American History Tellers - Revolution | The Empire Builder | 2

Episode Date: July 4, 2018

In 1776, the British Under Secretary of State for the American Colonies was giddy. The Americans needed to be punished like children for their bad behavior. “Roman severity,” he called it, and then when he crushed the rebellion, the American children could come crawling back to their British parents, begging for forgiveness. It would be his crowning glory, he thought. It was not.Support us by supporting our sponsors!This Series of American History Tellers is written by Russell Shorto, author of the book Revolution Song. Get your copy of Revolution Song from W.W. Norton today.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Imagine you're a tavern keeper in the English city of Liverpool. The year is 1776. Your place is right near the harbor. You can hear the calls of seagulls and the cries of sailors readying their vessels from outside your window. Your customers are merchants and shippers, the sort of people who transport the goods that make the British Empire run. Tobacco, salt, sugar,

grain, and yet slaves. The sun is setting and a few of your regulars walk in. As you get them their usual drinks, rum, wine, coffee, and tea, they start chattering about the latest news they've picked up at the dock. It's outrageous. What do the Americans think they're doing anyway, attacking British soldiers? They have every right to. The mayor of London himself says so, after what our soldiers did to them last year, shooting down unarmed injured old men. That was a damned lie spread by the rebels. How are we supposed to know what to believe if people are making up news? I just hope it's over quick. It's going to bankrupt me. There's no more trade with America.

That's my whole livelihood. You slide the men their drinks as they continue to rant. And what do we get out of this war but new taxes on top of other taxes? Why do the Americans get to fight against taxes and we do not? It's at this point that you have some unfortunate news for your patrons. Gentlemen, I'm afraid your drinks are going to cost a little more than usual today. New taxes came down just yesterday on wine, rum, coffee, and tea. There's a round of angry responses to this. Then someone says something everyone seemed to agree on. You know who's the cause of all of this, don't you? Lord George Germain, curse his name. You join with the others in roaring agreement to this. Lord George Germain is the Undersecretary of State for the American Colonies. He is a large man with

a powerful body and a red face, capped by the powdered wig that all gentlemen wear. He exudes power and authority. If you walked into the tavern just now, you'd recognize him instantly. He is in charge of carrying out this war against the upstart Americans. And while you and many inside and outside the government are uncertain about the wisdom of this venture, he feels very much up to the task. In fact, though much of Britain believes the war is fatally misguided, he is almost giddy about it. Let his countrymen go on cursing him, Germain thinks. Let them prattle on about rights and freedoms and taxes. He knows what must be done. The colonies are like children.

They need to be punished for their bad behavior. Roman severity, he calls it. And then the American children will come crawling back to their British parents, begging for forgiveness. Then the business of expanding the empire can go on. He believes it will actually be a fairly simple task. He will crush the American rebellion quickly and decisively in one campaign. It should be his crowning glory, but it will not. were in danger. Follow Kill List wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to Kill List and more Exhibit C true crime shows like Morbid early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus. Hey, this is Nick. And this is Jack. And we just launched a brand new podcast called The Best Idea Yet. You may have heard of it. It's all about the untold origin stories of the products you're obsessed with. Listen to The Best Idea Yet on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers. Our history, your story.

On the previous episode of American History Tellers, we followed a Virginia farmer named George Washington, from boyhood to his early fame in the French and Indian War. We saw how taxes and rising prices pushed him and thousands of other British colonists in North America from loyalty to the crown to hostility. They found inspiration in the ideas of the Enlightenment, ideas about individual liberty being a natural right for all. And in 1776, they took the momentous step of declaring their independence, which quickly turned to war. Their military, known as the Continental Army, was ill-equipped. Their commander, George Washington, had limited battle experience, and their enemy was the greatest army the world had ever known. This series was written by best-selling author Russell Shorto

and follows the six lives he focused on in his award-winning book, Revolution Song. In this episode, we turn our attention to the other side of the war, and we'll focus on the man who ran it for England, Lord George Germain. Strangely, we rarely get the story of the American Revolution from the perspective of the British. For many of them, it was less about freedom than power. And yet, as we'll see, there wasn't just one British view of events. This is Episode 2, The Empire Builder. When the first news of fighting in America reached England, people reacted with shock and surprise. They

