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The World Would Never Be the Same: French Memories of the War for America

Ken Burns’s The American Revolution presents the war for independence as a defining event with consequences that reached far beyond the thirteen colonies. At the moment of Cornwallis’s surrender at Yorktown, the film underscores this significance with the observation that “the world would never be the same.” Some reviews have noted that while the film suggests the Revolution reshaped the wider world, it does not explore that global impact in detail. The experiences of the French officers who served in America help fill that gap. Their letters, journals, engravings, and portraits show how the war quickly grew into an international story and how its outcome reverberated across the Atlantic. Many of these firsthand accounts survive today because they were preserved by the American Revolution Institute, which maintains a rich collection of French officers’ writings and artifacts. For these men, the American Revolution was not only an American struggle but part of a larger shift in world affairs.

Journal of Robert Guillaume Dillon, 1780-1781

Robert-Guillaume, baron de Dillon (1754–1837) left one of the most vivid French records of the American campaign. His journal describes the march toward Yorktown in 1781 and includes a striking account of his meeting with George Washington at New Windsor, where he was impressed by the general’s bearing and command. Dillon also recounts his wounding near Gloucester, Virginia, during the final operations around Yorktown. His writing blends battlefield observation with social commentary, noting both the character of prominent American leaders and the customs he encountered while traveling through the colonies. For Dillon, the Revolution was a lived experience that revealed how American and French forces worked together to bring the war to its decisive close.

Claude-Anne de Rouvroy, marquis de Saint-Simon-Montbléru (1743–1819) played a central military role in the Yorktown campaign. As commander of the French left flank, he helped seal off Cornwallis’s potential escape route toward Williamsburg. Although severely wounded during the siege, he remained at his post and later stood with the allied generals at the formal British surrender. A portrait of Saint-Simon created after the war shows him proudly wearing the insignia of the Society of the Cincinnati, evidence of the lasting bonds formed between French and American officers. His later life, which included fighting revolutionary forces in Europe and serving in the Spanish army, demonstrates how deeply the American War for Independence intersected with the broader political upheavals that swept across the continent.

“Notes relatives aux mouvemens de l’armee françoise en Amerique” by François-Ignace Ervoil d’Oyré

François-Ignace Ervoil, chevalier d’Oyré (1739–1798), an officer in the royal corps of engineers, contributed essential technical expertise to the allied victory. His notebooks document the engineering work that advanced the siege trenches toward the British defenses at Yorktown, including the preparations that enabled the capture of key redoubts. He also recorded the allied march south and the memorable stop at Mount Vernon, where Rochambeau’s army reunited with Washington at his home. Oyré’s meticulous notes reveal the logistical complexity underlying the Yorktown campaign and show why success depended on careful coordination between French and American forces.

Jean-Baptiste Dupleix de Cadignan (1738–1824) preserved one of the most detailed French accounts of the war. His two-volume journal includes a day-by-day chronicle of the Yorktown siege, a full transcription of the Articles of Capitulation, and a description of the surrender ceremony in which British officers attempted to present Cornwallis’s sword. Dupleix’s writings make clear how French forces understood their role in securing American independence and how closely they observed the unfolding of events that would later become foundational moments in American history. His journal also illustrates how extensive French involvement was, extending from the Caribbean to the Chesapeake.

François-Jean de Beauvoir, marquis de Chastellux, by Jacques-Philippe Voiart, 1787

François-Jean de Beauvoir, marquis de Chastellux (1734–1788), a major general and philosopher, helped interpret the American experience for European audiences. Fluent in English and serving as the chief liaison between Rochambeau and Washington, he recorded reflections on American landscapes, society and politics during the allied march to Yorktown and in months of travel afterward. His published account of these travels introduced European readers to American culture and governance, including his observations of Virginia’s Natural Bridge, which he studied with scientific interest. Chastellux’s writings helped frame the Revolution as an event that raised questions about freedom, nature and political authority in ways that resonated across the Enlightenment world.

Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, marquis de Lafayette (1757–1834) became the most famous French participant in the American cause and a symbol of the Revolution’s international character. As a young major general in the Continental Army, he commanded troops that helped pin Cornwallis at Yorktown before Washington and Rochambeau arrived. His success in America shaped his political vision in France, where he became a leading advocate for constitutional reform and authored the Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen. Lafayette’s lifelong commitment to liberty, along with his correspondence with Washington and his celebrated return tour of the United States in 1824, shows how deeply intertwined French and American memories of the Revolution became.

