that of about fifteen thousand men killed or wounded under my orders in different grades and in the bloodiest actions, I have not to reproach myself with having caused the death of a single one to gratify my own ambition.

    "Le vieux père Rochambeau."

It was to Lafayette, burning with the desire to see his countrymen signalize their coming otherwise than by balls, routs, and reviews, that the letter was addressed. Rochambeau was under the orders of Washington, yet many of his officers disliked being commanded by Lafayette, their junior in military service, or by lawyers, blacksmiths, and book-sellers.

The career of M. de Ternay, admiral of the fleet, was soon ended. He died in Newport, and was buried in Trinity Church-yard. One of Rochambeau's staff-officers ascribes his death to chagrin in consequence of having permitted five English ships to escape him without a general engagement. These ships were then on their way to join Admiral Rodney. It is certain he was openly denounced by many officers of rank for too great caution. Rochambeau says:

    "Newport, December 18th, 1780.

"I set out from here on the 12th to visit Boston and M. Hancock, leaving here M. de Ternay with a slight fever, which announced nothing serious. On the 16th, in the morning, I received a courier from Baron de Vioménil, announcing his death on the morning of the 15th. I returned at once, and reached here yesterday evening."

A mural tablet of black marble inscribed with golden letters was sent from France. The admiral's grave happening not to be contiguous to the church or church-yard wall, a wall was built to support the slab. Since then it has been removed to the vestibule of Trinity Church, and a granite stone, at the instance of the Marquis de Noailles, has replaced it above the grave. The first house, built in 1702, was succeeded in 1726 by the present edifice. An organ was presented by Bishop Berkeley, whose infant daughter lies in the church-yard.

In March, 1781, Washington, accompanied by Lafayette, came to Newport, and was received by Rochambeau in the Vernon House. The curious interest with which the American general was regarded by his allies is sufficiently evident in their accounts of him. He at once commanded all their admiration and respect, and was perhaps their only ideal not destroyed by actual contact. They still show the visitor the house in Church Street where Washington led the dance with "the beautiful Miss Champlin," and where the French officers, taking the instruments from the musicians' hands, played the minuet, "A successful Campaign."

Another of the noblesse of the army was the Viscount de Noailles, in whose regiment Napoleon was afterward a subaltern. Two grateful tasks fell to his share in the war. As ambassador to England, he delivered to Lord Weymouth intelligence of the alliance and acknowledgment of the independence of the thirteen States. His manner was said to have been very offensive, and considered tantamount to a challenge. An equally agreeable duty devolved upon him as one of the commissioners to arrange the capitulation of Yorktown.

The alliance was a bitter draught for England. She offered, in 1781, to cede Minorca to Russia if the empress would effect a peace between France, Spain, and herself; but stipulated that there should be an express condition that the French should immediately evacuate Rhode Island and every other part of his Majesty's colonies in America; "no stipulation or agreement whatever to be made with regard to H. M. rebellious subjects, who could never be suffered to treat through the medium of a foreign power."

The Dutch republic, influenced by John Adams, having declared for the alliance, England demanded satisfaction. Then Frederick the Great got his "dander" up. Said he, "Puisque les Anglais veulent la guerre avec tout le monde, ils l'auront" (Since the English wish war with all the world, they shall have it). So much for him who was then called in the court circles of Europe "Le Vieux de la Montagne" (Old Man of the Mountain). Spain was arming. England continued to ply the empress through her favorite and debauchee, Potemkin. Russia, as head of the Northern League, now held the key of European politics. Potemkin was too adroit for British diplomacy. It is believed he had a secret understanding with the French ambassador, as the doctors whom Molière makes say to each other, "Passez-moi la rhubarbe et je vous passerai le séne."

In this same year, 1781, the mediating powers, Russia and Austria, proposed an armistice for a year, during which hostilities were to be suspended and peace negotiated. The American colonies were to be admitted to this arrangement, and no treaty signed in which they were not included. Lord Stormont, in notifying the refusal of England to this proposal, declining any intervention between herself and her colonies, pointed out that, in the then state of the struggle in America, a suspension of hostilities would be fatal to the success of his Majesty's arms.

England could not disentangle the knot of European politics, and Yorktown brought her to her knees. Many of the Continental powers openly rejoiced at her humiliation; Catharine could scarcely dissemble her joy. The news reached London on Sunday, November 25th. Lord Walsingham, who had been under-secretary of state, happened to be with Lord Germain when the messengers arrived. Without mentioning the disaster to any other persons, the two peers took a hackney-coach and drove to Lord Stormont's, in Portland Place. Imparting their intelligence, his lordship joined them, and they proceeded to the chancellor's, where, after a short consultation, it was determined they would communicate it in person to Lord North. The first minister's firmness, and even his presence of mind, gave way under this crushing blow. He is represented as having received it "as he would have taken a ball in his breast, for he opened his arms, exclaiming wildly, as he paced up and down the apartment, 'O God! it is all over!'"

