THE BATTLE-GROUNDS OF AMERICA. NO. III.-YORKTOWN. BY EDWARD S. DUNDAS. THE autumn of 1780 found the British in possession of most of the southern states. Charleston had fallen, South Carolina had been overrun, Virginia was threatened; and the victorious Gates, advancing to the succor of the patriots, had been totally destroyed at Camden. But the savage policy adopted by Cornwallis to secure his conquest was ultimately the cause of his ruin. He issued a proclamation, sequestering the estates of all those, not included in the capitulation of Charleston, who were in the service or acting under the authority of Congress, and of all others who, by an open avowal of liberal principles, or other notorious acts, should show a leaning to the colonial authorities. He also gave orders to the British officers, at their several posts, to execute any persons who, having once taken a protection as British subjects, had since repented and assumed arms in behalf of their country. By these measures he hoped to crush all resistance, and secure the southern colonies to the crown, even if it should become necessary to acknowledge the independence of the states north of the Potomac. But he overreached himself. His cruelty shocked the luke-warm, and infuriated the hostile. The people saw that there was no alternative but in perfect freedom or hopeless slavery. At this juncture Marion appeared; the militia flocked to his standard; and the success of the partisan war carried on by him and Sumpter raised the drooping spirits of the whigs. The appointment of Greene to the command of the southern army, and the brilliant affair at the Cowpens, still further exalted their hopes; so that even the check at Guilford Court-House failed to dishearten them. Indeed, the result of that battle was almost as unfavorable to the British as to the Americans. In a few days Greene was ready to renew the contest; but Cornwallis eluded his grasp, and reached Wilmington, in his way to Virginia, on the 7th of April, 1781. The American leader, finding it impossible to bring his enemy to battle, took the bold resolution of marching into South Carolina, and thus forcing Cornwallis to follow him or abandon his conquests. The British general, on receiving intelligence of this movement, hesitated, but finally determined to pursue his first design, and overrun Virginia. By this daring step he would place his army in a country not yet wasted by war, and where, consequently, supplies would be plentiful; while, if he should succeed in reducing the colony, the subjugation of the other southern states would inevitably follow, no matter how fortunate Greene, in the mean time, might be. The movement spread consternation among the friends of freedom. No one can understand the almost universal fears entertained for the south, who has not perused the correspondence of that day. For a time success followed every footstep of the foe. Cornwallis, advancing rapidly northward, had united himself to the British generals Philips and Arnold, as early as the latter end of May; while Lafayette, who had been despatched to succor Greene but had been arrested by the enemy on the James River, was preserved from capture only by his energy and address. At length a junction was effected between him and Wayne, and subsequently a detachment led by Baron Steuben still further increased his force. Happily, at this crisis, Sir Henry Clinton, alarmed by Washington's preparations for the siege of New York, recalled a portion of the force of Cornwallis, and that general, now somewhat weakened, retired to Yorktown. Lafayette had never ceased to urge on Washington the practicability of capturing Cornwallis, and thus ending the war at a blow, provided the northern army, by a sudden march from the Hudson, could be thrown into the scales against the enemy. But the commander-in-chief's favorite scheme was the reduction of New York, and it was long before he could be brought to see its impracticability. When he was once convinced, however, he acted with his usual skill and promptness. The whole of the French allies and two thousand of the continental line were detailed for the southern expedition, which Washington determined to lead in person: the march of the troops was concealed as long as possible, while a sufficient force was left to defend the Hudson; and so completely was Sir Henry Clinton deceived, that the allied forces had reached the Delaware before he became aware of their intention to move southward. The brave continentals traversed now, with far different feelings, the ground over which they had fled a few years before, ill-provisioned, poorly clothed, and marking their footsteps with blood. There was before them the prospect of reducing a formidable army, with but little expense of blood and treasure, and thus revenging their own wrongs and redeeming their country. They had already eluded Sir Henry Clinton, and a few days would probably enable them to surround Cornwallis. They marched on with high hopes, cheering their way with songs, and before the end of September arrived at Williamsburg, in the immediate vicinity of the foe. Meantime, the French fleet, in pursuance of the concerted plan, had reached the Chesapeake, while | countrymen. The redoubt entrusted to the AmeriCornwallis, too late aware of the net in which he was involved, had been assiduously occupied in fortifying his position. . The town of York lies on the southern shore of the river of that name, at a spot where the banks are bold and high. On the opposite side, at the distance of a mile, is Gloucester Point, a strip of land