Manuscrit des memoires politique et militaires du marechal de Rochambeau, 1725-1807

The war also had profound consequences for France itself. Supporting the American cause placed heavy financial strain on the French government and contributed to the crisis that led to the French Revolution in 1789. Many officers who served in America returned to a country in turmoil. Some, like Admiral Charles Hector, comte d’Estaing (1729–1794), were executed during the Terror. Others, including Saint-Simon, fought against revolutionary forces and later served in foreign armies. Jean-Baptiste-Donatien de Vimeur, comte de Rochambeau (1725–1807), narrowly avoided execution and later wrote about his American experiences with Washington as he tried to understand the political upheavals around him. Their writings show that the ideals they encountered in America became part of the debates in France about liberty, loyalty and the future of the state. Burns emphasizes that revolutions can lead to unpredictable outcomes, and the experiences of these French officers demonstrate how the American Revolution helped set major changes in motion in Europe.

Together, the experiences of these officers illustrate how Burns’s line that “the world would never be the same” is grounded in historical reality. The war drew European powers into its orbit, produced new political conversations in France, created durable ties among veterans on both sides of the Atlantic, contributed to the pressures that sparked the French Revolution and showed that established political orders could be successfully challenged. Critics sometimes suggest that Burns’s film leaves the meaning of the Revolution open-ended. The French evidence helps explain why. The Revolution’s impact was not limited to America. It reshaped identities, institutions and governments across the Atlantic world. For the French officers who marched to Yorktown and later witnessed upheaval in their own country, the American Revolution marked the beginning of a broader era of political change that affected nations on both sides of the ocean.

Thomas Lannon
Library Director

The American Revolution—A Film by Ken Burns, Sarah Botstein and David Schmidt

The epic new documentary series The American Revolution—a film by Ken Burns, Sarah Botstein and David Schmidt—premiers on PBS on November 16, 2025. This six-part series chronicles the story of the creation of the United States and its eight-year war for independence from Great Britain. Last month, the American Revolution Institute hosted a conversation with Geoffrey C. Ward, the principal script writer for the documentary, and award-winning historian and consultant Rick Atkinson, discussing the making of Ken Burns’s The American Revolution. 

Watch the Video

 

The American Revolution Institute is a center for education dedicated to promoting understanding and appreciation of the American Revolution and its legacy. We imagine a future in which every American is inspired by the American Revolution, the vast event that created our nation, and embraces its revolutionary ideals of universal liberty and responsible citizenship. The Institute maintains museum and library collections that preserve our nation’s revolutionary heritage. The documentary series The American Revolution is an exciting moment to advance that mission and incorporates several of our collections into the film, helping to connect the public to the political, military and social history of this critical and tumultuous period.

Orderly book kept by William Popham for Lord Stirling’s Division; Gift of William Sherbrooke Popham, 1955.

The library collections include a rich array of printed and manuscript materials documenting the military history of the eighteenth century, with a focus on the people and events of the American Revolution. Among these holdings is an exciting orderly book kept by William Popham for Lord Stirling’s Division in New Jersey from August to October 1780.

The entry on September 26, 1780, transmitted the stunning announcement, “Treason of the blackest dye was yesterday discovered – Genl. Arnold who commanded at Westpoint, lost to every sentiment of honor, of private & public obligation, was about to deliver up that important post into the Hands of the Enemy.” William Popham’s orderly book captures the army’s immediate shock at the discovery of Arnold’s treason, providing the raw, contemporary voice that Ken Burns argues is essential to understanding how deeply the betrayal shook the revolutionary cause. It illustrates Burns’s thesis that Arnold’s act was not only a military crisis but a moral one, striking at the ideals of honor and loyalty that bound Continental officers together.

The museum collections provide insights on the revolutionary era and its enduring influence through material culture of the period. The collections include paintings, sculpture, armaments and other military equipment, medals, ceramics, textiles, daguerreotypes and other historical artifacts.

Captured aboard the transport ship Hope in May 1776, this British light dragoon carbine was issued to Continental Army troops for the New York campaign. Museum purchase, 2019.

One of these artifacts is a captured British light dragoon carbine, which embodies the constant logistical struggle of the Revolution and shows how the Continental Army depended on improvised, repurposed and sometimes contested supplies simply to stay armed against a far better-equipped enemy. Its long service life—built in Britain, altered for Crown forces, seized at sea, reworked by American armorers, and returned to combat—reflects the stakes, destruction and violence of a brutal war fought with whatever tools soldiers could keep functioning. Its survival today makes it an essential artifact of preservation, offering tangible evidence of the war’s material realities and of the fragile objects that carried the weight of independence.

