Chapter XIV: Part 14

The heroic conduct of Arnold--periling life as a volunteer, and while smarting under a sense of wrong--was duly appreciated wherever the exploit was told. Congress, sensible of the merit of the achievement, immediately promoted him to the rank of major-general; but instead of ante-dating his commission, that he might take rank with those who had been raised above him, they left him still _subordinate_ to them. This was unfortunate, and even inconsistent. Arnold felt the neglect with still deeper sensibility, and saw in it, as he imagined, an undeniable proof that the charge of ingratitude which he had brought against his country was well founded.

At length, his complaints were referred to the Board of War, and the charges of his accusers were examined. The board reported that they were satisfied with the character and conduct of General Arnold. This report congress confirmed. Indeed, they went further, and presented him with a horse properly caparisoned, in token of their approbation of his gallant conduct in resisting the troops under General Tryon. Had they added to this an equality of rank with the generals who had been raised over him, Arnold would have been satisfied; but neglecting this--and the cause was doubtless to be ascribed to the personal influence of bitter enemies, who could not forget his arrogance and presumption--he was chagrined, rather than flattered, by the tokens of approbation he had received--and soured rather than pacified.

Added to this, Arnold was mortified and exasperated that his accounts were not fully and promptly allowed by a committee appointed to audit them. This they could not justly do without much qualification. They were numerous and large, many debts incurred were without authority, and vouchers were wanting. The consequence was a general suspicion that Arnold intended to enrich himself, or meet his private extravagant expenditures at the public expense.

Passing over several intervening events, especially the signal success of General Gates in resisting the progress of General Burgoyne, during which Arnold acted a part so heroic, as to be honored by Washington with one of the three sets of epaulettes and sword-knots which had been presented to him by a gentleman of France, we reach a signal event in the life of this remarkable man--his appointment by Washington, in consideration of his disabled condition, to the command of Philadelphia, following the evacuation of that city by the British. The station was honorable, and the duties, though delicate, were not severe.

Several circumstances, about this time, served to weaken his affections for the patriotic cause. One was the report of specific charges against him by a committee of congress, for acts oppressive and unworthy his rank and station, on which he was tried, and ordered to be reprimanded by the commander-in-chief.

In performing this duty, Washington exhibited as much mildness as the case permitted. "Our profession," said he, "is the chastest of all. The shadow of a fault tarnishes our most brilliant actions. The least inadvertence may cause us to lose that public favor, which is so hard to be gained. I reprimand you for having forgotten that, in proportion as you had rendered your name formidable to our enemies, you should have shown moderation towards our citizens. Exhibit again those splendid qualities which have placed you in the rank of our most distinguished generals. As far as it shall be in my power, I will myself furnish you with opportunities for regaining the esteem which you have formerly enjoyed."

The decision of the court, and the reprimand of Washington, mild and delicate as it was, fell heavy on the excitable spirit of Arnold. A burning revenge rankled in his bosom, and from this time--if his traitorous purposes had not before been formed--he sought opportunities to gratify his malice, and at the same time the sordid passion of avarice, which had long held sway in his bosom.

Another circumstance, besides contributing to his expenses, operated to separate his affections from the patriotic cause. He had married a beautiful and accomplished lady, during his residence in Philadelphia, a daughter of Mr. Edward Shippen, a family of distinguished rank; and which, like others of a similar stamp in that city, was intimate with Sir William Howe, Major Andre, and other British officers, during their occupation of Philadelphia. This alliance brought Arnold, as a matter of course, into associations with persons who were attached to the royal cause, and who were ready to foster his prejudices, and justify his complaints of ingratitude and persecution.

At length, he matured a plan--confined for a time to his own bosom--dark, base, and traitorous--as it were the offspring of the nether world.

To the accomplishment of this plan, it was necessary that he should be appointed to the command of West Point, a fortress on the Hudson. With consummate art, he accomplished his purpose; and, at the hands of Washington, to whom he had been indebted more than to any other, for standing by him as a shelter during his stormy life, he received the appointment; soon after which, he repaired to the Highlands, and established his head-quarters at Robinson's house, two or three miles below West Point, on the opposite, or eastern bank of the river.

Previous to her marriage, Mrs. Arnold had been acquainted with Major Andre, and had corresponded with him after that event, and after his removal with the British forces to New York. Acquainted with this correspondence, Arnold took the opportunity presented by it to address, unknown to his wife, letters to Sir Henry Clinton, through Andre, under the signature of _Gustavus_, and Andre replied under the assumed name of _John Anderson_. This correspondence had been carried on for months before Arnold's appointment to West Point. For a time, Clinton was at a loss to imagine the real character behind the curtain; but, at length, he became convinced that it could be no other than Arnold himself. Hitherto, that general had treated _Gustavus_ with cautious indifference, but no sooner was Arnold promoted to the command of West Point, than Clinton was ready to enter into negotiation with him to surrender that fortress into the hands of the British, and almost at any price which Arnold might choose to name.