didn't expect the Americans to start an actual war. Of course, there had been a steady stream of grievances as the colonies expressed their dissatisfaction with English rule. But ordinary Englishmen in cities like Liverpool, Bristol, and Manchester were dissatisfied too. They assumed the Americans would do what they always did, grumble, then keep plotting along. They were confused by the first reports of military clashes in America. Didn't Britain forbid the Americans from making weapons and gunpowder? How were they arming themselves? Answers to these questions came soon enough. Colonial leaders, alarmed at the thought of British soldiers patrolling their towns, began importing weapons from other European nations. And legislatures ordered blacksmiths to start making

guns and ordinary citizens to learn how to use them. The English had to ponder some larger points too. The colonists were English, just as they were. They were cousins and brothers, uncles and aunts. They were family. Why would they take the radical step of attacking their own people? Lord George Germain didn't care to ponder such details. For him, there was a natural order. Society was divided by classes. At the top was the nobility. These were lords and dukes and earls, people like him, who had inherited titles attached to their names. Then came the gentry, people without titles but who had social standing. Then came the merchants and the tradespeople, and finally,

the peasants. Men were above women. The king was above all. This order was beyond question. England had a God-given right to colonize distant lands. The spread of the empire was the spread of Christian morality and justice. True, some argued that invading, imposing rule, and taking resources from other peoples was at odds with Christian principles. But Germain was not one of them. He was born and raised to be a man of power. His name at birth wasn't Germain, but Sackville. The Sackvilles were, and still are, one of the oldest noble families in England. The Sackvilles were, and still are, one of the oldest noble families in England. The Sackvilles were knights of the noble order of the garter. They were earls and dukes. They traced their family line back to Erbran de Sackville, a medieval Frenchman who crossed the

English Channel with William the Conqueror in 1066. And it was that crossing, part of the French military takeover of the British Isles, that set up modern England. Young George Sackville was born in 1716. He grew up amid all the splendor and privilege that the English aristocracy could offer, and that was quite a lot. The castle he called home, one of the largest private houses in England, had 365 rooms, one for every day. His father, Lionel, the Duke of Dorset,

was a diplomat. When George was still a boy, he moved with him to Ireland, where the Duke was to serve as Lord Lieutenant, and the Lord Lieutenant was the main instrument for this control. But as George grew older, he didn't like what he saw. His father was mild-mannered, to a fault. George, when he wasn't attending Trinity College in Dublin, worked as his father's secretary. He watched the Irish politicians run circles around his father, taking advantage and grabbing back power where they could. George, meanwhile, was unstoppably aggressive.

He had been since birth. He craved authority and counted himself lucky that he was born into the greatest nation on earth, one with a growing empire. He couldn't wait to join the military to take part in that expansion. When he finally left Ireland, George Sackville took with him a lesson from all those years watching his father. You don't run an empire by being weak and accommodating. You do it with force. Force is what he brought with him to the European continent. He was young and ambitious, and there was a great war on against England's greatest rival, the French.

The Seven Years' War, which ran from 1756 to 1763, was a massive conflict that spanned the entire globe. Some scholars have even referred to it as the First True World War. The American Front, called the French and Indian War, was in many ways the precursor to the American Revolution, but battles raged in far-off lands, from India to Russia. At its center was a dispute between Austria and Prussia, but ultimately the war became an excuse for the two great European powers, France and England, to try to jockey for dominance, and many of the other nations lined up on one side or the other. The war's largest battles took place on the European continent. They were staggeringly vast and complex affairs, involving tens of thousands

of soldiers on each side, arrayed in classic line formations hurling themselves one after the other with horrific yet choreographed violence. It was here, on those fields, that young George Sackville proved himself. He rose to prominence as an officer of skill and extraordinary grit. He was even wounded in battle, which only added luster to his name. And as his fame grew, people began talking about this brash young nobleman as a future prime minister. And then it all came crashing down. The year was 1759. It was three years into the war, and Sackville was leading the cavalry at the battle in Minden in present-day Germany, when he received an order to charge and

delayed in carrying it out. His commanders believed the maneuver would win the battle so decisively that the French would be forced to end the war, but instead he charged late, and the war ground on. Seemingly overnight, Sackville became the most hated man in England. Why didn't he charge? Was the famously aggressive officer actually afraid of battle? Was he secretly being paid off by the French? As questions mounted, Sackville insisted on a court-martial to clear his name.