The American Revolution Institute welcomes a film like Ken Burns’s because it helps renew public engagement with the Revolution as a formative moment in our national story. By presenting the drama, ideals and human complexity of the era, the film encourages viewers to see the Revolution not as distant history but as a continuing source of civic meaning. In doing so, it aligns with the Institute’s mission to promote informed citizenship grounded in an understanding of the struggle for independence and the principles that shaped the nation.

Learn More About the Collections

 

In the months ahead, we will post additional blogs here that highlight key items from our collections and show how they relate to the themes of the film The American Revolution and the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. Each post will connect an artifact’s history to the larger story of the Revolution and to the enduring significance of 1776.

 


About Us

The American Revolution Institute of the Society of the Cincinnati ensures that the history and legacy of the American Revolution are understood and appreciated. The American Revolution gave our nation and the world a new set of ideals—liberty, equality and self-government for all people. These ideals and the history of the Revolution are more relevant than ever. You can help us ensure that the stories of all those who forged our nation can continue to inspire new generations.

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Honoring the French-American Alliance

In the library of the American Revolution Institute, history surrounds on the shelves. Among the collections are works that help tell the story of the alliance between France and the United States, one of the most important turning points in deciding the Revolution. This partnership, formalized in February 1778 with the Treaty of Alliance, was more than a military arrangement. It was a meeting of political ideals, strategic necessities and mutual hope for reshaping the balance of power in the Atlantic world.

The library holds printed and manuscript material from before the alliance through to the war’s conclusion after the Franco-American victory at Yorktown and the establishment of the Society of the Cincinnati. From its founding in 1783, the Society included French officers who had served in America under Rochambeau, d’Estaing and Lafayette. This bond was deliberate. The Society wasn’t simply a fraternal group for Americans, but a transatlantic order intended to promote and cherish the ideals and national honor for which these individuals had fought.

This summer, we were happy to continue the Society’s tradition of French-American exchange and welcomed a library intern from France to work with collections related to American forces and their French allies’ role in securing independence for the United States. Alice du Gardin, a master’s student at HEC Paris, was in Washington, D.C., for much of June and July and helped library staff process and translate manuscript materials. Among the items Alice helped translate were the journals of Robert Guillaume Dillon. Baron de Dillon served as mestre de camp of the régiment de Lauzun-Hussards and lieutenant-général during the Revolutionary War. He was also an original member of the French Society of the Cincinnati and kept a journal that covers the period from November 1780 through the Siege of Yorktown in October 1781.

Alice du Gardin, 2025 Research Library intern

“In his Journal, Dillon reports his memories about his time in America during the war. Unlike the memories of Rochambeau, this manuscript deals with personal and lived experience. Therefore, it provides us with broader information about what the life of a high-ranking officer could have been during the war—which it is very different from the experience of soldiers, for example.

During his time in America, Dillon didn’t only fight; he also travelled a lot, especially in the Northeast, and encountered many people, including George Washington. That’s why his memoir sometimes sounds more like a travel diary than actual military memories. He also shows a good sense of humor and a taste for Roman-like narration, which can lead us to wonder if some parts of the memories weren’t a bit exaggerated.

Dillon was born in 1750. He was from a military family whose name had been given to a regiment (the Dillon regiment). He entered the army in 1765, aged fifteen, and quickly climbed up the military ladder until he was promoted colonel of the Dillon regiment in 1768.

During the Revolutionary War, he was first sent to the Antilles (he was wounded in Grenada), and then to America. His memories about his time in America are told in his journal.

At the end of the war, he came back to France, just a few years before the French Revolution breaks out. Having chosen to stay loyal to the king, he encountered numerous obstacles in his career. As violence intensified, he was finally arrested and beheaded in 1794.”

-Alice du Gardin, July 2025

 

Selected Extracts and Translations
(see also English translation, Jane L. Bush, 2020.)

At the beginning of the journal, Dillon narrates his encounters with General Washington and Eliza Hamilton:

Journal of Robert Guillaume Dillon, 1780-1781, page 1

After having walked almost one mile, we arrived at the house where the hero of the Revolution, for whom my astonishment and my admiration rose with each moment, was staying. It was around five o’clock and he was still at his dessert; the Marquis de Lafayette (Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, marquis) was at the table with him. We withdrew with discretion when the Marquis, who had without any doubt already been notified that there were French officers at the door, ran after us and, recognizing Mr. de Charlus who was his friend, led us immediately to the dining room and introduced us to the General. Mr. Washington offered his hand to us affectionately; I presented mine with a respectful bow, after which he turned to Mrs. Washington (Martha Washington) to whom he introduced us, as well as to General Howe (Robert Howe) and Colonel Jackson (Henry Jackson) who were dining with him.

