His Excellency, looking round at me, said gravely, “Pray God the net
hold good!” After I had offered the toast of Lady Washington’s health,
and our thanks for the pleasant days of rest and good cheer, he left us,
desiring Mr. Tilghman to see that we had wine enough.
On the 14th we reached Williamsburg. The army rapidly came in by
divisions, French and American. Before the 25th we had from the fleet
cannon and intrenching-tools, and all our available force was to hand.
I can make clear in a few words the situation of the enemy. The
peninsula of York lies between the James and the York rivers. On the
south bank of the latter sits the little town of York. Seven redoubts
surrounded it. The town was flanked right and left by deep ravines and
creeks falling into the York River. Intrenchments, field-works, and
abatis, with felled trees, lay to landward.
Gloucester Point, on the opposite shore of the river, was well
fortified, and before it lay a small force of British war-ships, the
channel being obstructed lower down by sunken vessels. The French fleet
held the river below the town, and we the peninsula.
On the night of the 25th, after a brief visit to the fleet, our chief
lay down in the open under a mulberry-tree with one of its roots for
a pillow, and slept well, as was audible enough to us who lay at a
distance.
That night his lordship abandoned his outworks and drew within the town.
We seized these lines next day, losing Colonel Scammel, formerly of the
staff, in whose amusing songs and gay talk our chief had used to take
much pleasure. On the 28th the armies marched twelve miles down the
peninsula, and camped two miles from the town, driving in the pickets
and some parties of horse.
By October 1, the weather being fine, we had completed a half-moon of
intrenchments, resting at each wing on the river. Two advanced redoubts
we threw up were severely cannonaded, so as to interrupt the men at
work.
His Excellency, somewhat anxious, came out of his tent, and calling Mr.
Tilghman and me, who were writing, rode forth, followed by his faithful
black Billy, whom we used to credit with knowing more of what went on
than did we of the staff. Mr. Evans, a chaplain, was fain to see more of
the war than concerned him, and came after us. As we approached, Billy,
riding behind me, said as the cannon-shot went over us:
“Dem redcoats is p’intin’ us mighty well.”
Then a shot ricochetted, striking the ground in front and covering us
with dust. Mr. Evans, who was standing by, and had now seen quite enough
of it, said, “We shall all be killed,” and then looked ruefully at his
new beaver, well dusted and dirty.
“You had better carry that home to your wife and children,” said the
chief. “This is not the place for you, sir.”
Neither was it much to my own liking, and I was not sorry when we rode
back.
On the night of the 9th of October his Excellency put a match to the
first gun, and for four days and nights a furious cannonade went on from
both sides.
Late on the night of the 10th Jack came to my tent, and we walked out to
see this terrible spectacle, climbing a little hill which lay well away
from our lines. For a time we were quite alone.
A monstrous dome of smoke hung over the town. Now and then a gust of sea
wind tore it apart, and through the rifts we saw the silver cup of the
moon and the host of stars. We lay long on the hillock. I suppose the
hour and the mighty fates involved made us serious and silent. Far
away seventy cannon thundered from our works, and the enemy’s batteries
roared their incessant fury of reply.
Presently I said, “Jack, how still the heavens are, and under them this
rage of war! How strange!”
“Yes,” said Jack; “once I said something of this tranquilness in the
skies to our great Dr. Franklin. He is very patient with young fellows,
but he said to me: ‘Yes, it is a pleasing thing, even to be wrong about
it. It is only to the eye of man that there is calm and peace in the
heavens; no shot of cannon can fly as these worlds fly, and comets
whirl, and suns blaze; and if there is yonder, as with us, war and
murder and ravage, none can say.’ It all comes back to me now,” said
Jack, “and I thought to tell you.”
“It is a terrible sight,” said I, as the great tumult of sound grew
louder. “Let us thank God the cause is a just one.”
“And there are the stars again,” said Jack, “and the moon.” And we were
silent once more, watching the death-struggle of a failing cause.
Our own mad world was far other than at peace. The great bombs rose in
vast curves overhead, with trails of light, and, seeming to hesitate in
mid-air, exploded, or fell on town or ship or in the stream between.
As we looked, awe-struck, hot shot set fire to the “Charon,” a
forty-four-gun ship, nigh to Gloucester, and soon a red rush of fire
twining about mast and spar rose in air, lighting the sublime spectacle,
amid the crash of guns, the rattle of musketry, and multitudinous
inexplicable noises, through which we heard now and then the wild howl
of a dog from some distant farm-yard.
At last the war-ship blew up, and a wonderful strong light lighted the
town, the river, and the camp. As it fell the dog bayed again, a long,
sharp, wavering cry.
This seemed to me to impress Jack Warder more than anything else in this
din of war. He said now and again, “There is that dog,” and wondered
what the beast thought of it all. It is curious upon what the minds of
men fix on grave occasions. I meant to ask Jack why he spoke over and
over of the dog when before us was the bloody close of a great historic
tragedy: a king humbled; a young republic at sword-point with an ancient
monarchy.
It seemed to me a man’s mind must grow in the presence of such might of
events. The hill, a half-mile from the lines, was a good vantage-ground
whence to see and hear. Jack and I smoked many pipes, and, as he was
not for duty in the trenches, lay here most of that cool October night,
wrapped in our cloaks. Sometimes we talked; more often we were silent,
and ever the great cannon roared from trench and bastion, or were quiet
awhile to let their hot lips cool.
