Chapter 27

"I am very sorry to hear of your loss; I am a little sorry to hear of my own; but that which gives me most concern is, that you should go on board the enemy's vessels, and furnish them with refreshments. It would have been a less painful circumstance to me to have heard that, in consequence of your non-compliance with their request, they had burnt my house and laid the plantation in ruins."

In July, 1781, Washington planned an attack upon New York by the combined French and American forces. But his purpose was suddenly changed by hearing that the portion of the French fleet at the West Indies, under Count de Grasse, had sailed for the Chesapeake. Cornwallis was at Yorktown with his command, and his capture would give the Americans an illustrious prisoner. General Lafayette, who had returned from France, was in Virginia, looking after the British general as well as he could.

Immediately Washington put his army in motion for Virginia, leaving only troops enough to guard the passes of the Hudson. He marched directly for Williamsburg, to join Lafayette. On his way he called at Mount Vernon, from which he had been absent six years. "Here, unannounced, he darted into his home, like the first sunbeam after a storm, only to disappear again under as black a cloud as any of those that had brought the thunder. He had come but to tell his wife that he was on his way to seek a battle, an unequal though glorious contest, from which he might never return."

Washington joined Lafayette at Williamsburg on the 14th of September. Hastily arranging the siege of Yorktown, Cornwallis was surprised, one bright morning, to find that the heights around him were swarming with American soldiers, and the bay in front securely occupied by the French fleet.

On the 6th of October the bombardment of the British works commenced with terrible earnestness. An eye witness said:

"General Washington put the match to the first gun, and a terrible discharge of cannon and mortars immediately followed."

"What part of the town can be most effectively cannonaded?" Washington inquired of Governor Nelson, who was present.

Pointing to a large, fine house on an eminence, the governor replied:

"That is probably the headquarters of the enemy; fire at that."

It was Governor Nelson's own residence.

Four days the cannonading continued with great effect. At the expiration of that time, Washington ordered the capture of two redoubts, lying between him and the British works. These redoubts were so near as to prove a great annoyance to the American troops. To the Americans was assigned the capture of one, and to the French the capture of the other. At the point of the bayonet these redoubts were taken; not a gun was fired. As soon as Lafayette held possession of the redoubt taken by the Americans, he despatched a message to Baron de Viomenil announcing the fact, and inquired where the baron was.

"Tell the marquis," answered the baron, "that I am not in mine, but I will be in five minutes;" and he was.

During the whole of the bombardment, Washington, as usual, was seen in the most exposed positions, cheering his men and directing the assault. One day, as he stood beside the grand battery with Knox and Lincoln, and shot and shell flew around him, one of his aides, anxious for his general's safety, remarked:

"That is a very exposed situation, general."

"If you think so, you are at liberty to step back," Washington promptly answered.

Just then a musket ball struck the cannon in the embrasure, rolled along, and fell at the general's feet.

"My dear general, we can't spare you yet," exclaimed General Knox, grasping Washington's arm.

"Only a spent ball," responded Washington coolly; "no harm was done."

On the 17th of October Cornwallis sent a flag, with a letter, to Washington, asking for a cessation of hostilities twenty-four hours, that consultation might be had respecting terms of surrender. It was not, however, until the 19th that the terms of capitulation were agreed upon, and the renowned Cornwallis with his army became Washington's prisoners.

The time and method of the formal surrender being agreed upon, Washington warned his troops against any exultant demonstrations that might wound the feelings of the conquered.

"My brave fellows," he said, "let no sensation of satisfaction for the triumphs you have gained induce you to insult your fallen enemy. Let no shouting, no clamorous huzzaing, increase their mortification. Posterity will huzza for us."

By the surrender of Cornwallis, Washington received over seven thousand prisoners, and one hundred and sixty pieces of cannon. Counting the sailors, negroes, and Tories who became prisoners, the whole number amounted to nearly twelve thousand.

Thatcher describes the scene of the formal surrender as follows:

"About two o'clock the garrison sallied forth, and marched between the two columns (the Americans on one side and the French on the other) with slow and solemn steps, colors cased, and drums beating a British march. They were all well clad, having been furnished with new suits prior to the capitulation. They were led by General O'Hara on horseback, who, riding up to General Washington, took off his hat and apologized for the non-appearance of Lord Cornwallis, on account of indisposition. Washington received him with dignified courtesy, but pointed to Major-General Lincoln as the officer who was to receive the submission of the garrison. By him they were conducted into a field where they were to ground their arms. In passing through the line formed by the allied army, their march was careless and irregular, and their aspect sullen. The order to "ground arms" was given by their platoon officers with a tone of deep chagrin, and many of the soldiers threw down their muskets with a violence sufficient to break them. This irregularity was checked by General Lincoln; yet it was inexcusable in brave men in their unfortunate predicament. The ceremony over, they were conducted back to Yorktown, to remain under guard until removed to their places of destination."