Mr. Washington completely fulfilled the impression I had made of him. It seemed that nature was pleased to lavish upon him what she often grants with whimsicality. She bestowed upon him a general effect which seduces accordingly when one gazes upon him; his large personality and his soul are etched in his features. I would have recognized the General among a thousand officers of his army without any trouble. He is one of the most handsome men I have ever seen, but it is a kind of handsomeness that emanates more from his soul than from his outward appearance. His ways are noble and easy, without embarrassment nor affectation. Speaking little, but with strength, his voice is gentle without losing what the Majestic gives to the expressions of a voice, strong and clear. We sat down at the table with him and drank several toasts.

After having dined, we moved to the adjoining room where we stayed until supper-time. I had a fairly long conversation with his Excellency. As it was not for me to ask questions, I let him take the lead. The conversation turned to the country through which I had just travelled; he seemed delighted by the praise I made of it. Mr. de Charlus, who had been to Boston, spoke to him, with admiration, about the places which had inspired him where he had made his first campaign against the British.

He laughed a lot with us about the fear of the English, saying that if they had turned out just two thousand men he would have been obligated to retreat.

Someone came to let us know that supper was served. We passed through to the dining room where several minutes later Mrs. Washington arrived, accompanied by Mrs. Hamilton (Elisabeth “Eliza” Schuyler Hamilton), a young and pretty woman, recently married to Mr. Hamilton (Alexander Hamilton) General Washington’s personal aide-de-camp. The young man is witty and talented, and speaks French admirably. We retired shortly after having dinner.

 

Dillon then travels through many American cities and describes many places he visited, including Philadelphia and Baltimore:

Journal of Robert Guillaume Dillon, 1780-1781, page 13

Philadelphia is perfectly beautiful and orderly; all houses there are made of brick. The place where Congress assembles is a really beautiful building. I lodged at the residence of the Spanish Ambassador; the house he occupies would be as beautiful in Paris. Philadelphia is built on the model of the city of London; one is surprised to see the large number of beautiful ships (there are more than 150 vessels docked at the port.) If America wins [the war], Philadelphia, in a hundred years, will be equal, at least, to London or Paris. We were charmingly received by Mr. le Chevalier de la Luzerne (Anne-César, chevalier de la Luzerne), Minister Plenipotentiary of France, and fêted with a number of balls and very pleasant gatherings. The women have almost all adopted French fashions. Several of them surprised me by the taste and the style of their adornment; their shoes impressed me the most. They are, in general, much better heeled than the women in our largest cities. They all dance terribly but, nevertheless, it’s all the rage to dance French contra dances. I noticed that, with their unpretentious look, they are, at the very least, as fashionable as are our ladies. But they limit their intelligence to flirting, gallantry still being in its infancy. One must hope that their marital partners will take charge of their education and that, from here, in ten to twelve years, they will at least be discreet and will start to make themselves understood in the houses of Philadelphia.

After three weeks of my visit, Mr. de Charlus and I decided to travel through Pennsylvania and Maryland until Annapolis which is situated on the other side of the Chesapeake Bay.

[…] [The Chesapeake Bay is] one of the most beautiful bays in the world. It forms a basin of about seven or eight leagues in circumference at the location from where we saw it. The Susquehanna is, after the Potomac, the most beautiful of all the rivers which flow into this bay. While crossing the river, we saw an astonishing number of all kinds of birds, some of which were eagles, who walked very solemnly on the ice floes which were carried along by the river. Twelve miles from there we bedded down in the town of Buck.

The [15th] we arrived in Baltimore, the most commercial and wealthiest town of all those situated on the Chesapeake Bay. We stayed there a day and a half. Its port is likely to have all possible comforts and will certainly be one of the largest on this continent. There are about four thousand souls in the town, and it has only been in the last thirty years that there have been more than twenty houses. We saw nice tobacco shops, etc.; about forty small vessels. The port is defended by a bad fort. We counted upon going to Annapolis but we were assured that all the inhabitants had deserted it and had retreated to the countryside by fear of an attack by Arnold, and someone also told us that the town was much less notable than it used to be but, as it was the county seat of Maryland, all the wealthy people of the province had beautiful homes there where they spent winter and [had] created a pleasant community.