Friends told him it was a rash move, but he got his day in court and a guilty verdict. He was kicked out of the army and declared unfit to serve in the British military. Crowds burned effigies of him on the streets of English cities. But George had an irrepressible nature. Slowly, he worked his way back up through the political ranks. Four years later, after the British won the war, he took part in discussions about how to pay the enormous bill. He pressed harder than anyone for taxing the Americans.

But his colleagues in the government weren't so sure. Imagine you are a newly elected member of Britain's Parliament. It's 1765, 11 years before the start of the Revolutionary War. You're from a remote district in Yorkshire, and this is your first time in London. Everything about the big, crowded city seems strange, but you're excited to be here and do your part for the government. And today is the day you are about to cast your first vote in the House of Commons for a new set of taxes on the Americans. As you enter the hall, you see your secretary, a short, stout man with glasses. He approaches you anxiously.

Did you get the papers I left for you last night? Yes, thank you. I'm still torn. We've never taxed them directly. But you said so yourself just yesterday. The money is going right back to them to pay for our troops to protect them. They'll consider it theft. I don't mean to speak out of turn, but those Americans live and farm and work and make money because we let them.

Why shouldn't they pay taxes like every other subject? Yes, but where is the Americans' representative in this chamber? At just that moment, a voice calls out. Hear ye! Hear ye! You turn back to your secretary. Excuse me, I must find my seat. I think they'll be starting soon. Forgive me, sir, but may I say, you're new here. It's just money.

He's right, you think. It is just money. The's right, you think. It is just money. The money of distant colonists. What are you letting yourself get so worked up about? It won't do to make enemies on your first day. You'll need these people in the months ahead. A gavel strikes, and a man at the center of the hall reads aloud the terms of the vote. There's no more time to deliberate, and you've now made up your mind.

All in favor? You stand up to speak. Aye. The Stamp Act passed in March of 1765. It would not only impose taxes on certain printed materials in the colonies, but would also assert Britain's right to levy such taxes. Up until that point, Americans were taxed, but only by their own legislatures in the colonies. This was the first time they would be taxed without representation. There were those in Britain who voiced concerns about this, but Sackville and others put such worries aside. For men like Sackville, the colonies were by definition subordinate to the home country. The idea that they had some authority in this matter, that they had some rights that overrode the rule of parliament, was simply nonsense.

When the Stamp Act took force in America later that year, it was met with outrage and protests throughout the colonies. No taxation without representation were words wielded like a battle cry. Instead of calming Britain's financial situation and bringing much-needed funds into the treasury, the Stamp Act ultimately didn't raise a cent and heightened tensions in the colonies and at home. In Whitehall, many politicians, including the renowned William Pitt, a member of the Whig Party, were in favor of repealing the Stamp Act in order to quell the outrage in the colonies. George Sackville felt that caving in was precisely

the wrong approach. If your child throws a fit about being disciplined, you don't stop the discipline and start coddling. You punish. Nothing but military power will make the Americans submit, he argued. But the government did repeal the Stamp Act, and just as Sackville had predicted, the colonists still weren't happy. As the situation in America worsened, Sackville's forceful approach began to win more attention in Whitehall, and so did he. In 1772, Sackville was made the Undersecretary of State for the American colonies.