projecting far into the stream. Both the town and point were occupied by Cornwallis, the communication | being preserved by his batteries; while several menof-war lay under his guns, for the river was here deep enough for the largest ship of the line. cans was carried at the bayonet's point, the assailants rushing on with such impetuosity that the sappers had not time to remove the abattis and palisades. The French were equally courageous and successful, though, as their redoubt was defended by a larger force, the conquest was not so speedy, and their loss was greater. It was, at one time, currently believed that Lafayette, with the concurrence of Washington, had issued orders for every man to be put to the sword, in retaliation for the massacre at New London, a few weeks before; but Colonel Hamilton, who took part in the assault and who had ample means of knowing the truth, has publicly denied the statement. The redoubts were the same night included in the second parallel, and their guns, the next day, made ready to be turned against the foe. By referring to the map a clear idea may be gained of the strength of Cornwallis's position. It will be seen that Yorktown is situated at the narrowest part of the peninsula, formed by the York and James rivers, where the distance across is but eight miles. Cornwallis was now reduced to extremities. His By placing his troops, therefore, around the village, works were crumbling under the shot of the first and drawing about them a range of outer redoubts | parallel, and in another day the new trenches would and field works calculated to command this penin-open their fire at half the distance. In this emersula, Cornwallis had established himself in a position almost impregnable; while, by fortifying Gloucester Point and maintaining the communication between it and Yorktown, he opened a door for the reception of supplies and provided a way of escape in the last emergency. gency he resolved on a sortie, hoping thus to retard the completion of the batteries in the second parallel. The enterprise was, at first, successful, and the two batteries, which were now nearly completed, fell into the hands of the foe; but the guards from the trenches immediately hastening to the assistance of their fellow soldiers, the enemy was dislodged and driven back into his works. The same day the second parallel opened several of its batteries. It was hoped that, by morning, every gun might be brought to bear. Having formed a junction with Lafayette, the allied army, commanded by Washington in person, moved down from Williamsburg to Yorktown; and on the 30th of September occupied the outer lines of Cornwallis, which that general had abandoned without a struggle. Two thousand men were detailed to the Having failed in his sortie, and knowing that his Gloucester side to blockade that post. The invest-position was now untenable, the British general took ment was now complete. the desperate resolution of crossing over to Gloucester Point in the night, and cutting his way through the blockading force there, then mounting his men on whatever horses he could seize, to make a rapid march northward and join Sir Henry Clinton. By this movement he would abandon his sick and bag surrender. Boats were secretly procured, and the first embarkation reached the point safely and unperceived; but, at this juncture, a violent storm arose, which drove the boats down the river. The tempest continued until daylight, when the enterprise was unavoidably given up, and the troops that had passed over re-crossed to the southern side. It was not, however, until the night of the 6th of October that the Americans broke ground, within six hundred yards of the enemy's lines, the intermediate time having been employed in bringing up the stores and heavy artillery. By daybreak the trenches were sufficiently advanced to cover the men. Ingage; but he would save himself the disgrace of a less than four days a sufficient number of batteries and redoubts had been erected to silence the fire of the enemy. On the 10th, (the day on which the British withdrew their cannon from the embrasures,) the red-hot balls of the allied batteries set fire to an English frigate and three large transports lying in the harbor. Cornwallis now began to despond. No succor had arrived from New York, and the allies were pushing the siege with extraordinary vigor. On the night of the 11th the second parallel was opened within three hundred yards of the British lines. These new trenches were flanked by two redoubts in possession of the enemy, who, taking advantage of the circumstance, opened several new embrasures, and kept up an incessant and destructive fire. It became necessary to carry these batteries by storm; and the evening of the fourteenth was fixed for the purpose, one redoubt being assigned to the Americans and the other to the French. A noble emulation fired the soldiers of the respective nations as they advanced across the plain. Lafayette led the continentals: the Baron de Viominel commanded his A capitulation was now the only resource. Accordingly, at ten the same forenoon, Cornwallis beat a parley, and proposed a cessation of hostilities for one day, in order to agree on terms for the surrender of Yorktown and Gloucester. Washington granted two hours for Cornwallis to prepare his proposals; and, that no time might be lost, sent in his own. The answer of the British general rendering it probable that but little difficulty wonld occur in adjusting the terms, Washington consented to the cessation of hostilities. On the 18th the commissioners from