 

About the Library

The research library of the American Revolution Institute houses more than fifty thousand rare books, manuscripts, prints, broadsides, maps and modern reference sources, and is one of the most important resources in the world for advanced study on the Revolution. The library welcomes researchers to use the collections by appointment and supports scholarship by offering several research fellowships each year to graduate students and advanced scholars. To learn more, and make an appointment click here.

Mapping the Revolution with Information Science Graduate Students

The library of the American Revolution Institute recently hosted four graduate students as part of the University of Michigan’s School of Information (UMSI) Alternative Spring Break program. The UMSI students spent a week in Washington, D.C., to work with us on a project, “Mapping the Revolution,” that supports cataloging and digitization of historic and rare maps. Beginning in 2025, a selection of the American Revolution Institute’s maps, charts, views and surveys will be featured in American Revolutionary Geographies Online, a new online resource led by the Leventhal Map and Education Center at the Boston Public Library and the George Washington Presidential Library at Mount Vernon.

To increase exposure and improve the discoverability of the Society of the Cincinnati’s map collection, UMSI students surveyed additional maps, improved catalog records and completed an inventory of cartographical materials which have not yet been digitized. In this post, we are happy to share discoveries made by the University of Michigan team and to highlight their favorite maps to demonstrate how informational professionals can help support the library’s mission to advance scholarship of the American Revolution.

From left to right, UMSI graduate students Sarah Moore, Erin Mettler, Clare Sahijdak and Latitude Brown

“My favorite map is the Carte du Theatre de la Guerre Dans L’Inde ou se trouvent une parue de la Chine, or ‘Map of the Theatre of War in India where part of China is located.’ This map is extremely detailed and shows a series of 18th-century conflicts in India and the East Indies including the Anglo-French War, the Fourth Anglo-Dutch War and the Second Anglo-Mysore War. While not of the United States, this map shows how the American Revolution was a global event and part of a pattern of conflicts and wars that took place around the world. This 1781 map is a single sheet from a series of maps intended to showcase expanding conflicts that then shaped the French Empire. While working to digitize this map, I was able to learn more about the far-reaching effects of the American Revolution and to think more critically about the impacts that seemingly localized conflicts can have on the broader world and political landscape.” – Erin Mettler

Carte du Theatre de la Guerre Dans L'Inde ou se trouvent une parue de la Chine (cropped)

Detail of Carte du Theatre de la Guerre Dans L’Inde ou se trouvent une parue de la Chine, 1781

“My favorite map isVorstellung einiger Gegenden und Plaetze in Nord-America unter Franzoesisch und Englishce Jurisdiction gehoerig, or ‘Presentation of some areas and places in North America under French and English jurisdiction.’ It was printed in Germany in 1756 and includes views of Canadian cities. It’s not just a map of the land, there’s also a ‘plan for the town of Halifax,’ which reflects a once-held vision for the future of the location. I wondered how the past’s future lives up to today’s reality. This map was also hand-colored, which set it apart from other versions. Many of the maps we looked at dated from the 1700s and were over three hundred years old. I currently work with digital and born-digital material, which is much closer to our current day. Over the week at the American Revolution Institute, I learned that maps are another tool held in libraries that help us to imagine hypothetical time travel. Diaries and journals serve as similar primary sources as they document what people did and discussed. However, maps are not only representations of what was, but also what was hoped some places might become. Maps invite viewers to think not just about the geographical transformations but also cultural and political shifts that occurred since their creation. These maps are also pieces of art and pieces of power; they serve as excerpts of how colonialism shaped our world and its future.” – Latitude Brown

Presentation of some areas and places in North America under French and English jurisdiction, 1756

“My favorite map is the Particular Draughts and Plans of some of the Principal Towns and Harbours belonging to the English, French, and Spaniards in America and West Indies. I enjoyed how it emphasizes the other countries then invested in the Americas. The map depicts thirteen different towns, and it is fascinating to see how these locales differed based on geography and population. Beyond the amazing opportunity to browse rare and historical maps, I researched their accessibility through WorldCat. I counted how many institutions claimed to hold each map and which institutions also had their maps available digitally.  I was happy to find that some maps in the Society of the Cincinnati’s collection have not been digitized by any library in the world. This project is a great opportunity for the Society of the Cincinnati to showcase their significant rare map collection and bring in researchers who study events around the American Revolution. Though the collection focuses on the time of the American Revolution, the maps are from all around the world, because the Revolution affected more nations than the United States and England.” – Sarah Moore

Detail of Particular Draughts and Plans of some of the Principal Towns and Harbours belonging to the English, French, and Spaniards, in America and West Indies, ca. 1747

