Chapter 3

For the formal surrender of General Burgoyne to General Gates a marquee had been erected near the latter's old quarters. To this came the British general and staff in full court dress. General Gates appeared in plain clothes with nothing to indicate his rank. As the two generals advanced to greet each other, General Burgoyne removed his hat and extending his sword, said, "The fortunes of war, General Gates, have made me your prisoner." General Gates, not to be outdone in polite address, returned the sword and replied, "I shall always be ready to bear testimony that it has not been through any fault of your Excellency."

The generals and their officers then sat down to a table improvised of boards laid across barrels and dined together most amicably, but on very frugal fare. General Burgoyne took occasion to compliment the discipline of the American army. He then proposed a toast to General Washington. General Gates then drank to the health of the king. High above the marquee the Stars and Stripes waved gloriously in triumph of the day of first formal military unfurling. The turning point of the war of the Revolution was come, this October day, 1777.

THE SURRENDER OF BURGOYNE

October 17, 1777

BROTHERS, this spot is holy! Look around! Before us flows our memory's sacred river, Whose banks are Freedom's shrines. This grassy mound, The altar, on whose height the Mighty Giver Gave Independence to our country; when, Thanks to its brave, enduring, patient men, The invading host was brought to bay and laid Beneath "Old Glory's" new-born folds, the blade, The brazen thunder-throats, the pomp of war, And England's yoke, broken forevermore.

You, on this spot,--thanks to our gracious God, Where last in conscious arrogance it trod, Defied, as captives, Burgoyne's conquered horde; Below, their general yielded up his sword; There, to our flag, bowed England's battle-torn; Where now we stand, the United States was born.

GENERAL JOHN WATTS DE PEYSTER.

THE YOKE OF BRITAIN BROKEN

THE final scene in this stupendous drama of American Freedom was enacted in Virginia.

In September, 1781, Washington began a three weeks' siege against Yorktown, held by the British under Lord Cornwallis. Finding himself there completely surrounded by both land and water, Cornwallis was forced to surrender.

Now was the yoke of Great Britain at last broken. Seven thousand English and Hessian soldiers and eight hundred and forty sailors laid down their arms and became prisoners of war.

The formal ceremony of surrender was to take place in an open field the last day of October. Thousands of spectators assembled to behold the detested Cornwallis surrender the army they had hated and feared.

The Americans, commanded by General Washington in full uniform, and the French troops, under Count Rochambeau, were drawn up in two lines. At length a splendid charger issued through the gate, bearing not the hated Cornwallis as expected, but General O'Hara. So overcome was Lord Cornwallis with the consciousness of his defeat by the "raw Americans," that, feigning illness, he refused to appear.

The British troops in new uniforms, in striking contrast to the worn and faded garb of the colonists, followed the officer with colors furled. Coming opposite General Washington, O'Hara saluted and presented the sword of Cornwallis. A tense silence pervaded the assembly. General Washington motioned that the sword be given to General Lincoln. Apparently forgetful of the indignities heaped upon him by the British at Charleston, the latter returned the sword to General O'Hara, remarking as he did so, "Kindly return it to his Lordship, Sir."

"Ground arms" came the order from the British officers. The troops complied sullenly; the humiliation felt by them in their defeat was everywhere apparent.

The next day the conquered army marched out of Yorktown between the American and French troops. Their fifers, with a brave show of humor, played, "The World's turned Upside Down." Washington had directed his soldiers to show no disrespect nor unkindness to the defeated troops. But the remembrance of "Yankee Doodle," as played by the Britons in their times of conquest, in taunting derision of the Americans, proved too much for the latter to endure without return, when supreme occasion such as this offered. To the strains of "Yankee Doodle Do," from American fifes, Lord Cornwallis and his army bade adieu to the scenes wherein they had once marched as conquerors.

In thanksgiving to God was voiced the nation's exultation. Congress adjourned the sessions and the members repaired to church to give thanks; business was suspended in all places. Throughout the land the voice of the people was raised in a mighty chorus of prayer and praise to the Almighty.

YORKTOWN

FROM Yorktown's ruins, ranked and still, Two lines stretch far o'er vale and hill: Who curbs his steed at head of one? Hark! the low murmur: Washington! Who bends his keen, approving glance Where down the gorgeous line of France Shine knightly star and plume of snow? Thou too art victor, Rochambeau!

The earth which bears this calm array Shook with the war-charge yesterday; Plowed deep with hurrying hoof and wheel, Shot down and bladed thick with steel; October's clear and noonday sun Paled in the breath-smoke of the gun; And down night's double blackness fell, Like a dropped star, the blazing shell.

