CLOSE OF THE WAR.

The treason of Arnold in 1780 contributed, on the whole, to the fidelity of the army in 1781. The poorest soldier in the ranks scorned “to become an Arnold.”

Washington placed Arnold in command at West Point in 1780. Arnold had long been interceding for the position, and it was found subsequently that he had been in treasonable correspondence with the British commander fifteen months when he assumed command of that post. The correspondence was commenced voluntarily by Arnold, and was conducted on the part of Sir Henry Clinton by his aid, Major John Andre, under the signature of John Anderson.

General Arnold was harassed by burdensome debts. He was a gambler, too, and, of course, devoid of moral principle. His object was to pay his debts with British gold.

His correspondence ripened into a plan by Arnold to deliver West Point into the hands of the British, for which purpose a midnight meeting was arranged between him and Major Andre. The meeting occurred at Dobbs Ferry, when Arnold delivered to Andre a plan of the works at West Point, together with a plan of attack by the British, when the post would be surrendered on the ground that the American troops were too few to hold it. The papers were concealed in Andres stockings.

On his return, even after he had passed the American lines, three patriotic representatives of the New York yeomanry, John Paulding, Isaac Van Wart, and David Williams, stopped him, the first aiming his musket at his head.

“Gentlemen, I hope you belong to our party,” said Andre with as much composure as he could command.

“What party?” responded Paulding.

“The lower party,” replied Andre.

“We do,” they said.

“I am a British officer, and have been up the country on particular business,” continued Andre, now feeling that he was among friends. He was deceived by the dress which Paulding wore, that of a refugee. Paulding had been a prisoner in the hands of the British, confined in that terrible prison known as the “Sugar House.” He was released only four days before. In that place his citizen’s suit was taken from him, and replaced by the refugee garb, so that the barbarity of Andre’s countrymen became the cause of his detection.

“I must not be detained for a moment,” continued Andre, taking out his gold watch, the sight of which showed to his captors that he was a man of consequence.

“We are Americans, and you are our prisoner!” exclaimed Paulding.

Andre was astounded by this revelation, and he was ready to pay any amount of money to his captors if they would let him go.

“Dismount!” shouted Paulding, seizing his horse’s bridle.

“Beware, gentlemen, or you will get yourselves into trouble,” replied Andre.

“We will take care of that,” retorted Paulding. “Any letters about you?”

“No.”

“We’ll find out about that,” said Paulding; and they proceeded to search him. Finding nothing of a suspicious character about his clothes, they were disposed to let him proceed, when Paulding said:

“Boys, I am not satisfied; his boots must come off.”

His boots were drawn off, and the concealed papers were found in his stockings.

“My God!” exclaimed Paulding, “he is a spy.”

They conducted their prisoner to North Castle, and he was finally hung as a spy.

Arnold escaped to a British man-of-war, and figured thereafter as a general in the king’s army, despised even by those who commissioned him.

Near the close of the winter of 1781, and through the spring, the enemy committed many depredations on our coast, in which Arnold played a conspicuous part. In Virginia and Connecticut his command wantonly destroyed a large amount of property. New London was burned under his generalship. Washington employed every means possible to capture the traitor, but in vain.

The British directed their chief efforts against the South, designing to spread consternation by their terrible ravages. Richmond was laid in ashes. Along the shores of the Potomac and Chesapeake they plundered and burned. They threatened to destroy Washington’s home at Mount Vernon, and landed for the purpose of applying the torch to every building. The agent, Lund Washington, saved the property from destruction by furnishing the enemy with a large quantity of supplies. When the general heard what his agent had done, he wrote to him as follows:

“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 Washingtons 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.