“One map that I enjoyed working with was called A New Map of the Province of Quebec. This map is from the year 1776 and was pieced together on fabric because the paper has been worn thin from where its previous owner(s) folded it multiple times. I was amazed at how the indexes at the top of the map were stylized to look like additional sheets of paper and how the yellow and teal coastlines were intricately hand colored. This map is truly a work of art. Since I currently work with 20th-century first edition books, I am always fascinated by how the historical objects we study today are things once used in daily life. Working with this map, I was able to have a detailed glimpse into this copy of the map’s physical history, but also how the world was experienced in 1776. Even though we were working to digitize these maps, seeing this map in person at the library has enriched how I understand the period of the American Revolution and how cartographic resources can be described as unique copies in libraries.” – Clare Sahijdak

A section of A New Map of the Province of Quebec, 1776

The American Revolution Institute research library and archives houses more than fifty thousand rare books, manuscripts, prints, broadsides, maps and modern reference sources and is one of the most important resources in the world for advanced study on the revolution. The library welcomes researchers to use the collections by appointment and supports scholarship by offering several research fellowships each year to graduate students and advanced scholars. The work supported by students from the University of Michigan’s School of Information Alternative Spring Break on “Mapping the Revolution” will increase and improve digitization of the map collection. Stay tuned for more updates about collections, posts from research fellows, and more.

Click here to learn more about the American Revolution Institute library and collections.

The Mysterious Hero’s Return

Among the most curious treasures in the library of the American Revolution Institute is a monochrome aquatint with etching of a properly dressed gentleman with his left hand gripping the pommel of his sword and his right arm draped around a bare-breasted woman whose arm is curled suggestively around his neck. The legend reads The Hero returned from Boston. The publication line reads “London. Printed for Thos. Hart, as Act directs, 7th Sepr. 1776.” The print is excruciatingly rare. Besides our imprint, there is one in the Yale University Art Gallery.

Our effort to understand the print leads down peculiar byways of the eighteenth-century print business. The name of the publisher, Thomas Hart, is associated with a series of fictitious portraits of American leaders, including George Washington (including one on horseback and one on foot), John Hancock, Israel Putnam, David Wooster, Horatio Gates, Charles Lee, Esek Hopkins, Benedict Arnold, John Sullivan, and John Paul Jones, dated between 1775 and 1779. These prints, all of which are mezzotints, are attributed to publishers Thomas Hart, C. Shepherd, and John Morris.

The Hero returned from Boston is an engraving a bare-breasted woman with her arm curled around the neck of a properly dressed gentleman with a sword.

None of these prints bears any real resemblance to its subject, despite the publishers’ effort to persuade customers that they were authentic likenesses. The print of Hancock, the legend says, was based on a portrait by an artist named Littleford, though no artist named Littleford is otherwise associated with Hancock. The legends on the prints of Washington claims they were based on a portrait “Drawn from the life by Alexr. Campbell of Williamsburgh in Virginia.” Joseph Reed sent one of the prints to Martha Washington. It amused the general, who wrote that the artist, whoever he was, had “made a very formidable figure of the Commander-in-Chief, giving him a sufficient portion of terror in his countenance.” Alas, Washington pointed out, he had never met Mr. Campbell of Williamsburg. No artist of that name is known to have worked in Virginia.

The portraits were mostly fraudulent, turned out quickly to meet public demand for images of the leaders of the American rebellion. All of the prints may, in fact, have been produced for the London market in Augsburg, a German city that was a center of commercial print production. Their style—the markedly heavy features, large eyes, dark shadows, and treatment of details of clothing and accoutrements—is characteristic of Augsburg engravings.

Even more curious, the names of Thomas Hart, C. Shepherd, and John Morris seem to be fictitious as well. With one exception, their names are not associated with any other prints. The only plausible explanation for the use of these fictitious names is that the true publishers wanted to profit by selling images of the American Revolutionaries but preferred not to be closely associated with these products, which were, after all, heroic images of traitors who had taken up arms against the king.

The Hero returned from Boston is the outlier among the odd prints published by the fictitious Thomas Hart. It is the only etching, with aquatint or otherwise, associated with Hart’s name. The Hero returned from Boston is also the only one of the Hart prints in which the subjects are not named. Who is the hero returned from Boston? And who is the woman clinging so provocatively to him?

Since Hart’s name was associated with prints of American rebels we might jump to the conclusion that the hero is George Washington and the scantily clad woman is Martha, welcoming the general home from his victory in the Siege of Boston, and that the print was intended to mock the American rebel chieftain. Entertaining as that solution might be, evidence suggests the leering hero and his bare-breasted companion are another couple.

