THE SURRENDER OF YORKTOWN
At the siege of Yorktown much of the gallantry and glory of war was to
be seen; but there was another side as well. The dwelling houses in
ruin, the sufferings of the wounded men, the surgical operations, the
amputations, the groans and sighs and homesickness, the dying gasps,
the bodies of slain horses lying in the way--these also are war.
In Yorktown itself many houses were in flames. A sortie had been
attempted and had failed. British reënforcements had not come.
Supplies were giving out. The outlook seemed hopeless. The men fought
without spirit. An attempt was made to escape by sea. It also failed.
A violent storm drove the boats back to shore. The idea of surrender
was entertained.
Consequently, on the 17th of October, General Cornwallis sent a note
to General Washington asking for a cessation of hostilities for
twenty-four hours, to settle terms for the surrender of Yorktown.
Washington allowed two hours instead of twenty-four. Why waste any
more time?
Interviews were immediately held, and a treaty of capitulation was
framed.
When it was known that the British had yielded, a wave of the wildest
joy spread through the American and French camps--and through the
whole country as well. Messengers rode at top speed to Philadelphia to
carry the good news. Congress was sitting there at the time. The rider
came in at midnight. At one o'clock the watchers called "All's well,"
as usual, but added,
"_Cornwallis is taken!_"
Windows were opened and heads thrust out. The streets soon filled with
rejoicing people. What Lafayette called "a good noisy feu de joie"
followed.
The third article in the document of capitulation stated that the
British troops should be required to march out to the place appointed
in front of the posts, at two o'clock precisely, with shouldered arms,
colors cased, and drums beating a British or a German march. They were
then to ground their arms and return to their encampments. The same
afternoon the works at Gloucester on the opposite side of the river
were to be given up, the infantry to file out as prescribed for the
garrison at York, and the cavalry to go forth with their swords drawn
and their trumpets sounding.
Over all this there had been a sharp discussion. The British wished to
receive the "honors of war," that is, to go out with colors flying and
drums beating; and the courteous Washington was inclined to grant this
request. But Lafayette remembered the requirements the British had
made at the defeat at Charleston. They had compelled the men to march
out with colors cased, and had forbidden them to play a British or a
Hessian air; and he thought that in fair retaliation the British army
should now give up their arms in the manner required by them on that
occasion. He suggested, however, one original variation,--that they
should be not forbidden but _required_ to march to a British or a
German air. Colonel Laurens was in accord with this. He had served at
Charleston under General Lincoln, and he was only too glad to remind
the British commissioners that it had been so arranged and required of
the American troops after that defeat.
"The article remains or I cease to be a commissioner," the young man
said firmly. The high-spirited Laurens could but remember that at that
very moment his own father was still imprisoned in the Tower of
London.
The condition remained; and at noon on the 19th of October the
capitulation was signed. At one o'clock possession was taken of the
enemies' works, and at two the garrison marched out.
A field about a mile and a half south of Yorktown was chosen for the
ceremony. The scene was brilliant and spectacular. All the American
soldiers were drawn up in a line on one side of the road and the
French stood opposite with General Rochambeau, their commander in
chief, leading their line. General Washington, mounted on his horse
and attended by his aids, was at the head. Washington was ardently
admired by all the French officers and they must have envied him his
magnificent appearance in this fortunate hour. That fearless and
austere commander, who had shared the sufferings and privations of his
men in the dark night of Valley Forge, now rejoiced with them in the
hour of accomplishment.
The French made a splendid appearance with their uniforms of bright
colors and contrasting trimmings. Nearly all had the conventional
three-cornered Revolutionary cap of blue; and the trousers were
prevailingly of a lemon or canary yellow. Glittering orders were
flashing on many uniforms, their banners were embroidered with golden
lilies; each noble had his servants arrayed in silver-laced livery,
and the French bands of many fifes, horns, and cymbals, played such
music as was never heard before.
