On August 19, or just five days after receiving the dispatch from De Gra.s.se, Washington crossed the Hudson at King's Ferry, and set out on his long march, with two thousand Continental and four thousand French troops.

They had nearly reached Philadelphia before their real destination was suspected.

The good people of the Quaker city had just heard of Greene's successes in the South. The popular feeling showed itself in the rousing welcome they gave to the {129} "ragged Continentals" and to the finely dressed French troops, as the combined forces marched hurriedly through the streets. The drums and fifes played "The White c.o.c.kade and the Peac.o.c.k's Feather"; everywhere the stars and stripes were flung to the breeze; and ladies threw flowers from the windows.

"Long live Washington!" shouted the people, as the dusty soldiers marched by in a column nearly two miles long.

"He has gone to catch Cornwallis in his mouse trap!" shouted the crowd, in great glee.

Even the self-possessed Washington was a trifle nervous. Galloping ahead to Chester on his favorite charger, Nelson, he sent back word that De Gra.s.se had arrived in Chesapeake Bay.

By rapid marches, the combined armies reached the head of the Bay on September 6. From this point, most of the men were carried in transports to the scene of action. In another week, an army of more than sixteen thousand men was closing round Cornwallis.

Soon after his arrival, Washington, accompanied by Rochambeau, Knox, Hamilton, and others, made a formal call on Admiral De Gra.s.se on board his flagship, the famous ship of the line, Ville de Paris, then at anchor in Hampton Roads.

When Washington reached the quarter-deck, the little French admiral ran to embrace his guest, and kissed him on each cheek, after the French fashion.

{130} "My dear little general!" he exclaimed, hugging him.

Now when the excited admiral stood on tiptoe to embrace the majestic Washington, and began to call him "pet.i.t," or "little," the scene was ludicrous. The French officers politely turned aside; but it was too much for General Knox, who was a big, jolly man. He simply forgot his politeness, and laughed aloud until his sides shook.

Where was the British fleet all this time?

Its commander, Admiral Hood, had followed sharply after De Gra.s.se, and had outsailed him. Not finding the enemy's fleet in the Chesapeake, he sailed on to New York and reported to Admiral Graves.

Then Sir Henry began to open his eyes to the real state of affairs.

All was bustle and hurry. Crowding on all sail, the British fleet headed for the Chesapeake, and there found De Gra.s.se blockading the bay.

It would be all up with Washington's plans if the British fleet should now defeat the French. The French fleet, however, was much the stronger, and Graves was no Nelson. There was a sharp fight for two hours. On the two fleets, the killed and the wounded amounted to seven hundred. The British admiral was then forced to withdraw; and after a few days he sailed back to New York. De Gra.s.se was now in complete control of the Chesapeake.

Cornwallis did not as yet know that Washington was marching at full speed straight for Yorktown. Still, his {131} lordship began to realize that he was fast getting himself into a tight place.

Why not cross the James River and retreat to a safe place in North Carolina?

It was too late. Three thousand French troops had already landed on the neck of the peninsula, and were united with the patriot forces.

The "boy" had now more than eight thousand men, with which he could easily cut off every chance for his lordship's retreat.

In the American camp, the combined armies were working with a hearty good will to hasten the siege. There could be no delay. The British fleet was sure to return, and another fleet was hourly expected from England. Again, Sir Henry might at any moment come by sea to the rescue. Day and night the men toiled. n.o.body was permitted to speak aloud, for they were close to the British pickets. Intrenchments were made, and cannon were rapidly dragged up and placed in position. By October 10, all was ready.

[Ill.u.s.tration: General Washington in the Trenches before Yorktown]

{132} The siege begins in earnest. Shot and sh.e.l.l are hurled into the British lines. All day and all night long, are heard the roaring of cannon and the bursting of sh.e.l.ls. Bang! bang! The French fire red-hot shot across the water and set fire to the British transports.

New lines of redoubts are thrown up during the night, and guns are mounted, which pound away at the doomed army. Two of the British redoubts are troublesome. These are gallantly captured.

On the next night, Cornwallis makes a vigorous effort to break through the American lines, but is driven back into the town. With seventy cannon pounding away, the British earthworks are fast crumbling. The British commander grows desperate. He thinks that, by leaving his baggage and his sick behind, he can cross the river to Gloucester in boats, by night, cut through the French, and by forced marches make his way to New York.

On the night of the 16th, a few of the redcoats actually succeeded in reaching the opposite sh.o.r.e, when a storm of wind and rain suddenly arose and continued till morning. This last ray of hope was gone.