the two armies met; but evening arrived before they could agree except on a rough draft of the terms of surrender. These, however, Washington caused to be copied, and sent them early next morning to Cornwallis, determined not to lose the slightest | This resolution alarmed the commander-in-chief; for, advantage by delay. He further informed the British if the count should be blown off the coast, the enemy general that a definitive answer was expected by might attain a temporary superiority on those waters, eleven o'clock; and that, in case of a surrender, the and Cornwallis be either succored or removed. Lagarrison must march out by two in the afternoon. fayette was called in at this emergency, and by his No resource being left, Cornwallis signed. representations, seconded by the earnest remonstrances of Washington, the design was abandoned. Too much credit cannot be given to De Grasse for thus sacrificing his personal glory to the success of the expedition. Lafayette was the best advocate in this case, as he had himself, a few days before, resisted a similar temptation to win renown; for De Grasse, impatient of the delay of Washington, had urged his young countryman to storm the then unfinished works of Cornwallis, declaring that it was impossible for him longer to await the arrival of the commander-in-chief. But, with the true spirit of a patriot, Lafayette refused to sacrifice the lives of his soldiers, when the capture of the enemy might be secured, without bloodshed, by the delay of a few days. It was a proud day for the war-worn troops of America, when the richly appointed soldiery of Britain marched out with dejected faces from their works, and in profound silence stacked their arms on the plain, in presence of the conquerors. But no unmanly exultation was seen among the allies. With decent pity they gazed on the spectacle, reserving their congratulations for their private quarters. But there, the rejoicings were loud and fervent, and the gay Frenchman from the Loire joined in triumphal songs with the hardy son of New England, or the more enthusiastic Virginian. The reduction of Yorktown filled the country with exultation. Addresses poured in on the commander By the capitulation more than seven thousand prisoners, exclusive of seamen, fell into the hands of the allies. Among the captives were two generals, and thirty-one field officers. The army, artillery, arms, military chest, and public stores were surrendered to Washington; while the ships and sea-in-chief from every quarter-from state-governments, men were assigned to Count de Grasse, the French admiral. In addition to those made prisoners at the capitulation, the loss of the garrison, during the seige, was five hundred and fifty-two. The allied army lost about three hundred. The whole force, including the militia, uuder Washington's command, was sixteen thousand. The siege occupied eleven days to the opening of the treaty, and thirteen to the signing of the capitulation. There was a large body of Americans in Yorktown who had joined the British army, and Cornwallis endeavored to provide for their safety in the capitulation. But as the subject belonged to the civil department, Washington rejected the article. The escape of these men was, however, humanely connived at; for a sloop of war was allowed to proceed to New York with despatches unsearched, and in her they embarked. cities, corporations and learned bodies. Congress returned thanks to Washington, to Rochambeau, and to De Grasse, as well as to the officers generally, and to the corps of artillery, especially to the engineers. They also ordered a monument to be erected on the scene of the surrender, commemorating the glorious event. Two stand of colors, of those yielded in the capitulation, were presented to Washington; two pieces of field ordnance to Rochambeau, and the permission of his monarch was solicited to bestow a similar gift on De Grasse. The whole body went in solemn procession to church, in order to return thanks to Almighty God for the success of the allied arms; and a proclamation was issued, enjoining the observance of the 13th of December as a day of thanksgiving and prayer. The capture of Yorktown virtually terminated the war. Two formidable armies had now been sacrificed in the vain attempt to subdue the colonies, and public opinion in England began to assert the im On the very day when the capitulation was signed at Yorktown, Sir Henry Clinton sailed from Sandy Hook with seven thousand men to relieve Corn-practicability of conquering America. A large party wallis; but on the 24th, when off the capes of Virginia, having received intelligence of the surrender, he altered his course for New York. there had long maintained this; and the continuance of the war was attributed to the obstinacy of the British minister; but the manuscript letters of Lord This brilliant result was achieved chiefly by the North show, as early as 1778, a wish to acknowledge energy and wisdom of Washington. A delay of one the independence of the states; and it is now estab week would have frustrated his plans, relievedlished satisfactorily that nothing but the personal Cornwallis, and protracted the war perhaps for will of the sovereign protracted the conflict during years. Before the siege began, a circumstance occurred which came near destroying the success of the campaign. Immediately after the arrival of Washington at Williamsburg, the Count de Grasse, then lying in the Chesapeake, received intelligence that the British fleet, having been reinforced, was preparing to attack him; and, considering his