The American is now living who will see justice done the memory of George III. He was neither a bad king nor a bad man. Like his antagonist, Louis Seize, he was possessed of strong good sense, which accounts, perhaps, says one, for the decapitation of Louis by the French. A well-informed authority attributes the insanity of George III. to the revolt of his American colonies. Just as he was taken ill, in 1788, he said, after the last levee he held, to Lord Thurlow, who was advising him to take care of himself, and return to Windsor, "You, then, too, my Lord Thurlow, forsake me and suppose me ill beyond recovery; but whatever you and Mr. Pitt may think or feel, I, that am born a gentleman, shall never lay my head on my last pillow in peace and quiet as long as I remember the loss of my American colonies."[285 - The manner and matter of his reception of Mr. Adams were equally those of gentleman and king. Contrast him with the Prince Regent, and his remark to the French ex-minister, Calonne, during his father's sudden illness, in 1801: "Savez-vous, Monsieur de Calonne, que mon père est aussi fou que jamais?" (Do you know, Monsieur de Calonne, that my father is as crazy as ever?) Thackeray could not do him justice.]

But to come back to our Frenchmen. Of others whose sabres and spurs have clanked or jingled on the well-worn door-stone of the Vernon House was Biron, better known as the roué Lauzun. There being no forage on the island, Lanzun's cavalry and the artillery horses were sent for the winter to Lebanon, Connecticut, a place the duke compares to Siberia. Lauzun had the talents that seduce men as well as women. Traveled, speaking English well, gay and audacious, he was among men the model of a finished gentleman, and among women the type of such dangerous raillery that many, in order to control him, gave the lie to the proverb, "We hate whom we fear."

At Berlin Lauzun had been a prodigious favorite with Frederick. His connection with the Duke d'Orleans (Egalité) proved his ruin. At forty-six, having unsuccessfully commanded the republican armies in La Vendée, he was guillotined in 1793. Mademoiselle Laurent, his mistress, attended him to the last. He would not let his hands be tied. "We are both Frenchmen," said he to the executioner; "we shall do our duty." Thus exit Biron, capable of every thing, good for nothing.

The elegant and accomplished Marquis Chastellux, whose petits soupers at Newport were the talk of every one who had the good fortune to be invited, and whose "Travels in America," partly printed on board the French fleet, are so charmingly written; the brave Baron Vioménil, second in command, distinguished for gallantry at Yorktown; headlong Charles Lameth, who fought the young Duke de Castries in the Bois de Boulogne; Mathieu Dumas, aid to Rochambeau, and afterward fighting at Waterloo, were prominent figures in an army pre-eminent among armies for the distinction of its leaders.

La Peyrouse, in October, made his escape through the English blockade during a severe gale, in which his vessel was dismasted; though, fortunately, not until the enemy had given up the chase. He carried with him Rochambeau's son, charged with an account of the conference at Hartford and the necessities of the Americans.

Berthier, the military confidant of Napoleon, was of this army. He embarked for America, a captain of dragoons in the regiment of Lorraine, and here won the epaulets of a colonel. There were also two brothers serving under the name of Counts Deux-Ponts. One of them, Count Christian Deux-Ponts, was captured by Nelson, while on a boat excursion with several friends, off Porto Cavallo. Southey, in his "Life of Lord Nelson," says he was a prince of the German Empire, and brother to the heir of the Electorate of Bavaria. Nelson, then a young captain, after giving his prisoners a good dinner, released them.[286 - The fellow-prisoner of Count Christian Deux-Ponts was an Irishman, named Lynch, who belonged also to Rochambeau's army. Fearful that his nationality might be discovered, he begged the count to be on his guard. When at table, and heated with wine, the secret was divulged by the count; but Nelson, as Ségur relates, pretended not to have heard it.]

It would require a broad muster-roll merely to enumerate the distinguished of Rochambeau's expeditionary army. I have not yet mentioned De Broglie, Vauban, Champcenetz, Chabannes, De Melfort, and Talleyrand; nor De Barras, La Touche, and La Clocheterie; nor Désoteux, leader of Chouans in the French Revolution. To have withstood the assaults of so much wit, gallantry, and condescension, Newport must have been a city of vestals; yet, according to the good Abbé Robin, his countrymen gave few examples of that gallantry for which their nation is famed. One remarkable instance of a wife reclaimed, when on the point of yielding to the seductions of an epauleted stranger, is related by him. The story has a fine moral for husbands as well as wives.

The expected arrival of this army spread terror in Newport. The French had been represented as man-eaters, whereas they were only frog-eaters. The country was deserted, and those whom curiosity had brought to Newport encountered nobody in the streets. Rochambeau landed in the evening. These fears were soon dissipated by the exact discipline enforced in the camps. They tell of pigs and fowls passing unmolested, and of fields of corn standing untouched in their midst.

Beautiful Miss Champlin, charming Redwood, the distingué Misses Hunter, and the Quaker vestal, Polly Lawton, are names escaped to us from the memoirs of Gallic admirers; yet there was only a single suicide in the French ranks justly chargeable to an American love account;[287 - That of Major Galvan, who pistoled himself on account of unrequited love.] and this did not occur in Newport.