It was a high rank, a sign that he had at last overcome his past disgrace on the battlefield. And when tensions turned violent three years later, at the Battles of Lexington and Concord, he was the man in charge of holding back the independence movement. His mission was to keep control over the American colonies, the crown jewels of Britain's growing empire. Sackville's appointment to undersecretary coincided with a name change. When an old family friend died with no children of her own, she willed her vast fortune to him, but the money came with a condition. Lady Betty Germaine wanted her name to live on. If George was to accept the Germaine fortune, he would have to take the Germain name,

too. It wasn't a hard decision. Overnight, George Sackville became George Germain. And as Germain, he began to push the war against the Americans. He did it with vigor. He believed with all his heart in British might, British empire, and England's right to rule over distant lands. But beneath that belief and effort lay a burning need. When he announced his name change, his enemies in Parliament and in the general public snickered that he was just trying to hide his past. They taunted him and called him the coward of Minden. The disgrace haunted him still.

And so he would use the war, the American Revolution, as a tool to redeem himself. He would be relentless. He would bring the Americans to heel. And he would show his enemies at home how to rule an empire. This is the emergency broadcast system. A ballistic missile threat has been detected inbound to your area. Your phone buzzes and you look down to find this alert. What do you do next?

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Incoming is a hilariously thrilling podcast that will leave you wondering, how would you spend your last few minutes on Earth? You can binge Incoming exclusively and ad-free on Wondery Plus. Thrillist. house next door to where I grew up, I started wondering about the inexplicable things that happened in my childhood bedroom. When I tried to find out more, I discovered that someone who slept in my room after me, someone I'd never met, was visited by the ghost of a faceless woman. So I started digging into the murder in my wife's family, and I unearthed family secrets nobody could have imagined. Ghost Story won Best Documentary Podcast at the 2024 Ambees, and is a Best True Crime nominee at the British Podcast Awards 2024. Ghost Story is Best Documentary Podcast at the 2024 Ambies and is a Best True Crime Nominee at the British Podcast Awards 2024. Ghost Story is now the first ever Apple Podcast Series Essential. Each month, Apple Podcast editors spotlight one series that has captivated listeners with masterful storytelling, creative excellence, and a unique creative voice and vision.

To recognize Ghost Story being chosen as the first series essential, Wondery has made it ad-free for a limited time, only on Apple Podcasts. If you haven't listened yet, head over to Apple Podcasts to hear for yourself. By 1775, the situation in America was rapidly deteriorating under Germain's charge. Protests in North America were growing, and the debate in Britain over what to do about the colonies was getting louder. Edmund Burke, a celebrated Whig statesman with fiery red hair and a fiery rhetoric to match, argued on behalf of the Americans. In a speech to the House of Commons, he said the only reason the Americans were rebelling against England was precisely because the colonists were so very English. The people of the colonies are descended of Englishmen. They are therefore not only devoted

to liberty, but to liberty according to English ideas and on English principles. Britain was divided about the conflict across the sea. Yes, there were pragmatic complaints, the war would cost a fortune, and regular English men and women would endure hardships. But the American colonists, with their endless protests, also set off an intense ideological discussion in England. Both the protests in America and the debate in England were rooted in English history and the contests between the country's two political parties, the Whigs and the Tories. Historically, the Tories backed the monarchy, and the Whigs supported popular democratic reforms. Things were no longer so neat and tidy in 1775, but the Whigs generally still aligned themselves with the birth of the Enlightenment

in England in the previous century. Back then, the philosopher John Locke had argued for natural law, the idea that people have certain natural, God-given rights. Locke wrote, Reason teaches all mankind that no one ought to harm another in his life, health, liberty, or possessions. Reason, for Locke, meant society should be based on individual freedoms. It was a radical idea at the time, but soon became instilled in law. In the wake of the so-called Glorious Revolution of 1688 and what opponents called the subversions of the laws and liberties by King James, English leaders drew up a Bill of Rights. It included fundamental rights, such as the right of free speech.

