Up the James rode Erskine, hiding in the woods by day and slipping
cautiously along the sandy road by night, circling about Tarleton's
camp-fires, or dashing at full speed past some careless sentinel. Often
he was fired at, often chased, but with a clear road in front of him he
had no fear of capture. On the third morning he came upon a ragged
sentinel--an American. Ten minutes later he got his first glimpse of
Lafayette, and then he was hailed joyfully by none other than Dave
Yandell, Captain Dave Yandell, shorn of his woodsman's dress and
panoplied in the trappings of war.
* * * * *
Cornwallis was coming on. The boy, he wrote, cannot escape me. But the
boy--Lafayette--did, and in time pursued and forced the Englishman into a
_cul-de-sac_. "I have given his lordship the disgrace of a retreat,"
said Lafayette. And so--Yorktown!
Late in August came the message that put Washington's great "soul in
arms." Rochambeau had landed six thousand soldiers in Connecticut, and
now Count de Grasse and a French fleet had sailed for the Chesapeake.
General Washington at once resorted to camouflage. He laid out camps
ostentatiously opposite New York and in plain sight of the enemy. He
made a feigned attack on their posts. Rochambeau moved south and reached
the Delaware before the British grasped the Yankee trick. Then it was
too late. The windows of Philadelphia were filled with ladies waving
handkerchiefs and crying bravoes when the tattered Continentals, their
clothes thick with dust but hats plumed with sprigs of green, marched
through amid their torn battle-flags and rumbling cannon. Behind
followed the French in "gay white uniforms faced with green," and
martial music throbbed the air. Not since poor André had devised the
"Mischianza" festival had Philadelphia seen such a pageant. Down the
Chesapeake they went in transports and were concentrated at Williamsburg
before the close of September. Cornwallis had erected works against the
boy, for he knew nothing of Washington and Count de Grasse, nor Mad
Anthony and General Nelson, who were south of the James to prevent
escape into North Carolina.
"To your goodness," the boy wrote to Washington, "I am owning the most
beautiful prospect I may ever behold."
Then came de Grasse, who drove off the British fleet, and the mouth of
the net was closed.
Cornwallis heard the cannon and sent Clinton to appeal for help, but the
answer was Washington himself at the head of his army. And then the
joyous march.
"'Tis our first campaign!" cried the French gayly, and the Continentals
joyfully answered:
"'Tis our last!"
* * * * *
At Williamsburg the allies gathered, and with Washington's army came
Colonel Dale, now a general, and young Captain Harry Dale, who had
brought news from Philadelphia that was of great interest to Erskine
Dale. In that town Dane Grey had been a close intimate of André, and
that intimacy had been the cause of much speculation since. He had told
Dave of his mother and Early Morn, and Dave had told him gravely that he
must go get them after the campaign was over and bring them to the fort
in Kentucky. If Early Morn still refused to come, then he must bring his
mother, and he reckoned grimly that no mouth would open in a word that
could offend her. Erskine also told of Red Oaks and Dane Grey, but Dave
must tell nothing to the Dales--not yet, if ever.
In mid-September Washington came, and General Dale had but one chance to
visit Barbara. General Dale was still weak from a wound and Barbara
tried unavailingly to keep him at home. Erskine's plea that he was too
busy to go with them aroused Harry's suspicions, that were confirmed by
Barbara's manner and reticence, and he went bluntly to the point:
"What is the trouble, cousin, between you and Barbara?"
"Trouble?"
"Yes. You wouldn't go to Red Oaks and Barbara did not seem surprised. Is
Dane Grey concerned?"
"Yes."
Harry looked searchingly at his cousin:
"I pray to God that I may soon meet him face to face."
"And I," said Erskine quietly, "pray to God that you do not--not until
after I have met him first." Barbara had not told, he thought, nor
should he--not yet. And Harry, after a searching look at his cousin,
turned away.
They marched next morning at daybreak. At sunset of the second day they
bivouacked within two miles of Yorktown and the siege began. The allied
line was a crescent, with each tip resting on the water--Lafayette
commanding the Americans on the right, the French on the left under
Rochambeau. De Grasse, with his fleet, was in the bay to cut off
approach by water. Washington himself put the match to the first gun,
and the mutual cannonade of three or four days began. The scene was
"sublime and stupendous."
Bombshells were seen "crossing each other's path in the air, and were
visible in the form of a black ball by day, but in the night they
appeared like a fiery meteor, with a blazing tail most beautifully
brilliant. They ascended majestically from the mortar to a certain
altitude and gradually descended to the spot where they were destined to
execute their work of destruction. When a shell fell it wheeled around,
burrowed, and excavated the earth to a considerable extent and,
bursting, made dreadful havoc around. When they fell in the river they
threw up columns of water like spouting monsters of the deep. Two
British men-of-war lying in the river were struck with hot shot and set
on fire, and the result was full of terrible grandeur. The sails caught
and the flames ran to the tops of the masts, resembling immense torches.
One fled like a mountain of fire toward the bay and was burned to the
water's edge."
General Nelson, observing that the gunners were not shooting at Nelson
House because it was his own, got off his horse and directed a gun at it
with his own hand. And at Washington's headquarters appeared the
venerable Secretary Nelson, who had left the town with the permission of
Cornwallis and now "related with a serene visage what had been the
effect of our batteries." It was nearly the middle of October that the
two redoubts projecting beyond the British lines and enfilading the
American intrenchments were taken by storm. One redoubt was left to
Lafayette and his Americans, the other to Baron de Viomenil, who claimed
that his grenadiers were the men for the matter in hand. Lafayette
stoutly argued the superiority of his Americans, who, led by Hamilton,
carried their redoubt first with the bayonet, and sent the Frenchman an
offer of help. The answer was:
"I will be in mine in five minutes." And he was, Washington watching the
attack anxiously:
"The work is done and well done."
And then the surrender:
The day was the 19th of October. The victors were drawn up in two lines
a mile long on the right and left of a road that ran through the autumn
fields south of Yorktown. Washington stood at the head of his army on
the right, Rochambeau at the head of the French on the left. Behind on
both sides was a great crowd of people to watch the ceremony. Slowly out
of Yorktown marched the British colors, cased drums beating a
significant English air:
"The world turned topsyturvy."
Lord Cornwallis was sick. General O'Hara bore my lord's sword. As he
approached, Washington saluted and pointed to General Lincoln, who had
been treated with indignity at Charleston. O'Hara handed the sword to
Lincoln. Lincoln at once handed it back and the surrender was over.
Between the lines the British marched on and stacked arms in a near-by
field. Some of them threw their muskets on the ground, and a British
colonel bit the hilt of his sword from rage.
As Tarleton's legion went by, three pairs of eyes watched eagerly for
one face, but neither Harry nor Captain Dave Yandell saw Dane Grey--nor
did Erskine Dale.