The man in the print bears a casual resemblance to General Thomas Gage as portrayed by John Singleton Copley in 1768. Gage had commissioned the portrait and when it was complete, sent it home to England. “The Generals Picture was received at home with universal applause,” one of Gage’s aides reported to Copley in 1770, “and Looked on by real good Judges as a Masterly performance. It is placed in one of the Capital Apartments of Lord Gage’s house in Arlington Street.”

John Singleton Copley painted this portrait of General Thomas Gage in 1768.

John Singleton Copley began his portrait of Thomas Gage in the fall of 1768, when the general traveled to Boston to oversee the occupation of the city by British Regulars (Museum of Fine Arts, Boston).

We remember Gage as the first British general whose career was wrecked by the American Revolutionary War, which would ruin the careers of William Howe, John Burgoyne, and Henry Clinton, each in turn. Of the principle British commanders in America, only Charles, Lord Cornwallis—humiliated at Yorktown—salvaged his career. A successful governor-general of India, he lies in a monumental tomb overlooking the Ganges and is memorialized in Saint Paul’s Cathedral.

None of the four equaled the rise of Thomas Gage. He came to America as a lieutenant colonel under Gen. Edward Braddock. He distinguished himself in Braddock’s disastrous expedition against Fort Duquesne and thereafter rose through the senior ranks of the army. He was promoted to colonel in 1758. That same year he married Margaret Kemble, the beautiful daughter of a wealthy New Jersey merchant. Gage served in Jeffrey Amherst’s operations against Montreal and was then appointed governor of Montreal. A major general by 1761, Gage became acting commander in chief of British forces in North America in 1763 and officially succeeded Amherst in that role in 1764.

As His Majesty’s commander in chief Gage was responsible for disseminating information and instructions from London, enforcing acts of Parliament, settling disputes between the fractious colonial governments, policing the frontier, managing relations with the Indians, maintaining dozens of forts, defending imperial posts, and coordinating colonial defenses. Gage maintained communications with the governors of every colony in North America and several West Indian islands.

He handled his vast and varied administrative responsibilities with skill, even as relations between Britain and the colonies deteriorated. In 1770 he was promoted to lieutenant general. He was widely admired—a hero, even—on both sides of the Atlantic. Many Americans regarded him as one of their own. He purchased thousands of acres in upstate New York and in what became New Brunswick to leave to his growing family. When Gage went to England on a leave of absence in the spring of 1773, dozens of American leaders, including George Washington, gathered at a party in New York to see him off.

During the year that Gage was in England, American affairs reached a crisis. The Crown sent him back to America not only as commander in chief but also as royal governor of Massachusetts charged with implementing Parliament’s punitive measures against that colony.

Within a year his career unraveled. The military occupation of Boston infuriated the colonists and fueled resistance. Gage’s military force was wholly inadequate to suppress the insurrection. It never controlled more than the ground on which it stood and often not even that much. A force he sent to Concord in April to seize weapons stockpiled by the resistance was mauled by militia. Nine weeks later he lost hundreds more soldiers in an assault on rebel militia on the Charlestown Neck in the Battle of Bunker Hill.

Gage received orders recalling him to London on September 26, turned his command over to General Sir William Howe on October 10, and arrived in London on November 14. The next day he met privately with the king, who showed no inclination to blame Gage for what had happened in America. It was hardly a hero’s return.

The resemblance of the man in The Hero returned from Boston to Copley’s portrait of Thomas Gage is superficial at best, but the resemblance of the woman to Copley’s portrait of Gage’s wife, Margaret Kemble Gage, is striking. The Hero returned from Boston is a commentary about husband and wife.

Copley painted Mrs. Gage in 1771 in a languid pose wear wearing an iridescent Turkish style caftan over a lace trimmed chemise with an embroidered belt at her waist. Pearls and a turban-like swath of drapery adorn her hair. This style, known as turquerie, was the height of fashion for masquerade balls in Europe, but was largely unknown in British America, where women had no opportunity to wear such attire, which was intended to suggest the costumes worn by Turkish women in the Ottoman court. It was a style western Europeans imagined was fashionable in the sultan’s harem, a symbol of Oriental luxury and vice. Most western European turquerie bore only a slight resemblance to Ottoman costume, but it symbolized what western Europeans imagined the Turkish court was like—a mysterious place where powerful men kept women for pleasure and where exceptional women used their physical charms to dominate and control men.

Margaret Kemble Gage, portrayed here by John Singleton Copley, relaxes in faux Turkish garb. Copley traveled to New York to paint the portrait.