It also limited the power of the monarchy and made Parliament supreme. It was revolutionary, a move toward true, popular government. But as time went by, the Hanoverian kings, George I, George II, and George III, found ways to assert their will and subvert the Bill of Rights. They raised taxes, spent money, controlled the army, and limited speech. In a sense, the English Bill of Rights never truly took effect. So as the Americans were demanding their natural rights, the people of England began to look at themselves and ask, where were their rights? Imagine you're a British soldier stationed in Canada. It's January, 1777, the second year of fighting since the American War began.

You were told it would be short, but it feels like a long time since then. You were only 18 when the British seized control of New York City at the Battle of Long Island. It was summer then, and you thought you would be heading home soon. But General Washington led his army on a brilliant escape across New Jersey, evading capture, and now you're here, in winter quarters, awaiting the spring thaw and orders to march. It's a particularly bitter evening, and you bundle up in your red woolen coat and high stiff collar.

You head outside into the howling wind, making for the mess tent where dinner awaits. You haven't gone very far when you pass one of your fellow soldiers. Hey soldier, your nose is frostbit. Now, you have a rather large nose and you don't like people making fun of it. You can go to hell. Well, all right, but I'm telling you, it really is. I haven't been out more than three minutes. If you want to make jokes at my expense, I'll meet you in the morning when I'm warmer and beat the devil out of you. You walk further through the encampment as the wind whips around you. It's too cold to check your nose with your fingers, but you hope it's not frostbite. You're hoping to find a wife once the war is over and that disfigured face will only make it harder to woo a young lady. You're all worked up when you get to the mess tent,

but there, the shivering soldiers are all pointing at your nose. You pick up a metal spoon and hold it up as a mirror, and there it is, your large nose, angry red and definitely frostbit. The conditions in America were unlike anything British soldiers knew at home. The frostbite story, which was reported by a real British officer, fits alongside thousands of others. The British suffered hardship and loneliness. We're often told about the imbalance between the British and the Americans during the war.

The colonists were poorly trained. They lacked guns and ammunition, while on the other side, the British had the largest and most disciplined army in the world, which moved like a well-oiled machine. The idea, perhaps, is to highlight the miraculous outcome, to give some luster to the myth of America's founding. But it's just as easy to flip things around. The Americans were fighting on their own turf, which they knew intimately, while the British had to ship and house and feed an entire army across 3,000 miles of ocean. Maybe most importantly, the Americans had a cause. British soldiers, homesick in a remote wilderness, didn't feel the same fire in their bellies.

In addition, British leaders had the impossible task of orchestrating a war from the other side of the ocean, a war they hoped to win swiftly by cleaving the rebel forces in two. From early on, the British strategy crafted by Lord George Germain centered on New York. Massachusetts to the north was the heart of the rebellion in America. It was the site of the audacious Boston Tea Party and the first battles of the war. Its patriots were the rowdiest. The British plan was to take New York and with it the Hudson River. That would cut New England off from the rest of the colonies to the south. With its heart removed from its body, the American rebellion would die quickly. So when the news

reached London that their troops had won New York and Washington was on the retreat, George Germain was, momentarily at least, a hero. He was ready to implement the second phase of his plan. Imagine you're an army lieutenant serving as a clerk in the office of Lord George Germain in Whitehall. He is dictating a letter to you. Outside, a coach and four stamping horses stand ready to dash it and you to the ship waiting in the harbor, ready to sail across the Atlantic to North America. Germain is writing to the commander of the Northern Army in America, Sir Guy Carlton, and you are scribbling as fast as you can. With a view of quelling the rebellion as soon as possible, it has become highly necessary that the most speedy junction of the two armies should be

affected. Germain is referring to the Southern Army of General Howe, based in New York, and the Northern Army, led by Carlton in Canada. He finishes dictating, you finish writing, and hurry outside, telling the driver to go as fast as he can. Inside the coach, you and your fellow junior officer fall to whispers as he asks you about the letter. Who's it for? Carlton. At last, in order to move south, to have the two armies converge on the Hudson and strangle the rebellion. Well, yes, but there's a catch. Carlton isn't the one going. What do you mean? He's the head of the Northern Army. Yes, but Carlton and Germaine are bitter enemies. They have been ever since Germaine was court-martialed.

