HOW TOM DEERING RODE WITH WASHINGTON AT YORKTOWN
TOM remained with Lafayette in Virginia for some time.
“Your orders,” the general had said to him, “are to make all speed to
General Washington’s camp, are they not?”
“Yes, general,” answered the scout.
“Then, you will make more speed by remaining where you are for a time.
To attempt to win your way through the country north of here would be
folly at this time--you would lose both your dispatches and your life.”
“But,” protested Tom, “my orders were such as to----”
“Your orders were to deliver the dispatches to General Washington,”
spoke Lafayette, quietly. “And if you ride north now, it will be as
though you desired the papers to fall into the hands of the enemy.”
He smiled at the young scout’s indignant expression. “You love your
country’s cause, I feel sure of that; but it is one thing to be brave
and another thing to be foolish. Wait; in a few weeks, or days,
perhaps, by hard riding and great caution you might get through. But at
this time the attempt would be suicide.”
Tom realized the truth of all this, but chafed at the delay; now that
he had definite news of his father he burned with the desire to help
him in some way.
“If I could only put the matter before General Washington,” he told
himself again and again, “he would have him exchanged, for the general
would appreciate his service.”
The friends of America in the British parliament, and they were many,
were rapidly beginning to make headway at this time; Lord North was
put to his wit’s end to maintain his position against them. “End the
war,” was beginning to be heard night after night in both the Commons
and the Lords; even the crusty old king was beginning to waver in his
purpose.
Colonel Phillips and the traitor Arnold had been beaten off by
Lafayette and the gallant Baron Steuben; and just as Phillips was
breathing his last Cornwallis arrived in Petersburg with 7,000 picked
men. Cornwallis, while a stern, relentless soldier--indeed a ruthless,
in many respects, was still a gentleman; and one of his first acts upon
taking command, was to pack Arnold back to New York; the traitor was
more than he could tolerate.
The British at once seized all the horses for many miles
around--hundreds of them--overran the James River district, and took
possession of Richmond and Williamsburg.
“There is one thing I like about the war as conducted in Virginia,”
Tom said to Cole one morning as they were ready to depart on a scout.
“There are not nearly so many Tories; there is not that neighbor
against neighbor which exists in Carolina. Up here almost every enemy
wears a red coat.”
This was the day that Tom intercepted a dispatch from Sir Henry
Clinton, calling Cornwallis to the seacoast. He reported in the
afternoon to the commander.
“But where is the dispatch?” asked Lafayette.
“Lord Cornwallis has it by this time, I suppose,” answered the scout.
“Ah!” Lafayette looked at his horseman sharply. “Tell me about it.”
“I and my servant, general, sprang upon the courier just as he was
climbing the bank after crossing the James. We took his papers and let
him go. As you directed me to do in every case, I read the dispatches
in order to assure myself that they were worth bringing to your notice.”
“Yes!” said the general, expectantly.
“General Clinton desires Lord Cornwallis to at once proceed to the
coast, and hold himself ready to reinforce the army at New York.”
“Ah, is Washington pressing Sir Henry so close!” cried Lafayette,
delighted. “If so I see the end coming at last. But proceed.”
“During the morning,” continued Tom, “I was sighted by a scouting party
of the enemy. I had sealed up the dispatches about as I got them, and
in my flight I managed to drop them, as though by accident. This ruse,
I thought, would lead General Cornwallis to think that the contents of
the dispatches were still secret.”
“Very good!” said the French general, his lip closing in a firm line.
“This perhaps will lead to something.”
What it led to was this: Cornwallis, in answer to Clinton’s appeal,
set his force in motion from Williamsburg to Portsmouth. He was upon
the point of crossing the James when Lafayette attacked him with great
fury, under the impression that the main body of his army had already
crossed.
A day or so before, Tom had been despatched in hot haste to the camp of
General Wayne to urge him to form a junction with Lafayette. At the
prospect of a fight “Mad Anthony” had leaped to his feet and roared out
his orders to make ready to break camp. And, as it happened, it was he
that led the attack upon Cornwallis at the James. Tom, who had a high
admiration for the courage of this dashing soldier, had asked leave to
remain with him during the fight, and had granted the permission with a
laugh.
“I may want a fast horse to carry back my news of victory,” said he,
a twinkle in his eye, “and,” with a glance of appreciation at Sultan,
“you have the best in the army.”
