It was customary in many of the inland towns of New England,
some thirty years ago, to celebrate the anniversary of the
surrender of Lord Cornwallis by a sham representation of that
important event in the history of the Revolutionary War. A
town meeting would be called, at which a company of men would
be detailed as British, and a company as Americans--two
leading citizens being selected to represent Washington and
Cornwallis in mimic surrender.
The pleasant little town of W--, in whose schools the writer
has been repeatedly "corrected," upon whose ponds he has often
skated, upon whose richest orchards he has, with other
juvenile bandits, many times dashed in the silent midnight;
the town of W--, where it was popularly believed these bandits
would "come to a bad end," resolved to celebrate the
surrender. Rival towns had celebrated, and W-- determined to
eclipse them in the most signal manner. It is my privilege to
tell how W-- succeeded in this determination.
The great day came. It was ushered in by the roar of
musketry, the ringing of the village church bell, the
squeaking of fifes, and the rattling of drums.
People poured into the village from all over the county.
Never had W-- experienced such a jam. Never had there been
such an onslaught upon gingerbread carts. Never had New
England rum (for this was before Neal Dow's day) flowed so
freely. And W--'s fair daughters, who mounted the house-tops
to see the surrender, had never looked fairer. The old folks
came, too, and among them were several war-scarred heroes, who
had fought gallantly at Monmouth and Yorktown. These brave
sons of '76 took no part in the demonstration, but an honored
bench was set apart for their exclusive use on the piazza of
Sile Smith's store. When they were dry all they had to do was
to sing out to Sile's boy, Jerry, "a leetle New Englan' this
way, if YOU please." It was brought forthwith.
At precisely 9 o'clock, by the schoolmaster's new "Lepeen"
watch, the American and British forces marched on to the
village green and placed themselves in battle array, reminding
the spectator of the time when
"Brave Wolfe drew up his men
In a style most pretty,
On the Plains of Abraham
Before the city."
The character of Washington had been assigned to 'Squire Wood,
a well-to-do and influential farmer, while that of Cornwallis
had been given to the village lawyer, a kind-hearted but
rather pompous person, whose name was Caleb Jones.
'Squire Wood, the Washington of the occasion, had met with
many unexpected difficulties in preparing his forces, and in
his perplexity he had emptied not only his own canteen but
those of most of his aids. The consequence was--mortifying as
it must be to all true Americans--blushing as I do to tell it,
Washington at the commencement of the mimic struggle was most
unqualifiedly drunk.
The sham fight commenced. Bang! bang! bang! from the
Americans--bang! bang! bang! from the British. The bangs were
kept hotly up until the powder gave out, and then came the
order to charge. Hundreds of wooden bayonets flashed fiercely
in the sunlight, each soldier taking very good care not to hit
anybody.
"Thaz (hic) right," shouted Washington, who during the
shooting had been racing his horse wildly up and down the
line, "thaz right! GIN it to 'em! Cut their tarnal heads
off!"
"On, Romans!" shrieked Cornwallis, who had once seen a
theatrical performance and remembered the heroic appeals of
the Thespian belligerents, "on to the fray! No sleep till
mornin'."
"Let eout all their bowels," yelled Washington, "and down with
taxation on tea!"
The fighting now ceased, the opposing forces were properly
arranged, and Cornwallis, dismounting, prepared to present his
sword to Washington according to programme. As he walked
slowly towards the Father of His Country he rehearsed the
little speech he had committed for the occasion, while the
illustrious being who was to hear it was making desperate
efforts to keep in his saddle. Now he would wildly brandish
his sword and narrowly escape cutting off his horse's ears,
and then he would fall suddenly forward on to the steed's
neck, grasping the mane as drowning men seize hold of straws.
He was giving an inimitable representation of Toodles on
horseback. All idea of the magnitude of the occasion had left
him, and when he saw Cornwallis approaching, with slow and
stately step, and sword-hilt extended toward him, he inquired,
"What'n devil YOU want, any (hic) how!"
"General Washington," said Cornwallis, in dignified and
impressive tones, "I tender you my sword. I need not inform
you, Sir, how deeply--"
The speech was here suddenly cut short by Washington, who,
driving the spurs into his horse, playfully attempted to ride
over the commander of the British forces. He was not
permitted to do this, for his aids, seeing his unfortunate
condition, seized the horse by the bridle, straightened
Washington up in his saddle, and requested Cornwallis to
proceed with his remarks.
"General Washington," said Cornwallis, "the British Lion
prostrates himself at the feet of the American Eagle!"
"EAGLE? EAGLE!" yelled the infuriated Washington, rolling off
his horse and hitting Cornwallis a frightful blow on the head
with the flat of his sword, "do you call me a EAGLE, you mean,
sneakin' cuss?" He struck him again, sending him to the
ground, and said, "I'll learn you to call me a Eagle, you
infernal scoundrel!"
Cornwallis remained upon the ground only a moment. Smarting
from the blows he had received, he arose with an entirely
unlooked for recuperation on the part of the fallen, and in
direct defiance of historical example; in spite of the men of
both nations, indeed, he whipped the Immortal Washington until
he roared for mercy.
The Americans, at first mortified and indignant at the conduct
of their chief, now began to sympathize with him, and resolved
to whip their mock foes in earnest. They rushed fiercely upon
them, but the British were really the stronger party and drove
the Americans back. Not content with this they charged madly
upon them and drove them from the field--from the village, in
fact. There were many heads damaged, eyes draped in mourning,
noses fractured and legs lamed--it is a wonder that no one was
killed outright.
Washington was confined to his house for several weeks, but he
recovered at last. For a time there was a coolness between
himself and Cornwallis, but they finally concluded to join the
whole county in laughing about the surrender.
They live now. Time, the "artist," has thoroughly whitewashed
their heads, but they are very jolly still. On town meeting
days the old 'Squire always rides down to the village. In the
hind part of his venerable yellow wagon is always a bunch of
hay, ostensibly for the old white horse, but really to hide a
glass bottle from the vulgar gaze. This bottle has on one
side a likeness of Lafayette, and upon the other may be seen
the Goddess of Liberty. What the bottle contains inside I
cannot positively say, but it is true that 'Squire Wood and
Lawyer Jones visit that bottle very frequently on town-meeting
days and come back looking quite red in the face. When this
redness in the face becomes of the blazing kind, as it
generally does by the time the polls close, a short dialogue
like this may be heard.
"We shall never play surrender again, Lawyer Jones."
"Them days is over, 'Squire Wood!"