Once Jack fell to talk of how he and I were changed from the quiet
Quaker lads we had been, and did I remember our first fight, and Colonel
Rupert Forest, and Master Dove? That greater master, War, since then
had educated and broadened us. He was more philosophic than I, and liked
thus to speculate; but of Darthea he said never a word, though we spoke
of many things that memorable night.
At last, when it was near to dawn, Jack jumped up, crying, “Oh, confound
that dog!” He had, what I never had, some remnant of the superstitions
of our ancestors, and I suspect that the howl of the poor beast troubled
him. I guessed at this when he said presently, “I suppose we shall have
to carry the place by storm.”
“Now don’t tell me you will get hit,” said I. “You always say that.
There are enough dead men to set every dog in Virginia a-howling.”
Jack laughed, but I had shamed him out of any desire to repeat his
predictions of disaster, and with the signal-rockets in air, and the
resounding thunder of this storm of war ever rising and falling, we went
at last to our tents.
For two or three days his Excellency kept me busy; but since, except
every third or fourth day, Jack had no active work, his diary at this
time is very fully kept. I see from its pages that he thought over and
over in this leisure of what we had so largely discussed on that night
when we lay upon the hill.
“October 11,” I find written.--“Hugh and I had a long talk over our own
lives. It is a good thing and wise at times to take stock, as merchants
say, of one’s self and of one’s friends. Indeed, if a man could contrive
a moral likeness of his inner self such as he may have of his body,
and this at different ages, it were an interesting and perhaps, too, a
useful thing. It might much surprise him as the years went on. I think
of myself as not so changed as Hugh. I am indeed more shy. As time goes
on I arrange to hide it. I am less ambitious. Duty seems to me more and
more a thing which I must do by reason of habit, that being strong with
me owing much to the constant example set by my friend’s life. If I
have in me something of the woman’s nature, as Mistress Wynne used to
declare, I do not now so much dislike the notion. It may explain why,
as I mature, nothing in life seems to me so greatly to be desired as the
love of my fellows. If I think a man I esteem has no affection for me, I
will fetch and carry to get it. Thank God I need not for Hugh. For him
I would give my life, should he want it, and what more can a man do for
his friend? Yes, there is a greater test, but of that I need not think,
since she does not love me, nor ever could I think to win her love.
“My Hugh is a big handsome fellow nowadays, builded to be of the bigness
of his father, but cleaner fashioned, from early use of his muscles.
He has the strong passions of these hot Welsh, but is disciplined to
control them, though not always. He is more serious of late, and has
thoughts which surprise me, and show that his mind has grown. I used to
think he was too abrupt with people, but he has a gift I have not--the
power to capture the fine ways which these French gentlemen possess, so
that nowadays he has quite lost the stiff ways in which we were brought
up. But this art I have not, nor ever shall have.”
Now all this is more or less true, and as I have said whatever was ill
of myself, I like to let another, if a too partial judge, say of me,
for the flattery of our blood, what may one day pleasure my children to
read.
On the night of the 12th of October our second parallel was opened by
Baron Steuben’s division, in which was Jack’s command. It brought us
within three hundred yards of the enemy’s works. Here our people, while
at the labour of digging, were greatly annoyed by the flanking fire of
two redoubts, one on each side, and lying nearly as far out to right and
left as were now our advanced trenches.
On the 13th Colonel Tilghman came to ask me to write the needed orders
for an assault on these two redoubts. He told me that Marquis Lafayette
had asked that his own aide-de-camp, Captain Gimat, should lead the
storming-party of Americans from the troops for duty on the 14th,
but Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton had insisted on his own right to this
honourable risk, he being, on the day set for the assault, in command in
the trenches.
This officer, my lifelong friend, had, in February of ‘81, resigned from
the staff, of which resignation too much has been said. It in no
way affected the regard for him which our chief entertained, and the
occasion of his leaving the staff was not one, I thought, to justify my
friend in so doing, as indeed I made bold to tell him.
He had now written a spirited letter to our chief, claiming the right
of command, as he had that day the tour of duty in the trenches.
His Excellency, with his strong sense of justice, had decided in Mr.
Hamilton’s favour, and it was thus settled that he should head our
assaulting column, and the marquis have command of the whole detachment,
which was to be made up of picked men from the divisions for duty in our
works.
I wrote the required orders, and set them forth in the orderly-book. The
same day toward nightfall Jack appeared at my tent. He said his company
was selected to be of the assault, adding with a fine colour and very
cheerful, that here in a packet were letters he had writ to his father
and to my Aunt Gainor, and here, too, another--this with a little
hesitation--for Miss Darthea.
I laughed, and said I was a bad person to be his executor, as I meant
in some way to contrive to be of the party; how, I did not yet know. He
begged me not to risk myself on a business out of my line of duty, but
I was firmly set as to the matter, and he went away more serious than I
thought worth while. In fact, I was tired of the every-day sameness of
staff-duty and incessant letter-writing.
Later in the evening I was sent for to the tent of his Excellency. I
found him with the Comtes de Deuxponts and de Rochambeau. I was wanted
to act as interpreter. Although his Excellency could comprehend what was
said, he possessed no such knowledge of French as to be able to speak
it.
The business was soon despatched, and as I lingered, the general asked
what other matter needed attention. Upon this I replied that I greatly
desired to be of the storming-party.
He returned, “I presume of course, sir, that you are not for duty on the
14th?”