Carlton tried to humiliate Germaine, and Germaine never forgot it. So what's Germaine going to do? He's ordering Carlton to remain in Canada and to give command of his army to Burgoyne to move south. Well, what matters is the end result. No need to worry about that. All Burgoyne has to do. Well, what matters is the end result. No need to worry about that. All Burgoyne has to do is meet up with General Howe. Then this will all be over. Strange to think we know what's coming, even before those generals in America. You think for a moment. The last time

you were sent out with a message to carry across the ocean to North America, the trip took you four weeks to get there, and five weeks to get back with a response. Yeah, I just hope we get there in time. It was a long winter for those troops, and the Americans have been settling into their positions. Burgoyne began marching Britain's Northern Army south in June of 1777, eight weeks after the orders were sent from London by Germain. In July, his army of 7,000 men easily defeated the 3,000 Americans at Fort Ticonderoga in New York. But further south, his advance slowed. The Americans had strewn the roadways with fallen trees. The slower pace, meanwhile, gave the Patriot Army time to build up its forces

to 9,000 men, 2,000 more than Burgoyne had. In September, near the little town of Saratoga in upstate New York, Burgoyne attacked the American forces and won a small victory. But 18 days later came the Second Battle of Saratoga. The larger American army thrashed the British forces. Ten days after that, Burgoyne was forced to surrender his entire army to the Americans. It was a staggering and unprecedented defeat for the British. A month after Burgoyne's surrender, a letter arrived for Germain in London. It was from William Howe, his southern general. In it was a surprise.

Howe explained that he had decided not to travel north to rendezvous with Burgoyne, as Germain had ordered. Instead, he had chosen to stay in the south and continue vexing Washington's forces. Germain, who still hadn't heard the news of Burgoyne's loss in the north, read it with a gathering gloom. In fact, Germain and his generals had made a significant blunder. There was an overall strategy, but no precise agreement on how, and most importantly, when to execute it. Part of the blame fell to the circumstances,

just the difficulty of running a strategy across thousands of miles of ocean, with weeks or even months between communications. That lag in communications left Germain wondering, where was Burgoyne? Germain had expected him to move south by now. The news of Burgoyne's incredible defeat reached London in December, weeks later. Germain was stunned. He went to Parliament to brief the members. It was a grim duty. He recounted the events with as little emotion as possible. I have received expresses from Quebec with a piece of very unhappy intelligence.

The tidings are that General Burgoyne and his army were surrounded by a force greatly superior. So situated, he was forced to surrender himself and his army prisoners. It is a most unfortunate affair, but I hope the House will not be overanxious in condemnation. I hope they will suspend their judgments both on the conduct of the general and of the minister on this occasion. One by one, then, Whig members of Parliament, in shock, rose to speak out about the enemy. The Americans, it is evident, will not give up their liberties. They will die first.

But most of all, with growing rage, they attacked Germain, who had been so firm and certain about his strategy. Is there a man in the House who, in his heart, could say that Burgoyne failed through his own misconduct? That he showed cowardice? The man who planned the expedition is to blame. The minister alone who concerted the scheme is obnoxious to reprehension for its failure. All of Britain was shocked by Burgoyne's loss. The stock market collapsed at the news. Taxes were going up daily, it seemed, and so were prices. People were supposed to put up with these misfortunes

because the British army was saving their empire, but now it was clear the army had bungled it. Even the prime minister was in shock. If America should grow into a separate empire, he said, it must cause a revolution in the political system of the world. That would be a disaster for England, and it suddenly seemed all but certain. Blame was heaped on Lord George Germain. I am depressed by misfortune, he told a friend. This was true in every part of his life. At this time, Diana, his beloved wife of 23 years, died of the measles.

He needed her strength and support now more than ever, but she was gone. His strategy had failed. He had failed. And he vowed he would resign. Germain had risen swiftly and powerfully from his disgrace decades earlier, but now it seemed his career was truly at an end. In a quiet suburb, a community is shattered by the death of a beloved wife and mother. But this tragic loss of life quickly turns into something even darker. Her husband had tried to hire a hitman on the dark web to kill her. And she wasn't the only target.