There were twenty-eight stand of colors to be delivered up. Twenty-eight British captains, each bearing a flag, were drawn up in line. Opposite to them, twenty-eight American sergeants were placed to receive the colors. At a given signal the colors were surrendered.

The next day Washington addressed his army in words of gratulation and tender regard. He issued the following order, also, to the army:

"Divine service is to be performed to-morrow in the several brigades and divisions. The commander-in-chief earnestly recommends that the troops not on duty shall universally attend, with that seriousness of deportment and gratitude of heart which the recognition of such reiterated and astonishing interpositions of Providence demand of us."

In the midst of this rejoicing, Washington received the sad intelligence that his step-son, John Parke Custis, was lying at the point of death. Mr. Custis accompanied his mother, Mrs. Washington, to Cambridge, the first winter of the Revolution, and became one of her husband's aides. He was taken sick after the army invested Yorktown, and no hope of his recovery was entertained. He longed to live, however, to witness the surrender of Cornwallis. On the day of the ceremony of capitulation, he was taken from his bed and conveyed to the place, where he might behold the scene. The ceremony over, he was willing to be conveyed to Elthain, where he was taken immediately. Within thirty hours thereafter, the message came to the general that Custis was in a dying condition.

At midnight Washington, accompanied by a single officer and groom, started on horseback for Elthain. By rapid riding he reached there in the morning twilight.

"Is there no hope?" he said to Dr. Craik, who met him at the door.

The doctor shook his head. Bursting into tears, Washington stepped into an adjoining room to indulge his grief, requesting to be left alone. While bowed in sorrow there, Custis expired.

On entering the chamber of death, Washington lovingly embraced the weeping wife and mother, now a widow, tears responding to tears, his deep sorrow showing how dearly he loved the departed one.

When he was able to control his grief, he turned to the group of sorrowing friends, and said:

"From this moment I adopt his two youngest children as my own."

His presence being demanded at Yorktown, without rest or refreshment he mounted a fresh horse, and returned thither before his absence was known, except to some of his aides.

It deserves to be recorded that the capture of Cornwallis could not have been accomplished without the co-operation of the French fleet; so that the reader has before him the remarkable fact that, in Washington's early military career, he joined the English to conquer the French, while in his closing military life, twenty-five years thereafter, he joined the French to conquer the English.

Another example of the divine blessing upon small battalions was furnished by the surrender at Yorktown. Cornwallis planned, during the siege, to withdraw his troops over the river in sixteen large boats, which he collected for the purpose, and, having reached Gloucester Point, escape to New York. On the night arranged for the flight, a violent storm arose, so that it was impossible for him to cross the river. That was his last, lost opportunity. Divine Providence thwarted his purpose, and gave victory to American arms.

In the siege of Yorktown Washington rode a splendid sorrel charger, white-faced and white-footed, named Nelson, and "remarkable as the first nicked horse seen in America." The general cherished this fine animal with strong affection. "This famous charger died at Mount Vernon many years after the Revolution at a very advanced age. After the chief had ceased to mount him, he was never ridden, but grazed in a paddock in summer, and was well cared for in winter; and as often as the retired farmer of Mount Vernon would be making a tour of his grounds, he would halt at the paddock, when the old war-horse would run, neighing, to the fence, proud to be caressed by the great master's hand."

No sooner did Cornwallis surrender than the commander-in-chief despatched a courier on horseback to Philadelphia, to bear the glad tidings to Congress. It was past midnight when the courier reached the city, and the night watchmen, on their respective beats, had just cried, "Twelve o'clock and all is well!"

They caught the glad news with joy, and the next hour they cried:

"One o'clock, AND CORNWALLIS IS TAKEN!"

Wakeful citizens in bed could scarcely believe their ears. They started up, and listened. Again the joyful tidings were repeated:

"CORNWALLIS IS TAKEN!"

Hundreds sprang from their beds in wild delight. Lights began to appear in the dwellings, darting from room to room. Soon men and women rushed from their habitations into the streets in the greatest excitement. Some were half dressed, scarcely knowing, in their exuberance of joy, whether they were in the flesh or out. Many wept to hear the news confirmed, and as many laughed. Not a few caught up the watchmen's cry, and ran from street to street, announcing, at the top of their voices:

"CORNWALLIS IS TAKEN! CORNWALLIS IS TAKEN!"

Every minute added to the throng in the streets; men, women, and children joining in the exhilarating exercise of sounding out their excessive delight upon the night air. Neighbors clasped hands and embraced each other to express their gladness. Many were too full for utterance; they broke down in tears with their first attempt to join in the general acclaim. Such a varied, impulsive, uncontrollable expression of joy was never before witnessed in that city.

