By Paul Carrier
Historian Richard Ketchum, who died in 2012 at 89, wrote at least a dozen books on various topics. Readers with an interest in the American Revolution are fortunate that Ketchum’s legacy includes Victory at Yorktown: The Campaign That Won the Revolution, which was released in 2004.
The book is compelling, not only because it details the decisive win that assured American independence but also because Ketchum, a vivid writer, excels at presenting colorful portraits of the many players in this saga. Ketchum does not skimp on explaining the nuts and bolts of the Yorktown campaign. But Victory at Yorktown also spends a significant amount of time highlighting events that preceded the 1781 siege, as well as the memorable people who, for better or for worse, were involved in them. The book is alive with lesser-known tidbits.
The book is compelling, not only because it details the decisive win that assured American independence but also because Ketchum, a vivid writer, excels at presenting colorful portraits of the many players in this saga. Ketchum does not skimp on explaining the nuts and bolts of the Yorktown campaign. But Victory at Yorktown also spends a significant amount of time highlighting events that preceded the 1781 siege, as well as the memorable people who, for better or for worse, were involved in them. The book is alive with lesser-known tidbits.
Allied American and French troops adapt to one another, of a fashion. The British commanders in America constantly bicker and complain. The French, while in Newport, Rhode Island, are fascinated by visiting Iroquois, who are equally intrigued by the Europeans. It’s history with a very human face. Or, more precisely, very many faces.
For example, Ketchum recounts how Benjamin Franklin reacted in 1777 when an American courier bearing dispatches, newly arrived at Franklin’s home in France, confirmed that the British had taken Philadelphia. Franklin turned to go into the house “as if he had heard of a death in the family,” Ketchum writes. But the messenger immediately revived his spirits. “I have greater news than that,” he told Franklin. “General Burgoyne and his whole army are prisoners of war” following the stunning American triumph at Saratoga. That victory paved the way for open (rather than secretive) French support for the rebels.
And then there’s this. The army that France sent to America to join the Patriot cause was commanded by the Comte de Rochambeau. He spoke no English. George Washington spoke virtually no French. Washington proposed communicating with Rochambeau through the Marquis de Lafayette, the young Frenchman who was a major general in the Continental Army. Rochambeau, a battle-hardened veteran in his fifties who became a soldier before Lafayette was even born, was insulted, partly because Lafayette had tried to steal the American command for himself. Rochambeau notified Washington, ever so politely, that using Lafayette as a translator simply would not do.
We learn that Benedict Arnold, who fled to the British after trying to surrender West Point to them, wasn’t just a traitor. He was a self-absorbed man with no sense of honor. Arnold was a great battlefield commander, but more importantly he was “completely amoral.” He even recycled love letters that he had sent to a woman who rejected him. Arnold reused the letters, sending almost identical versions of the originals to his future wife.
Eventually, Ketchum turns his attention to Yorktown. By July, 1781, the armies of Washington and Rochambeau had joined forces and were marching south to Virginia. But stress levels remained high, primarily because of the fear that a massive French naval fleet bound for Chesapeake Bay might not arrive on time, or not at all.
In September, French army officers traveling south by boat spotted an American officer on shore “waving his hat with one hand and a handkerchief with the other.” It was the normally composed and restrained Washington. The Comte de Grasse, a French admiral, had arrived in Chesapeake Bay as promised and on time, with 28 ships of the line, four frigates, 15,000 sailors and several French regiments. When Washington finally met de Grasse, who was even taller than Washington, the admiral embraced him and addressed him as “mon cher, petit général.” That triggered laughter among the men present. Except for Washington, of course.
But an open question remained. Would the Comte de Barras, who commanded a French naval squadron in Rhode Island, sail to Yorktown in time to rendezvous with de Grasse and guarantee complete French naval superiority? That would be essential if the American and French armies blocked a British escape by land, only to watch the British navy swoop in from New York and rescue Gen. Charles Cornwallis and his beleaguered army by sea.