It was only a short time after this that they threw themselves upon the
enemy. General Wayne’s eyes opened wide at sight of their great array.
“We’re attacking Cornwallis’ entire force,” cried a staff-officer in
dismay. “Shall we sound the retreat?”
Wayne threw his eagle eye over the field.
“No,” he shouted, hotly. “Sound the charge.”
The bugle rang out and the slender command charged with great
impetuosity; then like a flash, before the astounded British could
recover, Wayne ordered a retreat. If he had attempted the retreat in
the first instance the chances are that he would have lost his entire
command; as it was, Cornwallis was so astonished at the bold manœuvre
that he could not take advantage of the American’s position until too
late. Afterward he, apparently, suspected an ambuscade, for he sternly
forbade any pursuit.
The country to the north was now somewhat clear of the enemy, and Tom
asked General Lafayette’s permission to go on toward New York.
“It would be as well, perhaps,” said the French officer. “The way is
as free of British as it will be for some time, and the dispatches are
evidently important. But proceed by way of Baltimore; you have the
best chance of getting through by that route.”
The ride to Baltimore was a long and difficult one, also attended
by great danger. When he reached that city he, of course, at once
proceeded to the home of his Uncle Ben. After greeting Laura, who was
delighted to see him, he inquired after the brave old skipper of the
Defence--Uncle Dick.
“The Defence is being used as a dispatch boat by the Count de
Grasse,” answered Uncle Ben. “You know the French fleet is now in the
Chesapeake.”
“Why,” said Tom, “you astonish me. I have heard nothing of that.”
“The news was slow in coming,” laughed Uncle Ben, his face shining with
delight. “It must have been delayed somehow. And have you not heard of
Cornwallis’ position?”
“He is at Portsmouth, is he not?”
“No; he remained there but a short time. He has concentrated his force
upon the south side of the York River--a place called Yorktown. There
are some British war-ships in the river; but Admiral de Grasse has both
it and the James blockaded.”
“But what good will all this do?” protested Tom. “The Marquis de
Lafayette is not strong enough to cope with him.”
“But,” cried Laura, who had been listening, “General Washington is!”
“General Washington!”
“You have missed all the news, my boy. Why, Washington has turned
his attention from Sir Henry Clinton at New York and is marching on
Cornwallis at Yorktown.”
“Then to deliver my dispatches I must turn back!” exclaimed Tom, with
sinking heart. “My father is a prisoner upon the Benbow frigate at New
York; and I had hoped to have him exchanged when I got there.”
“The Benbow!” Uncle Ben stared at him. “Why, the Benbow is not at New
York. She is one of the vessels in York River.”
“You are sure!” Tom grasped his arm excitedly.
“I am positive.” The old man took a letter from the cupboard. “It’s
from your Uncle Dick,” he continued, “and was sent up by means of a
trading craft which he boarded down the bay.”
Tom read the letter eagerly. The Benbow was the vessel whose boats they
had attacked that night in Charleston harbor. Before proceeding north
she sailed, with several hundred slaves taken from the plantations of
patriots in the Carolinas, for the West Indies, to help replenish the
coffers of the king by their sale. This occupied some months, and on
her way from there to New York with her white prisoners she was met
by the Defence and three French ships of war. A running fight lasting
several days was the result, and it ended at length by the Englishman
running into the Chesapeake and up the York River where she, together
with the other British ships, was prevented from coming out by the
fleet of Admiral de Grasse.
“The Benbow is blockaded in the York River!” Tom almost shouted the
words. “And my father is on board! I now have two reasons to reach
Yorktown in time; to see Washington thrash Cornwallis, and set my
father free.”
No time was lost; and he at once set out upon the return journey with
Cole. Both Sultan and Dando seemed to feel the impatience of their
masters, and the journey was made at a remarkable pace; they scarcely
stopped to sleep at all, and were it not for their faithful horses
would not have once dismounted on the way.
Tom’s wish was granted; they arrived before any decisive steps were
taken. On August 23d, De Grasse had landed two thousand French troops
under St. Simon to reinforce Lafayette. On September 30th, Washington
had reached Yorktown, after a long series of rapid marches, and was
at once joined by Lafayette and St. Simon. A British fleet made an
attempt to ascend the York and relieve Cornwallis, but was driven off
by Admiral de Grasse.