The first plan devised for bringing about an interview between Arnold and Andre failed, but a second proved more successful. The Vulture, a sloop-of-war, with Colonel Robinson on board, came up the river about the 16th of September. On their arrival at Teller's Point, Robinson, who was a tory, and whose property had been confiscated by the state of New York, addressed a letter to _General Putnam_, relating to the recovery of his property, and forwarded it under cover of a letter to Arnold by a flag-boat. Putnam was known not to be in that quarter, but the letter to him served as a pretext to enable Robinson to communicate a plan, by which an interview could be effected.

Arnold, by means of consummate art and duplicity, had engaged a Mr. Smith, a man of respectable standing, to go on board the Vulture, and convey a gentleman there to the American shore, who would impart intelligence to him of the greatest importance to the American cause. Smith had been employed in procuring intelligence from time to time from New York for Arnold's predecessor at West Point, and at length consented to perform the service solicited by Arnold; and, that his family might not be privy to the transaction, they were removed to Fishkill, under pretence of a visit to some friends.

Thus matters were arranged; and on the night of the 21st, Smith, with two oarsmen, bribed to secresy by the promise of fifty pounds each, left the American shore, and proceeded, as related in the commencement of this account, to the Vulture.

Andre was expecting Arnold himself. Not finding him on board, but receiving a letter putting him on his guard, and inviting him to return in the boat, for a time he hesitated. Robinson was still firmer in the opinion that he should not go. But, at length, the adventurous spirit of Andre decided the point; and having cautiously concealed his uniform in a great-coat, he stepped on board the boat, which immediately proceeded towards the American shore. They landed at the foot of a mountain, called Long Clove, about six miles below Stony Point.

Arnold was in the bushes, ready to receive the stranger. Smith had expected to be present at the interview, and was not only disappointed, but exasperated, in being refused. What a spot! what a conference! what a deep and traitorous planning in midnight darkness!

The interview was long, and the patience of Smith was exhausted, but more his fears were roused. The night was far spent, and the dawning of the day was at hand. He now made known his apprehensions to the midnight traitors; but as they had not perfected their business, Smith and his oarsmen were allowed to retire.

No sooner were they gone, than Arnold proposed that Andre should proceed with him to Smith's house, and leave the manner of his return to future deliberation. This plan was replete with hazard; but no alternative presenting itself, Andre reluctantly followed. Judge his surprise, when, on approaching the American lines, a sentinel hailed them, and demanded the countersign. Andre shuddered. Arnold gave the sign, and they passed on. Andre was now, contrary to all his determinations, within the American lines, on dangerous ground, where his life and fortunes hung, as it were, upon the cast of a die.

Arnold and Andre reached Smith's about the dawn of day. Soon after, the latter made his appearance. An incident now occurred, which added to the anxiety of Andre. The sound of cannon broke upon them, which, on proceeding to a window overlooking the river, was ascertained to be from the American shore; and from the movements of the Vulture soon after down the stream, it was inferred that the fire was against her. So it proved. Believing her to lie in the river for no good purpose, Colonel Livingston had directed a fire to be opened upon her, which caused the movement observed. Andre now felt the delicacy of his situation still more, and the difficulty of his return to the sloop to be still greater.

But the duties of his mission required attention, and to its completion the plotters betook themselves. It was finally settled. The British, on a given day, were to dispatch a fleet up the river with the requisite troops: and Arnold, in order to render the seizure of the fortress easy, was previously to withdraw the garrison, and station them at different points in the neighborhood, in small detachments. In consideration of the surrender, the traitor was to receive a large amount of "British gold."

Having completed these nefarious negotiations, the manner in which Andre should return, next engrossed their deliberations. This was a question of difficult solution. Andre insisted on being put on board the Vulture; Smith was unwilling to run the hazard. Before the question was decided, Arnold left for West Point, giving to Andre passports accommodated to the manner in which it might finally be decided that he should return.

Andre spent the day in an upper room at Smith's--a long and anxious day. Towards its close, he urged Smith to take him on board the Vulture; but to his surprise and distress, the former peremptorily refused, but offered to accompany him on horseback to some point of safety. No other alternative presenting itself, Andre consented; and, having changed his military coat for a citizen's dress, over which throwing his great-coat, they departed.