Soon the bell on the old State-House rang out its gladsome peals, the same old bell that signalled the adoption of the Declaration of Independence, July 4, 1776. Other bells, one after another, united in the grand chorus of jubilation, supplemented by the thunder of artillery from the fortifications about the city, until every method of expressing real joy seemed to combine, as if by magical art.

At an early hour on the next morning Congress convened, and listened to the reading of Washington's letter, announcing the surrender of Cornwallis. The scene can be better imagined than described. That body was quite unfitted for the transaction of any business, except that which eulogized the commander-in-chief, and the brave men who had fought the battles of the country. Irving says:

"Congress gave way to transports of joy. Thanks were voted to the commander-in-chief, to the Counts De Rochambeau and De Grasse, to the officers of the allied armies generally, and to the corps of artillery and engineers especially. Two stands of colors, trophies of the capitulation, were voted to Washington; two pieces of field ordnance to De Rochambeau and De Grasse; and it was decreed that a marble column, commemorative of the alliance between France and the United States, and of the victory achieved by their associated arms, should be erected in Yorktown."

Finally, Congress issued a proclamation, appointing a day for general thanksgiving and prayer, in acknowledgment of this signal interposition of Divine Providence.

This done, Congress adjourned to assemble, at a later hour, in a public house of worship, there to join, with the grateful multitude, in praise and thanksgiving to God for His blessing upon the cause of liberty.

When the news of Cornwallis' surrender reached England, the disappointment and chagrin were well-nigh universal. The British ministry were astounded by the unexpected tidings. Lord Germain announced the fact to Lord North.

"And how did he take it?" inquired a public man.

"As he would have taken a ball in the breast," replied Germain.

"What did he say?"

"He opened his arms and exclaimed wildly, as he paced up and down the apartment, 'O God, it is all over!'"

As soon as Washington could leave he retired to Mount Vernon for a few days, from which place he wrote to General Greene:

"I shall remain but a few days here, and shall proceed to Philadelphia, when I shall attempt to stimulate Congress to the best improvement of our late success by taking the most vigorous and effectual measures to be ready for an early and decisive campaign the next year. My greatest fear is that Congress, viewing this stroke in too important a point of light, may think our work too nearly closed, and will fall into a state of languor and relaxation. To prevent the error, I shall employ every means in my power; and if, unhappily, we sink into that fatal mistake, no part of the blame shall be mine."

To another he wrote:

"The hand of Providence has been so conspicuous in all this, that he must be worse than an infidel that lacks faith, and more than wicked that has not gratitude enough to acknowledge his obligations."

XXIII.

PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES.

"Now we must follow up this grand victory with harder blows," remarked Washington to Lafayette.

"Then you do not believe the war is ended yet?" Lafayette replied inquiringly.

"Of course not. The king will not yield to 'rebels' so willingly as that. We must concentrate our entire force upon New York now."

"Every lover of his country ought to be stimulated to greater deeds now," added Lafayette.

"And Congress ought to respond promptly and liberally to the demands of the hour," said Washington. "The legislatures of the several Colonies ought to be prompt and liberal, also, in providing men and means. Give us men and supplies equal to the emergency, and our independence can be permanently established."

Washington waited upon Congress personally, and he wrote letters to the governors of the several Colonies, pleading for more liberal aid than ever, that the war might be successfully prosecuted to the bitter end.

While these negotiations were progressing, the king superseded Sir Henry Clinton by the appointment of Sir Guy Carleton as commander-in-chief of the British army. The latter commander was in favor of peace, and he appealed to the British Parliament for conciliatory action; nor was his plea in vain. After a long and acrimonious struggle, Parliament adopted a resolution advising reconciliation. From that moment, peace negotiations were commenced, but were not fully consummated until Nov. 30, 1782, at Paris. It was the nineteenth day of April, 1783, when the welcome news, received in this country, was announced to the army.

The surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown, contrary to the expectations of Washington, thus proved to be the end of the war. In just eight years from the time the first battle of the Revolution was fought at Lexington, April 19, 1775, the proclamation of peace was made to the army. "Thus ended a long and arduous conflict, in which Great Britain expended near a hundred millions of money, with a hundred thousand lives, and won nothing. America endured every cruelty and distress, lost many lives and much treasure, but delivered herself from a foreign dominion, and gained a rank among the nations of the earth."

The enemy evacuated New York and other posts and returned to England, and Washington occupied the same, and proceeded to disband the army. Addressing his officers and companions in arms, with deep emotion he said:

"With a heart full of love and gratitude, I now take leave of you. I most devoutly wish that your latter days may be as prosperous and happy as your former have been glorious and honorable. I cannot come to each of you to take my leave, but shall be obliged if each of you will come and take me by the hand."

He could say no more. Tears blinded his eyes, and emotion caused his voice to tremble. Silently, one after another, these heroes of many battles and sufferings approached and grasped his hand. No one spoke a word. Each felt more than language could express. The scene was affecting beyond description.