One of the French regiments at Yorktown was as famous in Old-World annals as any battalion that ever stood under arms. This was the regiment of Auvergne. Wherever men might march, Auvergne was seen or heard. Once, when in the advance of the army – it was always there – one of its captains, sent out to reconnoitre, was surrounded in the darkness by foes. A hundred bayonets were leveled at his breast. "Speak above a whisper and you die," said the German officer. Captain D'Assas saw himself in the midst of a multitude of enemies, who were stealthily approaching his weary and unsuspecting comrades. In an instant his resolution was taken. Raising himself to his full height, that he might give his voice greater effect, he cried out, "À moi, Auvergne! voilà les ennemis!"[288 - Rally, Auvergne! here is the enemy!] and fell dead as the French drums beat "To arms!" The regiment was very proud of its motto, "Sans tache."

In this regiment was Philip d'Auvergne, "the first grenadier of France," of whose prowess stories are told. When the corps came to America its name had been changed to Gatinais, whereat there was much grumbling among these aged mustaches. There were two redoubts at Yorktown to be taken. One was assigned to Lafayette and his Americans, the other to the French. The grenadiers of Gatinais were to lead this attack; and, as it was expected to be bloody, Rochambeau himself addressed them. "My friends," said he, "if I should want you this night, I hope you have not forgotten that we have served together in that brave regiment of Auvergne, 'Sans Tache.'" "Promise, general, to give us back our old name, and we will suffer ourselves to be killed, to the last man." The promise was given, the redoubt won, and King Louis confirmed the pledge. In token of its peerless valor Washington presented the regiment with one of the captured cannon.

The comfortable and contented lives of the French soldiers daily astonished our poor and tattered, but unconquerable ragamuffins. At parade they appeared so neat and gentleman-like as hardly to be distinguished from their officers. They were paid every week, and seemed to want for nothing. No sentinel was allowed to stand on his post without a warm watch-coat to cover him. The officers treated their soldiers with attention, humanity, and respect, neglecting no means of inculcating sentiments of honor. Stealing was held by them in abhorrence. As a consequence, punishments were extremely rare, desertions unfrequent, and the health of the troops excellent.

Speculations more or less unfavorable to French disinterestedness, more or less destructive of American enthusiasm for the alliance, must arise from a knowledge of the secret policy of France in coming to the aid of democracy. Possibly she hoped for the reconquest of Canada. Rochambeau would have first employed his forces against Castine, had he not been overruled. That would have been curious, indeed, to have seen France re-established at old Pentagoët, carrying war into Canada, as, more than a century previous and from the same vantage-ground, she had carried it into New England. Not much later she tried to wheedle and then to bully us into ceding to her the island of Rhode Island, in order, as urged by her, to prevent its being seized again at any future time by Great Britain. Her armed intervention was of little worth compared with the moral effect of the alliance.

Pierre du Guast had groped his way along the coast in 1605, seeking a habitation. He, and his lieutenant, Poutrincourt, had well-nigh reached their goal when compelled to turn back, baffled, for wintry Acadia. A French colony, in 1605, upon Aquidneck might have changed the order of history, and rendered impossible the events of which this chapter is the skeleton.

CHAPTER XXV.

NEWPORT CEMETERIES

"Come, my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers; they hold up Adam's profession." – Shakspeare.

Assuming the looker-on to be free from all qualms on the subject of grave-yard associations, I invite him to loiter with me awhile among the tombstones of buried Newport. As we thread the streets of the town, sign-boards or door-plates inform us who are the occupants; and in pursuing the narrow paths of the burial-place, the tablets set up denote, not only the final residences, but symbolize the dread of the world's forgetfulness, of those who sleep there. The analogy might still be pursued, as it was an old custom to inscribe the occupation and birthplace upon a memorial stone. Here is one I found in the old ground adjoining Rhode Island Cemetery:

Here lyeth the Body

of Roger Baster

Bachelor Block mackr

Aged 66 yeres He Dyed

23 Day of Aprel 1687

He was one of the Fi

rst Beginers of a Chv

rch of Christ obsrving —

Of the 7th Day Sab

bath of THE LORD IN

NE AND BEGAN 23D IS 1671

The grave-yards are the first green spots. Dandelions, buttercups, and daisies blossom earliest there. The almost imperceptible shading-off of winter into spring is signaled by tufts of freshly springing grass on the sunny side of a grave-stone; the birds build betimes among the tree-branches of the cemetery. Your grave-maker is always a merry fellow, who cares no more for carved cross-bones than for the clay-pipes so artistically crossed in shop-windows.

I found many stones dating from 1726 to 1800, but even these had become much defaced by time. Where freestone slabs had been used, the inscriptions were either illegible or quite obliterated. Some of the older slate stones had been painted to protect them from the weather. The city takes commendable care of the grounds; yet I could not help thinking that a little money might be well spent in renewing the fading inscriptions. Throughout the inclosure the pious chisel of some "Old Mortality" is painfully in request.