Between eight and nine o'clock, they were startled by the hail of a sentinel, who ordered them to stop. "Who commands here?" inquired Smith, dismounting, and approaching the sentinel. The commander, Captain Boyd, being himself within hearing distance, approached, and demanded who the stranger was, and whither bound. Smith, ignorant of the real character of Andre, answered as Arnold had dictated; and, moreover, added that he had a pass from the general. Boyd required a sight of the pass, on perusing which, his curiosity was still more excited, and he now in private questioned Smith with still greater particularity. Smith explained the matter as well as he was able; and, by several adroit fabrications, finally induced Boyd to consent to their continuing their journey; not, however, until morning, for fear, as he pretended, they might be waylaid by the Cow-boys.[50] Andre would have purchased a release from tarrying in the neighborhood that night at any price, had he had the means; but such an overture would have been fraught with danger, and therefore, bending to necessity, they repaired to one Miller's, where they passed the night--a night of dread and fearful anticipation.

At early dawn, in order to escape the further scrutiny of Boyd, they were on their journey. At the distance of about a couple of miles from Pine's bridge, they halted, took breakfast, and separated--Smith setting out on his return, and Andre continuing his journey. Andre had now nearly thirty miles to traverse ere he was on safe ground. He had been recommended to proceed by the way of White Plains; but, on crossing the above bridge, deeming the Tarrytown road more safe, he took that, and for a time passed on without molestation.

Two plundering parties were abroad that morning from the "neutral ground;" one of which, consisting of John Paulding, Daniel Williams, and Isaac Van Wart, had concealed themselves in some bushes near the road which Andre was passing, watching there for some valuable prey.

Andre approached the spot; upon which, Paulding rose, and presenting his firelock to his breast, bid him stand. "Gentlemen," said Andre, "I hope you belong to our party." "I asked him"--we follow the testimony of Paulding on the trial of Smith--"what party? He said, 'The lower party.' Upon that I told him I did. Then he said, 'I am a British officer out of the country on particular business, and I hope you will not detain me a minute;' and to show that he was a British officer, he pulled out his watch. Upon which, I told him to dismount. He then said, 'My God! I must do any thing to get along;' and seemed to make a kind of laugh of it, and pulled out General Arnold's pass, which was to John Anderson, to pass all guards to White Plains and below. Upon that, he dismounted. Said he, 'Gentlemen, you had better let me go, or you will bring yourselves into trouble, for your stopping me will detain the general's business;' and said he was going to Dobb's ferry, to meet a person there, and get intelligence for General Arnold. Upon that, I told him I hoped he would not be offended, that we did not mean to take any thing from him; and I told him there were many bad people who were going along the road, and I did not know but perhaps he might be one."

Williams testified as follows: "We took him into the bushes, and ordered him to pull off his clothes, which he did; but on searching him narrowly, we could not find any sort of writings. We told him to pull off his boots, which he seemed to be indifferent about; but we got one boot off, and searched in that boot, and could find nothing. But we found there were some papers in the bottom of his stocking next to his foot; on which we made him pull his stocking off, and found three papers wrapped up. Mr. Paulding looked at the contents, and said he was a spy. We then made him pull off his other boot, and there we found three more papers at the bottom of his foot within his stocking."

After consultation, it was decided to take the prisoner to North Castle, where Lieutenant-colonel Jameson commanded a detachment of dragoons. Having surrendered him to Jameson, the latter for a time hesitated what disposition to make of him. The papers found upon Andre were important--in the hand-writing of Arnold, and endorsed by him.

Most men would have suspected treason--nor would Arnold himself have escaped suspicion. Yet Jameson, at length, decided to forward the papers to Washington by express, and the prisoner to Arnold. These measures had been taken, when Major Talmadge, next in command to Jameson, returned from an excursion to White Plains. On learning the incidents of the day, he expressed his surprise, and begged Jameson to dispatch a counter-order, if possible, to bring back the prisoner and the papers.

To the foregoing, Jameson finally consented, but the papers were left to be conveyed to Washington. Andre was overtaken and brought back. Talmadge, being a sagacious observer, marked Andre--his walk--his military air--his dignified bearing--and decided that the prisoner was no ordinary man. Shortly after, under escort of Talmadge, Andre was removed to Lower Salem, to await the developments of time and the orders of Washington.

The morning after their arrival at Salem, Andre requested paper and ink, and soon presented to Talmadge an open letter addressed to Washington, with a request that he would himself read and forward it.

This letter, couched in most respectful language, communicated to Washington his name, and rank in the British army, and his object in coming within the American lines.

It so happened--a wonderful interposition of Divine Providence, who can doubt?--it so happened, that on the very day that Andre wrote his letter, Washington, on his return from Hartford, arrived at Fishkill, eighteen miles from Arnold's head-quarters. Contrary to his previous intentions, he was induced to remain there during the night. In the morning, an express was dispatched early to give notice to General Arnold, that the party would reach his quarters to breakfast.

