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By Root 1175 0

COAST HAD BEEN GIVEN word to anticipate them, and by the first light of dawn, the topsails were in plain view. They had seen warships before, a constant parade of British frigates and larger ships of the line, the comings and goings of Lord Howe’s fleet, or the arrival of new British vessels, merchantmen and transports from across the ocean. As the lookouts watched the sails grow closer, the details of this new fleet began to emerge. It was a stark clear morning, and it was not long before they could count twenty-three ships, many of them much larger than anything the British had in the harbor. By midday the troops in the observation posts were reinforced by a gathering of curious citizens from the farms and villages, a crowd of onlookers massing all along the Jersey shore. To most, the fleet was no different from any they had seen before, but it was the lookouts with the long spyglasses who observed one difference indeed. The flags were French.

They were commanded by Admiral Charles, Count d’Estaing, a man of surly temperament and a long history of service in the French navy. He had received a colonel’s commission before he was seventeen, a very young man with what seemed a very bright future. But after thirty years the fire in the young officer had withered, and d’Estaing had become a stodgy and merely competent senior officer. Though he had rarely demonstrated any particular flair for command, his longevity in the service to his monarchs had earned him moderate prestige. From the coasts of India to the English Channel, he had spent his career in combat with one enemy, had built an intense hatred for the British. It was enough reason for King Louis to believe him perfectly capable of commanding the French expedition to America that would bring a swift end to such a risky war.

The British warships at anchor in New York Harbor numbered half the French fleet, and in the city, the British command understood that they were suddenly in a precarious, and possibly fatal position. But d’Estaing could not simply burst into the harbor without knowing the waters, would rely on the skill of harbor pilots supplied by Washington. It was the pilots who turned American hopes into utter frustration. The French warships were larger indeed, so much so that they required a depth of twenty-seven feet. The mouth of New York Harbor was crossed by a sandbar whose depth at low tide was a good deal more shallow. If the French ships attempted to enter the harbor, there was a very good chance they would run aground.

Washington had sent Hamilton and John Laurens to confer with d’Estaing, but there would be no convincing the French to pursue such a dangerous course. Alternatives were considered, and the most obvious choice was made. The French would set sail for Newport, Rhode Island, to assault the only remaining British stronghold.

The British force in Newport was close to six thousand men, commanded by General Robert Pigott. If Pigott’s force could be captured, it would be as serious a blow to the British effort as the loss of Burgoyne. To d’Estaing, it would be an extraordinary prize.

While the British had a firm command of Newport, the mainland around them was occupied by barely a thousand continental troops now commanded by John Sullivan. It was not a force strong enough to make any threat to the British, and Washington issued a call to militia in the area, hoping to attract several thousand more. He dispatched Lafayette with another two brigades, fifteen hundred experienced veterans, and sent them by foot toward Rhode Island. Though d’Estaing’s fleet was a formidable threat to the British from the sea, Sullivan’s command on land would be strengthened even more by the human cargo the French ships had brought with them: four thousand French marines. As the allied forces converged on Newport, there was feverish anticipation in Washington’s headquarters. For the first time, a large British outpost would be confronted by a combined assault from both land and sea.

WITH CLINTON’S ARMY NOW CONTAINED IN NEW YORK, AND WASHINGTON securing his outposts