Congress was in session at Annapolis, and thither he journeyed to return his commission. A perfect ovation attended him all the way. The occupants of every town, village, and farmhouse turned out to hail the conqueror. Men, women, and children vied with each other in demonstrations of love and honor. Cannon pealed, bells rung, music wafted, voices sounded, banners waved, in honor "of the only man," as Jefferson said, "who had the confidence of all."

Congress received him in a manner to attest their profoundest respect and love. Resigning his commission, he said:

"Having now finished the work assigned me, I retire from the great theatre of action, and, bidding an affectionate farewell to this august body, under whose orders I have so long acted, I here offer my commission, and take my leave of all the employments of public life."

Our American Cincinnatus retired to his farm and plough, which he left eight years before at the call of his country. He designed to spend the remainder of his days in retirement at Mount Vernon. His large estates demanded his attention, and his tastes for agricultural pursuits adapted him to the situation.

Under his careful and efficient supervision, his Mount Vernon estate rapidly improved. He enlarged his house, so that he might accommodate the numerous distinguished visitors who now paid him their respects. He studied agriculture by consulting the best authorities, doing it not alone for the purpose of improving his own estates, but also to aid his newly emancipated country in developing its resources.

He lent his great influence to educational and religious enterprises, so essential to the stability and progress of the free and independent Colonies. Through his influence, two companies were organized to extend the navigation of the James and Potomac rivers. Grateful for his aid in creating enterprises of so great public benefit, the General Assembly presented him with one hundred and fifty shares of the stock, worth fifty thousand dollars. He declined to accept the large gift, saying:

"What will the world think if they should hear that I have taken fifty thousand dollars for this affair? Will they not suspect, on my next proposition, that money is my motive? Thus for the sake of money, which, indeed, I never coveted from my country, I may lose the power to do her some service, which may be worth more than all money."

He assured the Assembly that if they would contribute the amount for a national university in what is now the District of Columbia, and a literary institution in Rockbridge County, since called Washington College, he should esteem their gift even more than he would were he to accept and devote it to his own private use; and they complied with his wishes.

As before the war, he continued to remember the poor, whose veneration for him was greater than ever. His methods of assisting them were often original, and always practical; as, for example, keeping a boat on the Potomac for their use in fishing. Here was an opportunity for them to obtain subsistence without sacrificing the virtues of industry and self-reliance.

Mr. Peake, who had charge of one of his plantations, said:

"I had orders to fill a corn-house every year for the sole use of the poor in my neighborhood, to whom it was a seasonable and most precious relief, saving numbers of poor women and children from miserable famine, and blessing them with a cheerful plenteousness of bread."

One year, when there was a scarcity of corn, and the price of it went up to a dollar per bushel, the suffering among the poor was much increased. Washington ordered his agent to distribute all that could be spared from the granaries, and he purchased several hundred bushels in addition, at the high price, to be used in charity.

Governor Johnson of Maryland, a hero of '76, related the following incident to Mr. Weems:

The governor went to the Virginia Springs for his health. The place was crowded with people, but he secured "a mattress in the hut of a very honest baker" whom he knew. The baker did a large business, and every day Mr. Johnson noticed that many poor negroes came for loaves, and took them away without paying a cent.

"Stophel," said Mr. Johnson one day, "you seem to sell a world of bread here every day, but notwithstanding that, I fear you don't gain much by it."

"What makes you think so?" replied Stophel.

"You credit too much."

"Not I, indeed, sir; I don't credit at all."

"Ay, how do you make that out? Don't I see the poor people every day carrying away your bread, and yet paying you nothing?"

"Pshaw! what of that? They will pay me all in a lump at last."

"At _last_!" exclaimed the governor, "at the _last day_, I suppose. You think the Almighty will stand paymaster, and wipe off all your old scores for you at a dash."

"Not by any means, squire. The poor bakers can't give such long credit; but I will tell you how we work the matter. Washington directed me to supply these poor people at his expense, and I do it. Believe me, squire, he has often, at the end of the season, paid me as much as eighty dollars, and that, too, for poor creatures who did not know the hand that fed them; for I had strict orders from him not to mention it to anybody."

In a former chapter we learned the magnanimity of his conduct towards one Payne, who knocked him down for a supposed insult. Mr. Payne relates that after the Revolution he called upon Washington at Mount Vernon.

"As I drew near the house," he says, "I began to experience a rising fear lest he should call to mind the blow I had given him in former days. Washington met me at the door with a kind welcome, and conducted me into an adjoining room where Mrs. Washington sat.

"'Here, my dear,' said he, presenting me to his lady, 'here is the little man you have so often heard me talk of, and who, on a difference between us one day, had the resolution to knock me down, big as I am; I know you will honor him as he deserves, for I assure you he has the heart of a true Virginian.'"