Washington and his suite followed soon after, and on coming to the road which led off to Robinson's house--Arnold's residence--Washington was proceeding towards the river. Being informed of his mistake, he observed that as he must inspect the redoubts on this side the river, he himself would forego Mrs. Arnold's breakfast, but his suite might pass on, and enjoy it. They would not, however, leave their general; and all, excepting his aids, who were sent forward to make his excuse, proceeded towards the river.

On learning that General Washington would not be there to breakfast, General Arnold and family, with the aids, proceeded to the breakfast-table.

That was the last peaceful meal Arnold was to enjoy in this world--and even the peace of that was invaded, before they were ready to leave the table. A messenger entered with a letter from Jameson--the letter which first announced the capture of Andre.

It fell as a thunderbolt upon the traitor. Yet he so far concealed his agitation before the aids, as to prevent serious suspicion that any thing uncommon had occurred. A sudden emergency called him to West Point, he said, and he begged to be excused. Having ordered a horse, he requested Mrs. Arnold's presence in her chamber, and here in few words informed her of the necessity of his fleeing for his life. He left her fainting on the floor; and, mounting, put spurs to his horse, directing his course to the river, on reaching which, he entered a boat, and fabricating a story to his purpose, ordered the men to proceed to the Vulture. The promise of reward gave impulse to their energies, and Arnold was soon safely on board of the royal sloop.

Washington having completed his inspection of the redoubts, reached Arnold's soon after his departure. Understanding that he had gone to West Point, after a hasty breakfast, Washington and suite followed. But what was his surprise to learn that Arnold had not been there. After a cursory view of the fortress, the party returned to Arnold's. Meanwhile, the messenger from Colonel Jameson, with Andre's papers, had arrived.

Light was now shed upon the mystery. Arnold was a traitor, and had fled to the enemy. Measures were immediately taken to secure the fortress. An express was dispatched to Salem, with orders to have Andre conveyed to Arnold's house.

Let us hasten to the conclusion. On the 29th of September, Washington ordered a Board of Inquiry, consisting of six major and eight brigadier generals. After a full hearing of the facts, the Board reported that Major Andre ought to be considered as a spy, and, according to the laws and usages of nations, to suffer death.

The decision, though just, was painful--painful to Washington--to the Board--to the officers of the American army--but more painful, if possible, to Sir Henry Clinton and the companions of Andre in arms.

Efforts, and such as did honor to Clinton, were made to reverse the doom of Andre. _Intimations_ were given from Washington, that upon one condition--the surrender of Arnold--Andre might be released; but to this, Clinton thought he could not in honor yield--while in the scale of affection, Andre would have outweighed a thousand traitors like Arnold. A deputation from Clinton repaired to Robinson's house under a flag, to urge the release of Andre, but no change could be effected in the mind of Washington.

Sentence of execution issued, and five o'clock, of the 1st day of October, was appointed for carrying it into effect. On the morning of that day, Andre addressed a letter to Washington, requesting that he might be allowed a soldier's death.

"_Tappan_, 1_st October_, 1780.

"SIR: Buoyed above the terror of death, by the consciousness of a life devoted to honorable pursuits, and stained with no action that can give me remorse, I trust that the request I make to your excellency, at this serious period, and which is to soften my last moments, will not be rejected.

"Sympathy towards a soldier will surely induce your excellency, and a military tribunal, to adapt the mode of my death to the feelings of a man of honor.

"Let me hope, sir, that if aught in my character impresses you with esteem towards me--if aught in my misfortune marks me as the victim of policy, and not of resentment--I shall experience the operations of those feelings in your breast, by being informed that I am not to die on a gibbet.

"I have the honor to be your excellency's most obedient and most humble servant,

"JOHN ANDRE."

To this request, Washington could not consistently accede, but to avoid needless pain, he omitted to make a reply.

The execution finally took place October 2d, at twelve o'clock--a delay having been occasioned by pending negotiations, which could not be terminated in season the previous day.

Dr. Thatcher, in his 'Military Journal,' has given the closing particulars of this tragic scene. It follows:

"The principal guard-officer, who was constantly in the room with the prisoner, relates, that when the hour of his execution was announced to him in the morning, he received it without emotion; and while all present were affected with silent gloom, he retained a firm countenance, with calmness and composure of mind. Observing his servant enter the room in tears, he exclaimed, 'Leave me till you can show yourself more manly.' His breakfast being sent to him from the table of General Washington, which had been done every day of his confinement, he partook of it as usual; and having shaved and dressed himself, he placed his hat on the table, and cheerfully said to the guard-officers, 'I am ready at any moment, gentlemen, to wait on you.' The fatal hour having arrived, a large detachment of troops was paraded, and an immense concourse of people assembled; almost all our general and field officers, excepting his excellency and his staff, were present on horseback; melancholy and gloom pervaded all ranks; the scene was affecting and awful.

