oyne was
conquered.

There has been something unmilitary and passive in you from the time of
your passing the Schuylkill and getting possession of Philadelphia,
to the close of the campaign. You mistook a trap for a conquest, the
probability of which had been made known to Europe, and the edge of your
triumph taken off by our own information long before.

Having got you into this situation, a scheme for a general attack upon
you at Germantown was carried into execution on the 4th of October, and
though the success was not equal to the excellence of the plan, yet the
attempting it proved the genius of America to be on the rise, and her
power approaching to superiority. The obscurity of the morning was your
best friend, for a fog is always favorable to a hunted enemy. Some weeks
after this you likewise planned an attack on General Washington while
at Whitemarsh. You marched out with infinite parade, but on finding him
preparing to attack you next morning, you prudently turned about, and
retreated to Philadelphia with all the precipitation of a man conquered
in imagination.

Immediately after the battle of Germantown, the probability of
Burgoyne's defeat gave a new policy to affairs in Pennsylvania, and it
was judged most consistent with the general safety of America, to wait
the issue of the northern campaign. Slow and sure is sound work. The
news of that victory arrived in our camp on the 18th of October, and
no sooner did that shout of joy, and the report of the thirteen cannon
reach your ears, than you resolved upon a retreat, and the next day,
that is, on the 19th, you withdrew your drooping army into Philadelphia.
This movement was evidently dictated by fear; and carried with it a
positive confession that you dreaded a second attack. It was hiding
yourself among women and children, and sleeping away the choicest part
of the campaign in expensive inactivity. An army in a city can never
be a conquering army. The situation admits only of defence. It is mere
shelter: and every military power in Europe will conclude you to be
eventually defeated.

The time when you made this retreat was the very time you ought to have
fought a battle, in order to put yourself in condition of recovering in
Pennsylvania what you had lost in Saratoga. And the reason why you did
not, must be either prudence or cowardice; the former supposes your
inability, and the latter needs no explanation. I draw no conclusions,
sir, but such as are n