Now all is hushed: the gleaming lines Stand moveless as the neighboring pines; While through them, sullen, grim, and slow, The conquered hosts of England go; O'Hara's brow belies his dress, Gay Tarleton's troops ride bannerless; Shout from the fired and wasted homes, Thy scourge, Virginia, captive comes!

Nor thou alone: with one glad voice Let all thy sister States rejoice: Let Freedom, in whatever clime She waits with sleepless eye her time, Shouting from cave and mountain wood Make glad her desert solitude, While they who hunt her, quail with fear; The New World's chain lies broken here!

WHITTIER.

FROM THE OTHER SIDE

(1812)

THE year 1812 witnessed our second war with Great Britain. In an effort to prevent emigration from her shores England claimed the right to seize any of her subjects upon any vessel of the high seas. America denied her right to do this on American ships. Disagreement broke into open rupture. War with the mother country was again declared.

The doughty American seamen would not wait for attack upon them, but went forth aggressively against the squadron of the British. Oddly enough, considering the condition of the poorly equipped navy, they were remarkably successful and captured more than two hundred and fifty prizes. The following year, however, the British gained the ascendency, and in 1814 came in with sea force and land force and sacked and burned the Capitol at Washington and all public buildings except the patent office.

They then proceeded against Baltimore. The land troops were almost in sight of the city of their desires, when they were halted and held in check by American troops under General Sticker, whose name, it may be said, meant as it sounded, and who effectually prevented their further advance. But the fleet on the waters sailed into the bay of Baltimore and up to Fort McHenry at the mouth of the Patapsco River, in the determination to bombard the fortress and compel entrance to the city in that way. The British admiral had boasted the fort would fall to his hand an easy prey.

Prior to this, Dr. William Beane, a citizen of Baltimore and a non-combatant, had been captured at Marlboro and was held a prisoner on one of the vessels of the British fleet. To secure his release, Francis Scott Key and John Skinner set out from Baltimore on the ship _Minden_ flying a flag of truce. The British admiral received them kindly and released Dr. Beane; but detained the three on board ship pending the bombardment of the fort, lest in their return to land the intentions of the British might be frustrated.

Thus from the side of the enemy they were constrained to witness the efforts of destruction urged against the protecting fortress of their own city. From sunrise to sunset they watched the shot and shell poured into the fort and noted with infinite joy that the flag still flew. Through the glare of the artillery, as the night advanced, they caught now and then the gleam of the flag still flying. Would it be there at another sunrise? Who could tell! Suddenly the cannonading ceased. The British, despairing of carrying the fort, abandoned the project. In the emotion of the hour and inspiration born of the victory, Key composed the immortal lines now become our national anthem, "The Star-Spangled Banner."

The flag is preserved in the museum of Washington and is distinctive in having fifteen stripes and fifteen stars, one of the very few national flags with this number.

THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER

OH, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming; Whose broad stripes and bright stars thro' the perilous fight O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming? And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there; Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, In full glory reflected now shines in the stream; 'Tis the star-spangled banner; oh, long may it wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

And where is that land who so vauntingly swore That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion A home and a country should leave us no more? Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave; And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand Between their loved homes and wild war's desolation; Blest with vict'ry and peace may the Heaven-rescued land Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation. Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, And this be our motto: "In God is our trust!" And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

FRANCIS SCOTT KEY.

THE DEFENSE OF THE CRESCENT CITY

UPON every recurrence of January the eighth, the city of New Orleans dons gala attire and shouts herself hoarse with rejoicing. She chants the _Te Deum_ in her Cathedrals; and lays wreaths of immortelles and garlands of roses and sweet-smelling shrubs upon the monument of Andrew Jackson in Jackson Square.

"The Saviour of New Orleans," the inhabitants called Jackson in the exuberance of their gratitude for his defense of the city, and their deliverance from threatened peril, that fateful day of January, 1815. From capture and pillage and divers evil things he saved her, and the Crescent City has not forgotten.

Neither indeed has the nation become unmindful of his great achievement, but upon each succeeding anniversary of the battle of New Orleans--that remarkable battle that gloriously ended the War of 1812, and restored the national pride and honor so sorely wounded by the fall of Washington--celebrates the event in the chief cities of the United States.

During our second clash of arms with England, the Creek War, wherein the red man met his doom, brought Jackson's name into prominence. At one bound, as it were, he sprang from comparative obscurity into renown.

In 1814 he was appointed a major general in the United States army, and established his headquarters at Mobile. He repulsed the English at Fort Bowyer, on Mobile Point, and awaited orders from Washington to attack them at Pensacola, where, through the sympathy of the Spaniards who were then in possession of the Florida peninsula, they had their base of operations.