"I was so near during the solemn march to the fatal spot, as to observe every movement, and participate in every emotion which the melancholy scene was calculated to produce. Major Andre walked from the stone house, in which he had been confined, between two of our subaltern officers, arm in arm; the eyes of the immense multitude were fixed on him, who, rising superior to the fear of death, appeared as if conscious of the dignified deportment which he displayed. He betrayed no want of fortitude, but retained a complacent smile on his countenance, and politely bowed to several gentlemen whom he knew, which was respectfully returned. It was his earnest desire to be shot, as being the mode of death most conformable to the feelings of a military man, and he had indulged the hope that his request would be granted. At the moment, therefore, when suddenly he came in view of the gallows, he involuntarily started backward, and made a pause. 'Why this emotion, sir?' said an officer by his side. Instantly recovering his composure, he said, 'I am reconciled to my death, but I detest the mode.'

"While waiting, and standing near the gallows, I observed some degree of trepidation; placing his foot on a stone, and rolling it over, and choking in his throat, as if attempting to swallow. So soon, however, as he perceived that things were in readiness, he stepped quickly into the wagon, and at this moment he appeared to shrink; but instantly elevating his head with firmness, he said, 'It will be but a momentary pang;' and taking from his pocket two white handkerchiefs, the provost-marshal with one loosely pinioned his arms, and with the other, the victim, after taking off his hat and stock, bandaged his own eyes with perfect firmness, which melted the hearts, and moistened the cheeks, not only of his servant, but of the throng of spectators. The rope being appended to the gallows, he slipped the noose over his head, and adjusted it to his neck, without the assistance of the executioner. Colonel Scammell now informed him that he had opportunity to speak, if he desired it. He raised the handkerchief from his eyes, and said: 'I pray you to bear me witness, that I meet my fate like a brave man.' The wagon being now removed from under him, he was suspended, and instantly expired."

Thus was cut off in the morning of life a man full of promise and expectation--one to whose personal attractions were added accomplishments, rich, varied, and brilliant--destined, but for an untimely sacrifice of himself, under the impulse of a forbidden ambition, to have reached the goal of his wishes--honor and renown. His death at the hands of the Americans, according to the usage of war, was just; but to Arnold, the pioneer in the base transaction, the news of his execution must, it would seem, have been as the bitterness of death.

But no:--Arnold had no such feelings. Conscience was seared; the generous sympathies of our nature were extinct; even the honor of a soldier, dearer to him than life itself, had expired. The long-cherished, deep-rooted, sordid passion of his soul--_avarice_--alone lived; and now, while Andre, who might almost be said to be the victim of that nether spirit, was mouldering in an untimely and dishonored grave, he demanded his _pay_. What must Clinton--the friend and patron of the high-souled and magnanimous Andre--have felt when he told out to Arnold _six thousand three hundred and fifteen pounds_, as the reward of his treachery!

In addition to this pecuniary reward, Arnold received the commission of brigadier-general in the British army. But, after his infamous attack on New London, and his inhuman conduct to the brave Ledyard and his garrison in Fort Trumbull, finding himself neglected by the British officers, he obtained permission to retire to England, for which he sailed in 1781 with his family.

The life of Arnold was prolonged twenty years beyond this date. But although the king and a few others in office felt compelled to notice him for a time, yet they, at length, were willing to forget him, while others despised and shunned him. Colonel Gardiner says, that when a petition for a bill authorizing a negotiation of peace was presented to the king, Arnold was standing near the throne. Lauderdale is reported to have declared, on his return to the House of Commons, that, however gracious the language he had heard from the throne, his indignation could not but be highly excited at beholding, as he had done, his majesty supported by a traitor. And on another occasion, Lord Surrey, rising to speak in the House of Commons, and perceiving Arnold in the gallery, immediately sat down, exclaiming: "I will not speak while that man (pointing to him) is in the house."

Not long after the war, Arnold removed to St. John's, in New Brunswick, where he engaged for a time in the West India trade. Subsequently, he returned to England, where he resided to the time of his death, which occurred in London, June 14th, 1804.

FOOTNOTE:

[50] The term _Cow-boys_ was given to Americans attached to the British cause, who resided within their lines, but who frequently plundered the Americans on the other side of their cattle, which they drove to New York. _Skinners_ were those who lived within the American lines, and professed attachment to their cause; but they were even more unprincipled than the former, often committing their depredations on friends as well as foes.