position unfavorable for a naval combat, he determined to put to sea for the purpose of meeting the enemy, leaving only a few frigates to continue the blockade of Yorktown. the last three years. But after the fall of Cornwallis, there was no longer any hope of success. From every quarter of England came up the dying prophecy of the Earl of Chatam. The monarch yielded to the storm; and the United States were declared free and independent, by the same British parliament which had lately denounced them as revolted provinces. The engraving which accompanies this sketch gives the view of Yorktown as you approach the village from the west. The evening was warm and sultry, and the dusk was come on, but the blacksmith was hard at work; the sound of his anvil rang over the village, and the ABOUT ten miles from the residence of David Hunt, one of the largest tributary streams of the Mississippi made a sudden sweep inward, like a bent bow, em-glare of his forge reddened around him as the beautibracing a rich tract of alluvial or bottom land in its curve, and forcing its outer banks back into the shelter of a range of hills, more broken and picturesque than is usually found in scenery composed almost equally of wood and prairie land. Just within the curve of this bow, or directly on "The Bend," as the inhabitants called the plain which swept out from the embrace of the riverstood the country-seat. The entire district was but sparsely inhabited, and, as yet, the county town consisted only of a few log cabins, half-buried in luxurious corn-fields, two or three young orchards filled with trees, that had only decked themselves in the blossoms of a single spring, and one great frame dwelling, with verandas running across the front, and two chimneys of new bricks standing on the expanse of glistening shingles, like members of a volunteer militia company in flowing regimentals, whose pride it was to keep guard over the humble log cabins and stick chimneys which lay below. A blacksmith's shop, so open in front that you could see the glowing iron even in winter as it poured a torrent of sparks up from the huge hammer which ground it to the anvil, stood opposite the tavern; and this, with the noise of carpenters still at work in the interior of the building, lent a sort of bustle and business aspect to "The Bend," which those who visited it found rather cheerful and exciting after the dim solitude of their forest-homes. A flour-mill, too, clattered cheerfully night and day in a hollow close by the river, and there was scarcely a day in the week when a group of men might not have been observed loitering around Judge Church's tavern. It was Saturday, about five days after the visit of William Wheeler to David Hunt's farm, and the strangers gathered around the blacksmith's shop and tavern toward sunset were more than usually numerous. Three or four farmers had come from a remote part of the county with wagon-loads of grain, which could scarcely be converted into flour before the next day. Others had brought their horses to be shod, and, meeting with cheerful company at the tavern, were in no haste to return home. ful sunset fell through a bank of hazy clouds on the landscape without. A horse of light bay color, finely limbed and with the look of a high-blooded racer, was tied with a stout bridle to an iron ring at the doorpost, but though the hot sparks sometimes flashed close by his eyes they only kindled up a little, as if some of the fire had shot beneath the lids; and though his nostrils dilated, he neither pulled at the halter nor seemed restive in the least, for once when he had run back a little a voice from the opposite tavern checked the fretful impulse, and left him standing with his eye to the flame, but with a slack halter and shrinking limbs, for to the poor animal there was something in that voice more terrible than the shower of hot fire sparks that rained over him. The voice came from a young man seated in the lower veranda of the tavern. His chair was tilted back, and his right foot rested upon his left knee, and though the fringe of his hunting-frock swept over a portion of the boot, its small size and unusually neat workmanship could not be entirely concealed. The man wore a fine otter skin cap, which, being drawn over his face, left the upper part in shadow, but waves of light hair curled up among the rich fur about his temples, and his somewhat prominent chin, upon which the light lay strong, was so delicately moulded that in repose his features seemed almost effeminate. This man sat with half-closed eyes, smoking. Now and then, as he bent slightly forward to knock the ashes from his cigar against the sole of his boot, he glanced his eye through the bar-room window, which was open a little to his right, and seemed to listen. At such times, the shadow which fell over his eyes was thrown on the temple, and the whole character of his face changed. It was a restless, wicked eye, which lighted up every feature with evil fire. It must have been a natural expression, for there was nothing calculated to excite or annoy him in the bar-room. Two or three persons only were gathered about the bar, joking each other, while the judge himself was busy crushing lumps of sugar in one of the small tumblers of greenish glass, which gave a dingy hue to the brandy he had just poured out for one of his customers. William Wheeler, for it was he, had just drawn back to his old position, when two men on horseback came round a corner, and, as if rejoiced by the sight of company, urged their horses to a trot, and drawing up in a cheerful