Receiving no orders from Washington, he became impatient of delay, and upon his own responsibility marched his troops against Pensacola and put the British to flight. "This," says Sumner, "was the second great step in the war in the Southwest."

Washington had been captured and her principal public buildings burned, and New Orleans, the Crescent City, would now, it was thought, be the next point of attack by the British.

To New Orleans, therefore, "to defend a defenseless city, which had neither fleets nor forts, means nor men," came Jackson.

His entrance into the city was quiet and unostentatious and so devoid of the pomp and pageantry of a victorious general as to cause question in the minds of some as to whether or not this was the man expected. His dress was plain in the extreme, and bore upon it no insignia of rank; yet those there were, of insight, who saw in his every aspect the man of power.

From eye and posture and gesture emanated a certain indefinable force that attracted men to him, and created in them an enthusiasm for his cause. Old and young who came under his influence were ready to do his bidding.

To the terrified women and children of New Orleans who appealed to him for protection from the enemy, he replied:--

"The British shall not enter the city except over my dead body."

His words and his presence inspired confidence. And when his flag was run up above his headquarters in Royal Street a sense of security was felt by the inhabitants.

The conditions about him, however, were far from promising, and to a less determined spirit than that of Jackson would have been appalling.

The troops under him were few in number and poorly equipped for battle. The Crescent City was ill equipped for defense. The governor and the Legislature were at loggerheads.

As was his way in a crisis, General Jackson took matters into his own hands.

He placed the city under martial law and made every man a sailor or a soldier compelled to the restrictions and the rules governing the army.

He was aware that his action was open to severe censure, but in the face of the object to be attained he held this as of little consequence.

While engaged in examining a situation for a fortification in one direction, the British effected a landing in another. They had captured the American flotilla guarding the entrance to Lake Borgne and were making ready to advance upon the city.

This information brought consternation to the inhabitants but not to the indomitable Jackson. Obstacles to him were but objects to be overcome. He swung his troops into line and went out to meet the enemy. The advance was checked by a sharp engagement with little loss to either side.

He then set the little schooner _Carolina_, in the Mississippi, to bombarding the levee where the British gunners had taken refuge. With her guns continuously roaring she kept the Britishers at bay for three whole days, when she succumbed to their heavy fire and exploded. Her entire crew escaped with the exception of one man killed and six wounded.

On the field of Chalmette, a few miles below New Orleans, the opposing armies threw up intrenchments from the same soft ooze and mud, so close they now stood to each other. From an upper room of the McCarte mansion house--the home of a wealthy Creole--General Jackson surveyed the operations of the enemy; and directed the movements of his own troops.

December the 28th an advance was made by the British on the American lines but without significant results. On New Year's Day another attack was made.

In the interim between these assaults went out an order from General Jackson to Governor Claiborne that involved the general for years thereafter in legal complications with the Louisiana Legislature. News was borne to General Jackson on the field that the Legislature was preparing to capitulate New Orleans in the belief that the city would be captured.

"Tell Claiborne," said the irate Jackson, "to blow them up."

Later, he wrote to Governor Claiborne, in case the report was true, to place a guard at the door of the legislative hall and keep the members in it; where they could, he satirically remarked to a friend, have full time to make some wholesome laws for the State without distraction from outside matters.

Through mistake in the execution of the order, the enraged lawmakers were kept outside of the assembly hall instead of in it, and the session was broken up.

* * * * *

At break of dawn that memorable day of January 8th, 1815, the British were prepared to attack.

Jackson and his valorous volunteers were ready. A pygmy force were they against a mighty one! Raw recruits contending against the trained veterans of Wellington's army, led by the gallant Pakenham!

The signal rocket went up.

The long red lines advanced over the field.

But to what a fate!

"Don't shoot till you can see the whites of their eyes!"--Jackson had instructed.

"_Fire!_"

When the smoke cleared, British soldiers, dead and dying, thickly strewed the ground.

Intrenched behind their barricades of cotton bales and sand and mud, the Americans were scarcely touched.

The murderous fire went on.

The British columns reeled and broke.

General Pakenham heroically waved his troops forward and fell, wounded to death.

General Gibbs, second in command, was struck down.

General Keane was disabled.

The leaders were fallen! The troops were disordered.

In the distance the red lines receded.

_Jackson had won._

* * * * *

In less than thirty minutes the unequal conflict had ended, save in the silencing of the guns, which required two hours to accomplish.

Never in the annals of history has such a victory been recorded.