Because buried in the depths of the internet is The Kill List, a cache of chilling documents containing names, photos, addresses, and specific instructions for people's murders. This podcast is the true story of how I ended up in a race against time to warn those whose lives were in danger. And it turns out convincing a total stranger someone wants them dead is not easy. Follow Kill List on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to Kill List and more Exhibit C true crime shows like Morbid early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery+. Check out Exhibit C in the Wondery app for all your true crime listening.

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scandals. All of England expected Lord George Germain to resign, following the shocking surrender of General Burgoyne's army at the Second Battle of Saratoga in October 1777. The king expected it. Parliament expected it. Germain himself expected it. But fate stepped in and scrambled expectations. Up until that point, Britons had referred to the conflict with America as a, quote, civil war. After all, the Americans were English subjects. This was an internal affair. But in March 1778, another round of shocking news reached London. France, England's historic enemy, had officially recognized America as a nation and entered into an alliance with her. The wily old American diplomat Benjamin Franklin had been in Paris since the end of 1776,

negotiating in secret. Britain had no choice but to declare war on France. Suddenly, this was no longer a civil war, and it was no longer focused on just the American colonies. It was a global war now, pitting Europe's two great powers against one another yet again. In short order, Spain and then the Netherlands entered the conflict as allies of the French, and thus of the Americans. Britain's back was up against the wall. England needed strong, decisive, aggressive leadership, a fighting spirit at the reins, the kind of spirit that Germain had. The king asked Germain to stay. The turnaround in world events was like a tonic for Germain. His energy returned. He began plotting a whole new war. Suddenly,

the American Revolution had become a subset of a larger global conflict with action in India, off the African coast, and in the Caribbean. Britain was no longer merely fighting to keep its American colonies. It was fighting for its empire, and quite possibly for its very existence. In America, Germain pushed for a new strategy. His first plan to take the Hudson River and divide New England from the other colonies had failed. This time, he would focus on the South. There, the British leaders believed people tended to be loyalists. Germain thought that as his armies moved south,

swarms of civilians would take up arms and join in. Things started well when news reached London that British forces had captured the port of Savannah, Georgia. But Germain did not trust his current general, Henry Clinton, to run a truly aggressive campaign in the south. So once again, as he had the year before with Carlton, Germain switched generals. He replaced Clinton with Charles Cornwallis and ordered the new commander to push the British army further south. As they traveled, very few Loyalists greeted them. Instead, they met mosquitoes carrying malaria. The disease slowed them down.

Cornwallis turned his army toward the coast. George Washington sensed the British were weakening. He drove his army southward from New York. Meanwhile, his French allies made for the Chesapeake Bay, where Cornwallis had brought his sickened forces. Imagine you're a physician with the British Army, camped at Yorktown in Virginia. It's October, and there's a breeze coming off the York River

and the Chesapeake Bay beyond. It's a relief, nothing like the hot, humid March through the summer months. You're grateful for that. But otherwise, you're in the midst of war, and all signs point to a coming climax. It's dawn. You crawl into a tent and check on the men inside. These six haven't recovered from the malaria they contracted on the long march. Only one is awake. How are you feeling, William? You hand him some water. He's been fighting dehydration. Thanks. Slept all night. Must be the sea air. I dreamed I was home in Portsmouth. That gets him wondering about something. He blinks his blue eyes as he stares up at the tent canvas above him. Do you think the ships will come for us? You give him what you think is a hopeful smile.