The fates were with the allies. The combined American and French armies decimated the British at Yorktown and hemmed them in, with the sea to their backs. British warships on a rescue mission materialized and de Grasse took them on. While that battle was underway, de Barras, the French admiral based in Rhode Island, sailed into Chesapeake Bay without interference, further enlarging the French force, which defeated the British fleet. Cornwallis had nowhere to turn. Surrender was inevitable.
Victory at Yorktown includes a helpful 14-page list of “principal characters,” with thumbnail biographical sketches that briefly summarize the lives of more than 100 American, British, French and other key players. That list alone makes for fascinating reading. It is inclusive, concise and, most importantly, very human.
For example, Ketchum recounts how Benjamin Franklin reacted in 1777 when an American courier bearing dispatches, newly arrived at Franklin’s home in France, confirmed that the British had taken Philadelphia. Franklin turned to go into the house “as if he had heard of a death in the family,” Ketchum writes. But the messenger immediately revived his spirits. “I have greater news than that,” he told Franklin. “General Burgoyne and his whole army are prisoners of war” following the stunning American triumph at Saratoga. That victory paved the way for open (rather than secretive) French support for the rebels.
And then there’s this. The army that France sent to America to join the Patriot cause was commanded by the Comte de Rochambeau. He spoke no English. George Washington spoke virtually no French. Washington proposed communicating with Rochambeau through the Marquis de Lafayette, the young Frenchman who was a major general in the Continental Army. Rochambeau, a battle-hardened veteran in his fifties who became a soldier before Lafayette was even born, was insulted, partly because Lafayette had tried to steal the American command for himself. Rochambeau notified Washington, ever so politely, that using Lafayette as a translator simply would not do.
We learn that Benedict Arnold, who fled to the British after trying to surrender West Point to them, wasn’t just a traitor. He was a self-absorbed man with no sense of honor. Arnold was a great battlefield commander, but more importantly he was “completely amoral.” He even recycled love letters that he had sent to a woman who rejected him. Arnold reused the letters, sending almost identical versions of the originals to his future wife.
Eventually, Ketchum turns his attention to Yorktown. By July, 1781, the armies of Washington and Rochambeau had joined forces and were marching south to Virginia. But stress levels remained high, primarily because of the fear that a massive French naval fleet bound for Chesapeake Bay might not arrive on time, or not at all.
In September, French army officers traveling south by boat spotted an American officer on shore “waving his hat with one hand and a handkerchief with the other.” It was the normally composed and restrained Washington. The Comte de Grasse, a French admiral, had arrived in Chesapeake Bay as promised and on time, with 28 ships of the line, four frigates, 15,000 sailors and several French regiments. When Washington finally met de Grasse, who was even taller than Washington, the admiral embraced him and addressed him as “mon cher, petit général.” That triggered laughter among the men present. Except for Washington, of course.
But an open question remained. Would the Comte de Barras, who commanded a French naval squadron in Rhode Island, sail to Yorktown in time to rendezvous with de Grasse and guarantee complete French naval superiority? That would be essential if the American and French armies blocked a British escape by land, only to watch the British navy swoop in from New York and rescue Gen. Charles Cornwallis and his beleaguered army by sea.
The fates were with the allies. The combined American and French armies decimated the British at Yorktown and hemmed them in, with the sea to their backs. British warships on a rescue mission materialized and de Grasse took them on. While that battle was underway, de Barras, the French admiral based in Rhode Island, sailed into Chesapeake Bay without interference, further enlarging the French force, which defeated the British fleet. Cornwallis had nowhere to turn. Surrender was inevitable.
Victory at Yorktown includes a helpful 14-page list of “principal characters,” with thumbnail biographical sketches that briefly summarize the lives of more than 100 American, British, French and other key players. That list alone makes for fascinating reading. It is inclusive, concise and, most importantly, very human.
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