John Singleton Copley portrayed Margaret Kemble Gage in exotic attire inspired by the Turkish court (Timken Museum of Art).

Part of the attraction of turquerie was that it was sexually suggestive without being lewd. In Copley’s portrait Mrs. Gage is not wearing a corset and reclines in her loose fitting clothes. Copley called it “beyond Compare the best Lady’s portrait I ever Drew.” Proud of the portrait, the Gages packed it off to London, where it created a mild sensation when it was displayed.

Copley played on the fact that Margaret was known as a touch exotic. She was one quarter English, one quarter Greek, one quarter Dutch, and one quarter French. Her father, Peter Kemble, was the son of an English merchant who traded with Ottoman Empire. Peter was born in Smyrna, a Greek enclave on the Turkish coast. His mother—Margaret’s grandmother—was a Greek woman from the nearby island of Chios. Peter arrived in New York around 1730 and settled in New Jersey, where he quickly established himself as a merchant and became the largest landowner in Morris County. His first wife, Getrude Bayard—Margaret’s mother—made Margaret a cousin to the de Lanceys, van Courtlands and other prominent New York families.

Peter Kemble was proud of his Greek background. So was his daughter, who was recognized in New York society for her unusual beauty and self-assurance. Through most of Gage’s service as commander in chief he made his headquarters in New York City, where Margaret—attractive, vivacious, outgoing, and well connected—was the perfect wife for an ambitious, rising general. Her husband’s military subordinates referred to her as “the dutchess.” She was a talented hostess and bright conversationalist. The general and his wife were rarely apart.

Margaret returned to America with her husband in 1774, but circumstances had changed. The general made his headquarters in Massachusetts, where she had few acquaintances. As relations between the colonists and the army degenerated some of her husband’s British subordinates found her American birth, self-confident manner, and intimate relationship with their commander had become reasons to distrust her. So did many Massachusetts loyalists, to whom she was an exotic stranger. She was connected to all the best families in New York and navigated among them with skill and grace, but this meant little to the clannish loyalists of eastern Massachusetts. She was not one of them.

Rumors went around that Margaret Gage was sympathetic to the rebellion, despite the fact that her father was a loyalist, her brother was a major in the British army and deputy adjutant general, and her husband was commander in chief of the king’s forces in North America. The displaced governor, Thomas Hutchinson, noted that she had once said to him that “she hoped her husband would never be the instrument of sacrificing the lives of her countrymen,” but her husband probably shared that sentiment. The war was a tragedy for their family as it was for the empire.

The rumors had no foundation, but the idea that the army’s secrets were being betrayed by someone close to the general offered an explanation for what seemed so inexplicable: British soldiers cut down by colonial militia, trapped in Boston by provincials, impotent to suppress a colonial rebellion led by farmers.

With Boston under siege, beset by food shortages and disease and filled with hundreds of wounded soldiers mangled in battle, Gage put Margaret on a ship bound for England in August 1775. The vessel was filled with women, children, and scores of wounded British soldiers. The voyage was miserable. When the ship reached Plymouth, a witness recorded that “a few of the men came on shore, when never hardly were seen such objects! Some without legs, and others without arms; and their cloaths hanging on them like a loose morning gown, so much were they fallen away by sickness and want of proper nourishment … the vessel itself, though very large, was almost intolerable, from the stench arising from the sick and wounded.”

Rumors of veiled disloyalty preceded Margaret Gage to London and were current when she and her husband were reunited in November. The general, his critics implied, was uxorious, a word not much used today, but which Dr. Johnson’s eighteenth-century dictionary defines as “submissively fond of a wife; infected with connubial dotage.” The rumors served to explain how the American rabble had repulsed the flower of the king’s army and trapped it in Boston.

The Hero returned from Boston plays on the theme of Oriental seduction. The woman, who is clearly Margaret Gage, stands up from the upholstered couch on which Copley had placed her. Her belt is discarded and the Turkish caftan has slipped from her shoulder as she wraps herself around the general, taking control, the embodiment of vice and corruption. The reunion of husband and wife reveals Gage’s weakness and explains his failure and the army’s humiliation. “Gage poor wretch is scarcely thought of,” an artillery officer wrote, “he is below contempt.”

For more on Margaret Gage, we recommend Boston historian J.L. Bell’s blog, Boston 1775, which includes a thoughtful examination of the charge that she betrayed her husband’s confidence and passed military secrets to Joseph Warren. J.L. Bell finds the charge implausible. We are indebted to him for identifying an error in an earlier version of this essay.

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