I'm going to get some more water. I'll scan the river while I'm at it for sign of our ships. You take a few steps, savoring the quiet. The guns from the French and American lines were relentless last night. Now all you hear is grass rustling in the wind. Then suddenly it all starts again. A series of sharp blasts from the enemy lines, followed by the sickening thuds of cannonballs landing nearby. Then comes another dreaded sound, the whoosh of enemy mortars firing. A second later, the bullets they are loaded with rain down around you. You turn instinctively

toward the tent you've just come from, and it's gone. Or rather, it's in tatters. The wash of bullets has shredded it. You run to it, pull out your knife, and cut into the canvas. William! You see him still lying there, but looking vacantly up at the sky. And then comes another great boom from the French and American lines. Shell hits, and your last thought ever

upon this earth is of William's vacant, sky-blue eyes. Five weeks later, in London, Lord George Germain got news of what happened to Cornwallis' army. Cornwallis had his 6,000 men dig in at Yorktown, a point on the end of the peninsula in Chesapeake Bay, where he expected to be rescued by British ships. Meanwhile, the French and American forces, totaling 18,000, three times as many, dug in as well and began pounding the exhausted English army relentlessly with cannon fire. It took eight days. Finally, with no help arriving from the sea, Cornwallis was forced to surrender.

Germain brought the news to his prime minister, Lord North. It swept through London. The Americans had defeated a second British army. The war was all but over. The Americans had won their independence. Germain, unbreakable spirit that he was, wanted to push onward. But it was over. He submitted his resignation. Shortly after, when he appeared in the House of Lords, his noble peers subjected him to an unprecedented display of abuse. They called him the author of all the calamities of the war. They even went back to his

disgrace in Minden, referring to him as a person who in his military character has been publicly degraded. He died three years later, had his country home at the age of 69, believing to the end that the Americans were too weak and wayward to run a nation. But how did the rest of Britain see the transformation of their colonies into a new, independent nation? One answer is that they took a wide view of things. England had not only been fighting the American rebels. Once the war became global in 1778, they were taking on Spain, the Netherlands, and their ancient antagonist France as well. It was a precarious position, but British negotiators did some skillful maneuvering with the Treaty of Paris in 1783. Afterward, ordinary Englishmen and women

were able to breathe a sigh of relief. Yes, they had lost the 13 American colonies and given Florida to Spain, but they kept their vital sugar colonies in the Caribbean, as well as Canada. They even won control of several other islands in the Caribbean and access to Dutch trade routes, and they set up trade agreements with a new American nation. At the same time, the loss of America led politicians in Britain to cling even more tightly to their beliefs. British leaders were convinced the American experiment in democracy would fail. They held all the more firmly to their own system, with its blend of democratic and aristocratic institutions. It was a patriarchal

system, run by the upper classes for the benefit of all. They believed it was more stable and better able to ensure civil liberty than the messy and uncertain American system. And so the loss of America would prove a turning point for England. British leaders renewed their focus on global expansion and doubled down on the country's rigid social and political systems. Together, these moves would lead to a new era for England, one that would change the world. The oldest imperialist, George Germain, had he lived to see it, would have been proud. From India to Egypt, from Singapore to Ceylon, the next century would see the rise of the British Empire.

On the next episode of American History Tellers, what did the Revolutionary War mean for Native peoples in America? In many ways, it's a story of promises made and promises broken. If you like American History Tellers, you can binge all episodes early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. I hope you enjoyed this episode of American History Tellers. American History Tellers is hosted, sound designed, and edited by me,

Lindsey Graham for Airship. Additional production assistance by Derek Behrens. This episode is written by Russell Shorto. Editing assistance by Katie Law. Edited and produced by Jenny Lauer. Produced by George Lavender. Executive producers, Marshall Louis and Hernán López, for Wondery. In the Pacific Ocean, halfway between Peru and New Zealand, lies a tiny volcanic island. It's a little-known British territory called Pitcairn,

and it harboured a deep, dark scandal. There wouldn't be a girl on Pitcairn once they reach the age of 10 that would still a virgin. It just happens to all of us. I'm journalist Luke Jones and for almost two years I've been investigating a shocking story that has left deep scars on generations of women and girls from Pitcairn. When there's nobody watching, nobody going to report it, people will get away with what they can get away with. In the Pitcairn Trials I'll be uncovering a story of abuse and the fight for justice

that has brought a unique, lonely Pacific island to the brink of extinction. Listen to the Pitcairn Trials exclusively on Wondery Plus. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app, Apple Podcasts or Spotify.