The loss to the English was two thousand killed, wounded, and captured. The American loss was but eight killed and thirteen wounded.

General Jackson marched his victorious troops into New Orleans, where he was received with the wildest enthusiasm.

The whole country applauded and rejoiced.

_Andrew Jackson had become the Hero of the Nation._

At Ghent, two weeks before the battle, the Treaty of Peace between England and the United States had been signed; but the ship bearing the news had not then reached this country.

But--Jackson had finished the war--had "finished the war in GLORY!"

THE CIVIL WAR

(1861)

THE War between the States in 1861 was one of the most terrible conflicts known to modern times.

Many causes led up to it, chief among which was a difference in the interpretation of the Constitution by the people of the North and of the South. The slavery question was also a point of dispute; and several minor causes brought about a dissension in the two sections that resulted in the gigantic struggle of friend against friend, brother against brother, father against son.

The early engagements of the contending forces were ones of signal victory to the South. The disunion of the nation was so seriously threatened as to bring grave concern to the Federal government. As the weeks and months wore away, victory perched above the banner of the Federals, and the climax was reached in the surrender of General Lee at Appomattox, after four years of deadly strife.

Both sides fought valiantly. Both won; in that the glory of the Republic was to stand henceforth supreme among foreign nations, the greatness of the combatants to receive a recognition never to be effaced.

Through a perspective of fifty years of peace, the heroism displayed on either field by those engaged therein is, to the most partisan observer, silhouetted upon the mental vision in glowing lines of light. Justly we term it "Our most Heroic Period."

Not the least remarkable of this aftermath, transcending all experiences of other nations, is the brotherhood, the kindly feeling of sympathy and understanding, that after the passage of but half a century now binds the once warring sections in indissoluble bonds of unity.

CHARLESTON

CALM as that second summer which precedes The first fall of the snow, In the broad sunlight of heroic deeds, The city bides the foe.

As yet, behind their ramparts, stern and proud, Her bolted thunders sleep,-- Dark Sumter, like a battlemented cloud, Looms o'er the solemn deep.

No Calpe frowns from lofty cliff or scaur To guard the holy strand; But Moultrie holds in leash her dogs of war Above the level sand.

And down the dunes a thousand guns lie couched, Unseen, beside the flood,-- Like tigers in some Orient jungle crouched, That wait and watch for blood.

Meanwhile, through streets still echoing with trade, Walk grave and thoughtful men, Whose hands may one day wield the patriot's blade As lightly as the pen.

And maidens, with such eyes as would grow dim, Over a bleeding hound, Seem each one to have caught the strength of him Whose sword she sadly bound.

Thus girt without and garrisoned at home, Day patient following day, Old Charleston looks from roof and spire and dome, Across her tranquil bay.

Ships, through a hundred foes, from Saxon lands And spicy Indian ports, Bring Saxon steel and iron to her hands, And summer to her courts.

But still, along yon dim Atlantic line, The only hostile smoke Creeps like a harmless mist above the brine, From some frail floating oak.

Shall the spring dawn, and she, still clad in smiles, And with an unscathed brow, Rest in the strong arms of her palm-crowned isles, As fair and free as now?

We know not; in the temple of the Fates God has inscribed her doom: And, all untroubled in her faith, she waits The triumph or the tomb.

HENRY TIMROD.

FREDERICKSBURG

Dec. 13, 1862

THE increasing moonlight drifts across my bed, And on the church-yard by the road, I know It falls as white and noiselessly as snow. 'Twas such a night two weary summers fled; The stars, as now, were waning overhead. Listen! Again the shrill-lipped bugles blow Where the swift currents of the river flow Past Fredericksburg: far off the heavens are red With sudden conflagration: on yon height, Linstock in hand, the gunners hold their breath: A signal-rocket pierces the dense night, Flings its spent stars upon the town beneath: Hark! the artillery massing on the right, Hark! the black squadrons wheeling down to Death!

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.

CIVIL WAR[2]

"RIFLEMAN, shoot me a fancy shot Straight at the heart of yon prowling vidette; Ring me a ball in the glittering spot That shines on his breast like an amulet!"

"Ah, Captain! here goes for a fine-drawn bead, There's music around when my barrel's in tune!" Crack! went the rifle, the messenger sped, And dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon.

"Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes, and snatch From your victim some trinket to handsel first blood; A button, a loop, or that luminous patch That gleams in the moon like a diamond stud!"

"O, Captain! I staggered, and sunk on my track, When I gazed on the face of that fallen vidette, For he looked so like you, as he lay on his back, That my heart rose upon me, and masters me yet."