dashing style, dismounted before the tavern. Wheeler started, and dashed down his foot with a violence that drew the chair forward till the front feet rang against the floor. The light struck full upon his face; it had, all at once, become white as a corpse, and his eyes glittered like those of a roused serpent. The two travelers had been busy tying their horses to the posts of the veranda, and before they were at leisure to notice any thing Wheeler had fallen back to his old position. "Does not that look like Bill Wheeler?" said the youngest of the two as they came up the wooden steps together. David Hunt cast a quick glance toward the seemingly half-sleeping man, knotted his huge fingers tightly together and moved a step forward, but Shaw caught his arm-" Remember your promise to Hannah," he said in a low voice, but his own limbs trembled with rage as he restrained the vengeance of the old man. 66 Remember, we have both promised," he added, drawing Hunt toward the door, "but for that I have the best right." "I have never broken my word to the poor girl yet," muttered David Hunt, moving reluctantly on, "I never will, but it's tough work to keep my hands off him." And with these words David Hunt and Isaac Shaw entered the public house, but the cheerfulness with which they had dismounted at the door was entirely dispersed; not even the hearty welcome which they received from the persons at the bar had power to restore them to moderate composure. "Why, who on earth is this? David Hunt!" said the judge, laying down the sugar-stick and holding out his right hand, with which he shook his neighbor's vigorously while he passed the tumbler of brandy to a customer with the other. "It seems an age since we've seen you at The Bend-and you too, Shaw; we began to think you had taken to the brush for good. I was just calculating that your money would be so much clear gain in my hands, and had half dunned myself for the interest, when I get word that you are coming down to scrape it up, interest and all, for the land-office. What's in the wind now, Ike?-no girl in the way is there? I'll tell you what," continued the judge, folding his arms over the railing of the bar and shaking his head, "this whole affair looks rather suspicious." Ike Shaw blushed like a girl, but as he was about to stammer out some reply, his face flushed still more deeply; it was not embarrassment then, but indignation, for in turning his eyes he had seen the white face of William Wheeler peering in at the window; the face disappeared instantaneously, but Shaw felt as if those glittering eyes were still fixed upon his burning forehead. It was rage rather than terror that arose in his heart at the sight of those eyes, but to a less brave man there would have been some thing startling in their sharp and fiendish glare. The evidences of emotion, visible in Shaw's face, were mistaken for embarrassment by the good-natured judge. Well, well," he said, "if you want the money, that's enough; put up with me to-night, and I'll try to make it out in the morning." "Not here, I will not sleep under the same roof with that man," said David Hunt, drawing Shaw aside and speaking with great earnestness. "I would rather go myself," said Shaw, also in a low voice, "but it looks like a storm. If a hurricane should come up, we could never get through the woods alive." "No matter, alive or dead I will not stay at The Bend to-night," replied Hunt with suppressed energy, but his words reached the persons around the bar, and they looked at each other, a little surprised at his obstinacy and the stern, wilful tone in which his determination was expressed. It seemed to them as if harsh feeling existed between the two men. 'Very well, I'm ready to start the moment our horses have had a feed," replied Shaw, moving to ward the bar. "I suppose an hour or two wont make much difference with the judge?" "None at all," replied the judge, pointing to an old-fashioned chest of drawers in the corner, "the money is all ready in the old desk there. Go in and take a bite of supper while the horses are feeding. Come along, all of you." The whole group put itself in motion and followed the judge out into a back kitchen, where supper was laid in no very delicate style, but in rough and hospitable profusion. William Wheeler had been standing with his back to the railing of the veranda, his arms folded tightly over his chest, and watching with cat-like eagerness every thing that passed in the bar-room. The moment Judge Church went out, followed by the company, he glided softly down the steps, and across to the blacksmith's shop. The smith was busy at his bellows, and the roar of the air escaping into the bed of glowing coals forced Wheeler to draw close to the forge before he could make himself heard. When he felt the red light of the fire upon his face, he turned it away instinctively, or the honest smith might have been startled by its pallor and the fiendish expression lurking over it. A hostler coming round from the barn, with a measure of oats in his hand, saw him standing there enveloped, as it might seem, in a crimson mantle by the flames, and wondered what traveler had entered the town without his knowledge; for though Wheeler was a boarder in the tavern, and well known to the man, his face was so changed with the working of evil passions that it seemed like that of a strange man. "Have you fastened the shoe?" said Wheeler hoarsely, touching the blackened arm of the smith with his finger, for he had spoken twice, yet could not hear the sound of his own voice. "Have you fastened the shoe?" |