XIII. CONCLUDING SCENES OF THE REVOLUTION.

THEATRE of War changed to the South--Siege of Savannah--Siege of
Charleston--Battle of Camden--Battle of
Cowpens--Retreat--Subsequent Movements--Battles of Guilford,
Kobkirk's hill, Ninety-Six, and Eutaw Springs--Battle of
Yorktown--Treaty of Peace--Cessation of Hostilities--Army
disbanded--Departure of the British Army--Final Interview
between Washington and his Officers--Resigns his
Commission--Retires to Mount Vernon.

We must hasten to the closing scenes of the long and sanguinary contest between Great Britain and America.

The capture of Burgoyne, in 1777, was hailed, by a portion of the American people, as indicative of a speedy termination of the war. But, in these anticipations, they were destined to be disappointed. For several years following, although the contest was still continued, but little advance was made towards the termination. Battles were indeed fought, naval engagements occurred, and predatory enterprises were planned, and executed with various success; but neither power could be said at any one period to be decidedly in the ascendant. In 1779, the theatre of war was changed from the northern to the southern section of the confederacy. To this change, the British were invited by the prospect of an easier victory. That portion of the country was rendered weak by its scattered population, by the multitude of slaves, and by the number of tories intermingled with the citizens.

Partial success to the British arms was the consequence. Savannah was taken possession of, which gave the enemy, for a time, the power in Georgia. In like manner, Charleston fell into their hands, and with it, a considerable portion of the state of South Carolina. In the progress of this southern warfare, battles occurred at Camden--at the Cowpens--at Guilford Court-house--and at Eutaw Springs.

1. SIEGE OF SAVANNAH.

In the autumn of 1778, Savannah fell into the hands of the British. At that time, Colonel Campbell, with a force of two thousand men, was dispatched by Governor Clinton from New York against that city. The American garrison, under General Howe, consisting of but six hundred continental troops and a small body of militia, was inadequate to resist so formidable a force; and at the expiration of a spirited action, in which the Americans suffered severely, the latter surrendered, and with that surrender, the British took military occupation of the capital itself.

The succeeding year, D'Estaing, with a French fleet, destined to cöoperate with the Americans for the recovery of Savannah, arrived on the coast of Georgia. This intelligence having been communicated to General Lincoln, who was in the vicinity of Charleston with a small force, he immediately broke up his camp, and marched to assist in the disembarkation of the French troops.

Before the arrival of Lincoln, D'Estaing had sent a "haughty summons" to Prevost, the English commander, to surrender. The safety of the former depended upon rëinforcements, which he was daily expecting; and, in order to attain a delay, he required twenty-four hours to consider the question of a capitulation. Unfortunately, D'Estaing acceded to this demand. This proved fatal to the expedition; for, meanwhile, Prevost was not idle. He succeeded in mounting nearly one hundred cannon, and, moreover, the expected rëinforcement arrived, swelling his force to three thousand men; upon which, he replied to the French commander, that he was resolved to hold out to the last.

The original plan of attempting the place by storm was now prudently abandoned, and the slow process of its reduction by siege was resolved upon. The combined forces numbered between six and seven thousand men. The siege was commenced. Trenches were opened, and, by the 4th of September, a sap had been pushed to within three hundred yards of the abbatis. In the course of a another month, batteries had been erected, and other preparations were ready.

On the evening of October 4th, the tragical scene commenced, and a heavy cannonade was kept up during the night. In the morning, that scene became terrific. Thirty-seven cannon and nine mortars were opened upon the city, while sixteen heavy guns from the fleet added their uproar to the thunder of the former. The response to these was still louder and more appalling. Nearly one hundred guns, which had been mounted by Prevost, as we have said, gave back their tremendous explosions. Carcasses, filled with all manner of combustibles, were hurled into the town, setting on fire the houses, and spreading consternation among the inhabitants. Shells came down from the sky, bursting like meteors, and scattering their death-dealing fragments in every street and in the neighborhood of every dwelling. All that day, and, indeed, for four succeeding days and nights, this mutual tremendous firing was maintained. Savannah and its neighborhood became covered with a dense, dark cloud of smoke, through which the rays of the sun could scarcely penetrate by day, and which, as that set, served as a pall to increase the gloom and darkness of the night.

If the besiegers were steady to their purpose, the besieged were no less resolute and successful in their resistance. Little or no impression had hitherto been made upon the enemy's works, and how long they would continue to hold out, the Americans had no means of judging. They had reason, indeed, to believe that a reduction might at no distant day be effected, as the supplies were cut off, and the inhabitants must be suffering intensely. But D'Estaing began to fear for the safety of his fleet, exposed, as it was, on an open coast. In this posture, he proposed to Lincoln to attempt the place as originally contemplated--by storm. This the latter deemed extremely hazardous; but submitting to the higher authority of the count, an assault was fixed for the 9th of October.