The American soldiers, who had inherited no traditions of either the
glory or the disasters of warfare, could not compare with the
foreigners in their full-dress display. But in every heart among them
there was a feeling that richly compensated for the lack of feathers
and facings. Whether shopkeeper or farmer or mighty hunter from the
interior who stood in that line, the tide of united nationality ran
higher in his heart than ever before. And every last man among them
was one degree happier by having the dashing young French Major
General, their beloved "Marquis," on the American side of the
procession instead of in the foreign line. The "Boy" that Cornwallis
was so certain he could catch was splendid that day in the perfection
of military form. He sat, as always, very perfectly on his horse and
he had the grace to be proud of the company in which he stood. As to
his own regiment of Light Infantry, he had always been fond of
decorating them with finery. They appeared now in dark leather leggins
and white trousers; their blue coats had white facings and white
cuffs; and a blue feather stood up in front of the cap and waved over
the crown. This was the regulation uniform for them, but perhaps,
having just gone through the severities of their Virginia campaign,
they were not able to "live up" to their fine clothes. However,
nothing mattered on that great day.
A vast concourse of American spectators was present to witness the
surrender, but their desire to see Lord Cornwallis was not gratified. He
pleaded indisposition and appointed General O'Hara in his place. As this
general approached the group of commanding officers, the bands added
their music. By the stipulation, they had been commanded to play an
English or a Hessian march, but they were too proud to select one of
their dignified national airs. Instead, they gave the tune of an English
folk song of hoary age, known from time immemorial as "Derry Down," but
now called "The World Turned Upside Down," a title the British bandmaster
no doubt considered appropriate to the circumstances.
But the dignity of the occasion required that they should now observe
the proprieties, for there was a wonderful pageant to be viewed, and
all felt the great import of the hour.
The conquered army advanced between the two long lines of French and
American soldiers. General O'Hara led the procession, riding slowly and
proudly. As he approached General Washington, he removed his hat and
apologized for the absence of General Cornwallis. General Washington
received the apology and indicated that he had appointed General Lincoln,
as the conquered commander of Charleston, to do the honors of the day and
to receive the arms of the conquered. The moment was historic.
In one of the halls at Yale University stands a celebrated picture,
painted by Trumbull, which gives a vivid impression of the brilliancy
and importance of the occasion. In this picture General Washington, in
an attitude of great dignity, is placed in the center of the scene.
Near him stands General Lincoln who is being richly rewarded for his
bitter defeat at Charleston. His hand is held out to receive the sword
which the representative of General Cornwallis is passing to him.
At the left of the picture are seen the French officers. Rochambeau is
at the back and a little separated from the rest, and the others in
the line are the counts, marquises, and barons who were officers in
the French army.
General Lafayette, the American, was on the American side, not far
from his beloved General Washington. The one nearest to the commander
in chief is General (or Governor) Thomas Nelson, the one who had
suggested that his own house roof be aimed at in the beginning of the
siege; the next is Lafayette; then Baron Steuben; the others are
representative commanders from various states.
The ceremony that followed this climax was most impressive. General
Lincoln received the sword of Cornwallis, and at once handed it back
to General O'Hara. The several regiments came forward to deliver their
colors. Twenty-eight British captains, each bearing a flag folded in a
case, were drawn up in a line opposite the twenty-eight American
sergeants who were stationed to receive the flags. Ensign Wilson, then
but eighteen years old, the youngest commissioned officer in the
American army, was chosen to conduct this ceremony and to hand the
colors on to the American sergeants. Lafayette looked down from his
place in the line of mounted American officers and felt that his most
ardent hopes were now fulfilled, and that his motto, "Cur non," had
brought him only the best of fortune.
The day after the ceremony of surrender was the Sabbath, and General
Washington ordered that divine service should be held in all the
regiments and that Thanksgiving should be the theme. The next day he
gave a dinner to which the general officers of the three armies were
invited. Lafayette could not restrain his admiration for Cornwallis
for his gallant and appropriate conduct upon all these rather
embarrassing occasions.
[Illustration: _Photograph from Wm. H. Rau, Philadelphia._
THE SURRENDER OF CORNWALLIS.
From the painting by Colonel John Trumbull, the soldier-artist
of the Revolution.]
If, however, he had possessed the gift of prophecy, he might have
looked forward but one short century to the centennial of Yorktown,
when the flags of the United States and of Great Britain would be run
up together on the site of this historic surrender. Then he would have
seen British and American officers stand together with bared heads and
in brotherly friendliness, while salutes were fired and cheers rent
the air.
Looking still further, he would have seen the day when the people of
France would unite with their one-time foe in various endeavors both
peaceful and warlike. A strange planet is this, for the shifting of
national loyalties and the rending and intertwining of bonds of union!
If history could make the human race amenable to receiving any
instruction whatever, we should learn that war never yet decided any
problem that could not have been better settled in some other way.