Cornwallis had his headquarters in a large brick mansion owned by a Tory. It was a fine target for the artillery, and was soon riddled.

His lordship stayed in the house until a cannon ball killed his steward, as he was carrying a tureen of soup to his master's table.

The British general now moved his headquarters into Governor Nelson's fine stone mansion. Its owner was {133} in command of the Virginia troops in the besieging army. He was the "war governor" who had left his crops to their fate, and his plows in the furrows, while his horses and his oxen were harnessed to the cannon that were being hurried to the siege. When Nelson learned, through a deserter, where Cornwallis and his staff were, regardless of his personal loss, he ordered the bombarding of the house.

In Trumbull's famous painting, "The Surrender of Cornwallis,"

Governor Nelson's mansion is plainly seen.

By this time, the only safe place in Yorktown was a cave, which had been dug under the bank of the river. To this spot, as the story goes, Cornwallis moved his headquarters. Here he received a British colonel who had made his way in the night through the French fleet, to bring orders from Sir Henry Clinton. Cornwallis was to hold out to the last. Seven thousand troops had sailed to his relief.

His lordship served a lunch for his guest, and while they were drinking their wine, the colonel declared his intention of going up on the ramparts for a moment, to take a look at the Yankees. As he left, he gayly said that on his return he would give Washington's health in a b.u.mper. It was useless to urge him to remain under shelter. He had scarcely climbed to the top of the redoubt when his head was shot off by a cannon ball.

On October 17, the thirteenth day of the siege and the fourth anniversary of Burgoyne's surrender, a red-coated {134} drummer boy stands on the rampart and beats a parley. A white flag is raised on the British works. The roar of the cannon ceases. Cornwallis sends an officer to ask that fighting be stopped for twenty-four hours.

Twenty-four hours! No! "No more fighting for two hours," says Washington.

Held in an iron grasp both by land and by sea, the British commander knows that all is lost. He can do nothing but surrender.

At two o'clock on the afternoon of October 19, in a field not far from Washington's headquarters, the formal surrender takes place.

This ceremony, so joyful to the one side, so painful to the other, is carried out in stately form. The officers on both sides wear their best uniforms and military equipments. Washington rides his favorite charger, Nelson. The stars and stripes of America, and the white flag and lilies of France, wave in triumph. While the band plays a quaint old English melody, "The World Turned Upside Down," the British troops, over seven thousand in number, slowly march between the columns of the combined armies and lay down their arms.

Cornwallis was not there. Saying that he was sick, he sent O'Hara, one of his generals, to deliver up his sword, while Washington, with his usual high regard for official dignity, sent General Lincoln.

As perhaps you may remember, when General Lincoln was forced to surrender to Cornwallis, at Charleston {135} in 1780, the haughty British general turned him over to an inferior officer, as if to treat his surrender with contempt.

Lafayette said, in after years, that the captive redcoats, while they gazed at the French soldiers with their showy trappings, "did not as much as look at my darling light infantry, the apple of my eye and the pride of my heart." Whereupon the lively young French general ordered his fife and drum corps to strike up "Yankee Doodle." "Then,"

he said, "they did look at us, but were not very well pleased."

After the surrender, both the Americans and the British hastened away. Scores of brave men, whom thus far the bullets had spared, were the victims of camp fever and smallpox. Fourteen days afterwards, Yorktown became again a sleepy little hamlet of sixty houses.

On the same day that Cornwallis found "the world turned upside down,"

Clinton sailed from New York, with thirty-five ships and over seven thousand of his best troops. Had this great force reached the scene ten days earlier, the story of Yorktown might have been different.

{136} "Cornwallis is taken!" How quickly the news spread! Men, women, and children pour in from the country, and wait along the road leading to Philadelphia, for the long-expected news.

At length a horseman is seen riding at headlong speed.

He waves his hat and shouts to the eager people, "Cornwallis is taken!"

It is Colonel Tilghman, whom Washington sent posthaste to Philadelphia to inform Congress of the surrender.

It is after midnight when he arrives. The drowsy night watchman is slowly pacing the streets. Suddenly is heard the joyful cry, "Past three o'clock, and Cornwallis is taken!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Night Watchman announcing the Capture of Cornwallis]

Up go the windows. Men and women rush into the streets, all eager to hear the news. An hour before daylight, old Independence bell rings out its loudest peals, and sunrise is greeted with the boom of cannon.

Congress meets during the forenoon, to read Washington's dispatches.

In the afternoon, the members go in solemn procession to the Lutheran church, "and return thanks to Almighty G.o.d for crowning the allied armies of the United States and France with success."