At one o'clock of the morning of that day, the Americans were up, and ready for the fearful contest. The French unwisely delayed for some two or three hours; but at length, led on by D'Estaing and Lincoln, the combined forces--the French in three columns and the Americans in one--proceeded to the attack.

Taking a position at the head of the first column, D'Estaing led them forward to the very walls of the English works. It was a fatal approach. Of a sudden, and when the French commander was congratulating himself that he was taking the enemy by surprise, the blaze of a hundred cannon filled him and his troops with amazement, while the balls and grape-shot mowed down their ranks, as did the fire of the Americans at Bunker's hill. Still, D'Estaing ordered the remainder to advance, he himself heroically leading the way. But it was only to death and defeat. Soon wounded, D'Estaing was borne from the spot, while his brave troops remained to meet a still severer destiny. They were mowed as grass by a new-ground scythe. The few who survived, now made good their retreat to an adjoining wood, leaving room for the second column, pressing forward, to supply their place.

These, passing over the fallen bodies of their brave companions, succeeded in mounting the walls; and there they stood--and there, with almost superhuman strength and determination, they fought. But it was not even for such bravery and such perseverance to succeed. If the struggle was now fearful, the carnage was still more so. One after another, and by tens and twenties, they fell side by side, companions in death of their brave precursors. A remnant only was left; and as that remnant succeeded in securing a retreat, the third and last column of the French troops came into action. A similar contest awaited them, which they entered into with even greater ardor and more excited passion; but it was followed by a similar, and perhaps still more fatal, result. The chivalrous Laurens, at the head of the Americans, now made his appearance; and directing his entire force against the Spring-hill redoubt, attempted to scale its ramparts. But it was a vain attempt. The parapets were too high to be reached, and the assailants fell as they appeared, shot down with equal certainty and rapidity. Among the Americans, at this memorable contest, was that Carolina regiment which, at the siege of Fort Moultrie, had so distinguished itself, and which, as a reward for its valor, Mrs. Elliott had presented two standards, as we had occasion to notice, when describing the noble defence of the old "slaughter pen." Nothing daunted by the fate of their companions, this regiment pressed furiously forward; and now, for a brief period, was witnessed a spectacle, which lighted up gladness in every eye: two American standards--the very standards which we have named--were seen waving on the English ramparts. And there, too, was the noble-hearted Jasper himself, with those standards, which he loved better than life itself. But it was a momentary floating to the breeze, and these standards had for ever done their duty. They soon fell, and with them fell the brave and patriotic Jasper. He grasped his standard as he fell into the ditch, and there the flag covered him as a winding-sheet of glory. He had told Mrs. Elliott that he would surrender his flag only with his life, and he was true to his word. Jasper's name--heroism--patriotism--will descend with the lapse of years; nor will they be remembered but to be honored, while the records of American valor shall have an existence.

The issue may be told in few words. The Americans failed, and retired. Many a noble heart had shed its blood; many an arm, which had that day

Shed fast atonement for its first delay,

was folded on the breast in death. And among those who fell nobly, there was one--a high-souled Polander--the chivalric Pulaski--a volunteer in the American service; he fell at the head of two hundred horsemen, urging on their way amid fire and smoke, until a swivel-shot struck the gallant soldier to the earth.

The contest lasted a little more than an hour; and yet, in that brief space, six hundred and thirty-seven French, and four hundred and fifty Americans, were mangled--bleeding corpses on the ground--more than one thousand! Rapid work! It should seem that Moloch might have been satisfied with the victims offered on that day's altar.

D'Estaing retired soon after with his fleet. He had gained no praise: on the contrary, he was censured for his haste in demanding the surrender of Savannah before the arrival of Lincoln; and then, by allowing Prevost so long a time to deliberate, in truth giving him ample opportunity to prepare for defence. The result was inglorious, and served to perpetuate, and even strengthen, the cause of the English at the South.

2. SIEGE OF CHARLESTON.

Charleston had long been an object of cupidity on the part of the British. We have already had occasion to speak of an expedition under Sir Peter Parker and Generals Cornwallis and Howe, destined against that city, and the summary check they received at Fort Moultrie--that "old slaughter-pen"--every one of whose garrison was a hero, and the record of whose combined resistance can never be remembered but to the honor and praise of American valor. That repulse was not forgotten by the British, and, when next an attempt should be made, it was to be expected that preparations would be commensurate with the magnitude and difficulties of the enterprise.