Tom found that Washington had posted the French in front, and on
the right of the besieged town, extending from the river above to
the morass in the centre, where they were met by the Americans, who
extended to the river below. The young swamp-rider had arrived on
October 6th; and for two days and nights he and Cole slept almost
without a break. It was on the evening of the 8th that they first
reported for duty to Lafayette.
“The general is engaged,” said the sentry at the door of the marquis’s
quarters. “General Washington is with him.”
General Washington! Tom had not, as yet, laid eyes upon the great
Virginian, so he waited near by. As it happened, Lafayette heard his
voice at the door, and sent an officer out to bid him enter. Tom obeyed
with a beating heart; the French officer stood by the table in the
centre of the room, and in the background were grouped a number of
distinguished Americans and Frenchmen. But it was the figure at the
table that took the young scout’s attention; it was that of a large man
with a calm, noble face, and the air of one who commanded by natural
right. His hands rested upon the table before him, and his eyes were
fixed upon a youth who stood opposite him, under guard. Tom could not
restrain a cry of surprise at sight of him. The youth was Mark Harwood!
At the cry Washington looked toward Tom, inquiry in his quiet eyes.
Lafayette stepped forward.
“Pardon me, general, but this is the youth of whom I have already
spoken to you.”
“Ah, yes.” Washington’s face lit up with one of his rare smiles. “I
am pleased to meet so brave a soldier,” said he, addressing Tom. “I
have heard of your service with Generals Marion and Greene; and also
of what you have done since you joined General de Lafayette. Believe
me, your country is proud of such sons; and while she has such she is
unconquerable.”
The young man’s face burned with pleasure; praise from Washington was
praise indeed, and as he noted the smiles of the officers gathered
about, he felt that they, too, thought the same.
After a few moments, the commander-in-chief turned to a captain who
stood at Mark Harwood’s side.
“Captain Lacey,” said he, “take this man away.”
“Will you not use my information, then?” cried young Harwood, his face
going pale. “It is accurate; it will be of great service to you. I was
trusted by Lord Cornwallis and I can tell you his positions; I can tell
you how----”
“Enough,” Washington waved his hand. “Have you no shame--have you no
manhood? You were trusted by General Cornwallis, and now that you fancy
him on the verge of defeat, you come to me and offer to betray him.
Captain Lacey, take him away.”
“Wait!” Mark sprang toward the table at which Washington sat. “I can
prove to you--to all here--that my information is worth your while.”
“I never deal with traitors,” returned General Washington, sternly.
Mark’s face grew even more white as he saw the expression in the
American general’s eyes; in desperation he turned to Tom.
“Tom Deering, tell them who I am. You know me; you know whether I have
Cornwallis’ secrets or no.”
Washington looked with sudden surprise at Tom.
“Do you know this person?” he asked.
Tom flushed. “I answer with shame,” said he, “he is my cousin.”
“There,” cried Mark, “did I not say he knew me. Ask him about my
likelihood to have valuable information; he can tell you.”
“Silence!” broke in General de Lafayette, angrily.
“He is my cousin,” repeated Tom, steadily. “He is a Tory and was a
companion of Clarage, Fannin and Gainey in Carolina.”
“Ah!” Washington’s eyes flashed as he listened. “So he was leagued with
those ruffians! Well, that he should now turn traitor is no more than
might have been expected.”
“What disposition shall we make of him, general?” inquired Captain
Lacey, his hand on Mark Harwood’s shoulder.
“Drive him back to the British lines,” said Washington, briefly.
“No, no,” cried Mark, in sudden panic, “not that! Why, they would have
no mercy upon me now; they would shoot me at sight.”
“Take him away,” said de Lafayette, shortly.
Two stout infantrymen were summoned, and they dragged the traitor to
the door, despite his struggles.
“Don’t send me back to the British,” shrieked he, mad with fear, “don’t
send me back to my death. See, upon my knees, I beg of you. I will do
anything--tell you anything--and not ask a penny in payment; only don’t
send me back; don’t send me back.”
The coward was dragged gasping, livid, and screaming away. Tom heard
afterward that Mark had been driven back into Yorktown by a half dozen
French and American soldiers who pricked him with the points of their
bayonets whenever he showed a disposition to lag. What happened upon
his arrival there Tom never knew; at any rate that was the last he ever
saw of him.
