Political Aspect of the Capitulation—Treaty of Versailles—English Exodus—Widow of the White House.

The terms of the surrender of Fort George, as stated in the previous chapter, present the strictly military side of the capitulation. But there was also a political aspect to the formal articles, signed on the ninth of May, by General Campbell, Governor Chester, and General Galvez. West Florida was surrendered to Spain, and it was stipulated, that “the British inhabitants, or those who may have been subjects of the King of Great Britain in said countries, may retire in full security, and may sell their estates, and remove their effects as well as their persons; the time limited for their emigration being fixed at the space of eighteen months.”

It was that political feature of the capitulation which made Governor Chester’s signature necessary, and to that it related exclusively. That of General Campbell referred to the strictly military stipulations only. In the former we may find one of General Galvez’s inducements to submit to the British general’s “requirements.”

The object of the Spanish government in directing the invasion of West Florida was to permanently regain the territory which Spain had surrendered to Great Britain in 1763; and in addition, to obtain that part of Louisiana on the Gulf of Mexico which the latter had acquired from France. Consequently, the large expedition so long in preparing against Pensacola, and so disproportionate to the mere capture of the place, was intended for colonization, as well as conquest. Such being the policy of his government, Galvez necessarily subordinated all other considerations to its achievement. Accordingly, his overwhelming numbers designed to overawe opposition; his ponderous siege artillery intended to batter Fort George into ruins without danger to the town; avoidance of all movements by his fleet against it as well as all injury to it by his artillery during the siege; and, lastly, the article above quoted pointed to the colonization of a Spanish population, for the accommodation of which the English homes were to be vacated, and their inmates forced into exile. If that object could be obtained by the capitulation, there was nothing within the lines of Spanish policy to be gained by taking Fort George by storm, at the fearful sacrifice of human life which it would have cost. The French might, indeed, complain that the agreement with them respecting British troops in Florida was violated by conceding the terms demanded by General Campbell; but diplomacy, the science of excuses and pretexts, would be equal to the task of satisfying them. As to the Americans, it was of little consequence to Spain that General Clinton’s forces would be strengthened by the reinforcement of the Florida troops, albeit at a conjuncture when every available man was required to sustain Britain’s tottering North American empire. For though Spain became an ally of France in order to place herself in a position to claim a fragment of that empire when it fell, yet her purpose was to attain that end with the least possible inconvenience or sacrifice to herself.

That General Washington was satisfied with the apology of Galvez made through de Grasse may well be doubted. His dignity, however, forbade complaint. Besides, the promise violated was made to the French; if they were satisfied, respect for them imposed silence upon the Americans. But there is in the paragraph of the letter to Rendon, before quoted, a vein of irony, the sting of which, coming from such a man, Galvez must have keenly felt.

As already intimated, the above quoted provision of the capitulation became substantially the Fifth Article of the treaty between Great Britain and Spain, signed on the twenty-eighth of January, 1783, at Versailles.^[38]

The condition in which that treaty placed the Florida-English was peculiar. Spain was not opposed to foreigners living in her colonies, provided they were Catholics; and it was well understood, that any English who were, or should become, such would be at liberty to remain in Florida in the full enjoyment of their liberty and property.^[39]

History does not afford a more striking contrast between the conduct of two nations under similar circumstances, to the honor of one, and the reproach of the other, than that between Spain and Great Britain, as they are presented by the treaties of Paris and Versailles. In the former, Spanish subjects were secured in their persons, religion, liberty and property. In the latter, Great Britain virtually stipulated for the banishment of hers, and the confiscation of their estates. The privilege of selling their property within eighteen months was but a mockery; for purchasers were not only few, but well aware, likewise, that a trifling consideration would in the end be preferable to a total sacrifice.

The British government professed to compensate the victims of her policy; but her justice was confined to those whose claims upon it were the slightest; to the absentees owning large tracts of land which had been granted by the crown, and who did not see fit to go to the provinces to attempt to effect sales. ^[40]But no indemnity was provided for those who had made their homes in the provinces, under the gilded representations and inviting promises of their governors in the name of His Protestant Majesty, George III., Defender of the Faith.

The conduct of Spain in this matter is hardly censurable, when it is remembered that it occurred in an age of religious intolerance. She was a Catholic power and wanted no Protestant subjects. Her own had left Florida in 1763, as soon as the Spanish flag was lowered. In the articles of capitulation and the treaty of 1783 she had enforced her traditional policy. And to her credit, be it said, that she did not enforce banishment and confiscation after eighteen months had expired under the former; and when that period had elapsed under the latter, she granted an extension of four months. Great Britain, on the other hand, in yielding to Spain’s demands was false to her faith, false to her traditions, and false to that boasted principle of her constitution that her Ægis covers every Englishman, in every land.

Eighteen months is but a fleeting span to a people, when it is but a respite from confiscation and exile, avoidable only by apostasy.

Of the heartaches of the exodus of the Florida-English we have an illustration in the widow of the White House. She had lived out the eighteen months under the capitulation, and the like period under the treaty, when the extension came to her like a respite to the condemned.

Those four months embraced the days and nights of her struggle in the toils of temptation, foreshadowed in a previous page. Can she leave that home, consecrated by the graves of her husband and her child; that home where every object, tree, vine, shrub, sea, sky, and the very wild violets at her feet, brought up hallowed associations and sacred memories which made them all parts of her very being? No! The surrender would be at the cost of as many bleeding heart strings. There is, however, an escape in apostasy. She has but to signify her wish to renounce her faith; that faith, however, with which she had consoled a dying husband, and in which she had buried a darling child. Home triumphs. The governor is notified.

Time wanes to the day of sacrifice. The bell tolls the sacrificial hour. The priest stands at the altar ready for the offering. But the victim fails the tryst. Faith triumphs. The bonds of temptation are snapped. Turning her back upon home, she goes forth an exile; crowned, we may well believe, with the promise to all the true of every creed who leave “lands” and “houses” for His name’s sake, to swell the mighty host of woman martyrs; time’s woeful harvest of blighted lives and broken hearts; victims of man’s ambitions, his wars, his policies, and his laws.