On the evening of the next day--the 9th of October--the American
batteries opened on the town at a distance of some six hundred yards;
and so heavy was the fire that many of the British guns were dismounted
and silenced. Shells and red hot balls reached the enemy’s frigates in
the harbor, several of which were burned. By the evening of the 11th
the Americans had advanced to within three hundred yards of the British
lines.
On the 14th Tom Deering participated in an attack upon a redoubt, on
the left, and helped to carry it by assault; almost at the same time a
party of gallant French troops carried another, on the same side. These
were included in the works of the besiegers. Nearly a hundred pieces
of heavy ordnance were now brought to bear upon the British works, and
with such effect that the fortifications were beaten down and almost
every gun rendered useless.
Tarleton’s force was posted at Gloucester Point, across the York River;
and, hoping to break through the detachment of French which Washington
had placed in the rear of that place, Cornwallis attempted to cross
and join hands with him. But a violent storm came up and scattered his
boats after one division had succeeded in making the crossing. The
result was that on the 19th a capitulation was made, and 7,000 British
troops were surrendered to Washington.
Tom entered the captured town with the victorious general and his
officers. He stood upon a broken quay, with Cole, looking about at
the wreck which the American gunnery had made, a feeling of sadness
mingling with the joy of the triumph. Suddenly Cole’s strange cry
sounded, and gazing in the direction which the giant’s finger pointed
he saw the Defence, like a great bird with snowy, outstretched wings,
come scudding up the river. The schooner had hardly lowered her sails
and plunged her anchor into the waters when the two, having pulled out
in a bateau, were upon her decks.
“Keel haul me, Phil,” cried the voice of Captain Deering, “it’s Tom.
It’s Tom! Your son!”
“Father!” cried the youth. “Father! Where are you?”
He had not caught sight of the man leaning against the mizzen mast, but
who now turned and sprang toward him.
“Tom, my boy,” it was his father’s voice, the same old voice whose kind
ring he had not heard for these long, long years. And in a moment
they were locked in each other’s arms. After greetings, delighted
exclamations and hugs had been indulged in, the planter explained his
presence on the Defence.
“When Lord Cornwallis surrendered to Washington the British ships
struck their colors to Admiral de Grasse. And as the Benbow on which I
was a prisoner happened to be one of them----”
“And as I,” interrupted Captain Deering, “heard that she had prisoners
aboard her, I got the French admiral’s permission to search her well,
in the hope that what has happened would happen.” He clapped the
planter on the back. “And here he is, Tom, back again; a little pale
and somewhat the worse for wear, but not beyond mending by any means.”
They spent several hours comparing notes and relating their personal
experiences. The planter’s eyes glowed as Tom told some of his
adventures. He had not had the opportunity to serve his country, but he
felt that his brave boy had done enough for both.
“The war will not last much longer,” said Tom, at length. “This is a
blow from which the enemy can hardly recover.”
“I think you’re right, lad,” spoke Captain Deering; “the men who do the
talking will now take the place of those who do the fighting. Peace is
not far off.”
* * * * *
They were right; but peace did not come immediately. Greene, Marion,
Sumpter and Pinckney were still to strike swift, crushing blows in
Carolina. Five days after the fall of Yorktown, Sir Henry Clinton
arrived in the Chesapeake with 7,000 men; but, learning that Cornwallis
had surrendered, he hastily retreated.
On November 30, 1782, preliminary articles of peace were signed at
Paris. Savannah was evacuated by the British in July of 1783; New York
in November; but Charleston did not see the last of the enemy until
December. Upon the 14th of that month the American columns entered the
city, and those of the enemy retired to their ships. Tom Deering, his
father, Uncle Dick and Cole were among the first to enter; and they
sped as fast as their horses could carry them to the Deering place. The
slaves received them with joy, and soon everything was placed in order.
Not long afterward Laura was brought back by Uncle Dick in the Defence;
and one of the first things which Mr. Deering did, after his four
thousand pounds had been recovered from the old well, was to see that
the papers declaring Cole a free man were made out.
It was in vain that Cole protested,
“I don’t want to be a free nigger,” signaled he, complainingly, to Tom.
“I want to live here on this plantation.”
Tom patted the giant negro’s great shoulder.
“It would be the most unhappy day of my life, Cole, to see you leave
the plantation,” said he. “But after what you have done, we can’t hold
you in slavery. You must be a free man--as free, as completely at
liberty as our country.”
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Superscripted characters are preceded by a carat character: M^cIntyre.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic or alternate spelling has been retained from the original.