It proved so. In the spring following the siege of Savannah, General Clinton left New York with ten thousand men, intent on the capture of Charleston. Lincoln was still at the head of the American troops in the South. But they were altogether inadequate to defend the city against so numerous and formidable a force as now appeared against him. For his own credit, as well as for the honor of the American arms, clearly he should have avoided a collision. But, over-persuaded by Governor Rutledge and other prominent citizens, and, moreover, reluctant to abandon a place which contained large public stores, or seem to yield where there was hope of success, he consented to remain, and accomplish whatever human wisdom, combined with American valor, could do.

On the 30th of March, General Clinton commenced the siege. He proceeded with a caution, to be explained only by the lesson taught the British at the siege of Fort Moultrie, and a determination not to be under the necessity of meeting with another such disastrous result. In another place, it should have been noted, that Fort Moultrie, in the present invasion, made no resistance, the contest, it being intended, should be on the mainland, and in the immediate vicinity of the city, where such defences had been erected as the authorities were able to provide.

On the 10th of April, the first parallel was completed, and Lincoln was summoned to surrender. To this summons, he replied: "that he felt it to be his duty, and it was also his instruction, to defend the place to the last extremity." Ten days elapsed, during which a second parallel was finished, and a second summons made and declined. A heavy and formidable cannonade was now opened by Clinton, which was kept up, with scarcely any remission, for several days. Meanwhile, Lincoln was almost constantly on duty--straining every muscle to resist the steady, but apparently fatal, advance of his foe. It is related of him, that "one day he was ten hours in the saddle, without once dismounting--riding hither and thither, with his great heart filled with anxious foreboding; and, the last fortnight, he never took off his clothes to rest. Flinging himself, in his uniform, on a couch, he would snatch a few moments' repose, and then again be seen riding along the lines."

Meanwhile, his defences became weakened, and his troops exhausted with labor and fatigue. They had little time to sleep, and even the supply of provisions was limited. Yet, Lincoln continued, day after day, to inspire them with courage and hope. All that a brave commander could do, he did--concealing the apprehensions which harrowed his inmost soul, and for which there were reasons; all that men could do, his noble few did--suffering privations seldom experienced during the revolutionary contest. It was a brave defence! It was a long, protracted, painful struggle! But it was in vain. At length, the batteries of the enemy had reached within eighty yards of the American defences, and preparations were making for a general storm. Thus environed by a formidable force, both by sea and land,

----"Nec spes opis ulla dabatur"--

it was the dictate of humanity, both in respect to the inhabitants of the city, and the brave, but exhausted, remnant of his devoted army, to capitulate. Accordingly, overtures were made to General Clinton, which were at length accepted. Charleston fell, and the entire army laid down arms. By the terms of capitulation, the garrison were to march out, and deposit their arms in front of the works; but, as a mark of humiliation, the drums were not to beat an American march, nor their colors to be displayed. This was severe; but the humiliation was remembered, when, eighteen months afterwards, Lord Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown, and "waters of a full cup were wrung out" to him.

3. BATTLE OF CAMDEN.

The fall of Charleston opened the south to Cornwallis, nor was he slow to take advantage of the opportunity of strengthening the royal cause. Baron de Kalb had been sent from the main army to the assistance of Lincoln; but the latter having surrendered before his arrival, the former assumed the command of the forces opposed to Cornwallis. Shortly after, however, Gates, the "hero of Saratoga," arrived, having been appointed to occupy the place of General Lincoln.

The reputation which Gates had acquired in his contest with Burgoyne, had preceded him, and served to stay the despondency and gloom which was extensively pervading the South. The militia responded to his call, and came flocking to his standard. Thus rëinforced, he proceeded towards Camden, the rendezvous of Lord Rawdon. But his haste was ill-judged. Besides, by reason of a serious lack of provisions for his troops, which he had neglected to provide, they were compelled to subsist for several days on green apples, corn, and other vegetables; their strength, also, was still more diminished for want of needful rest. On reaching the vicinity of Rawdon, instead of an immediate attack, before the latter could receive rëinforcements, and when he was more on an equal footing with the enemy, he wasted several days in skirmishes, which served to darken rather than brighten his chance of success. In this interval, Cornwallis arrived with the troops under his command, thus adding to the strength of the enemy, and greatly increasing their confidence and courage.

Indeed, Cornwallis was not slow in deciding to hazard an engagement, although he knew that the contest would still be unequal. Gates had superior numbers. But a retreat would be to abandon all that he had gained in South Carolina and Georgia; and in effect would be the ruin of the royal cause.

The American army occupied a post at Rugely's mills. On the 11th of August, at ten o'clock in the night, the English began their march. Ignorant of this movement, Gates had put his army in motion at the same time, and with similar intent. What was their mutual surprise, when at two o'clock in the morning, the advanced-guard of the British suddenly came in contact with the head column of the Americans! A brief skirmish ensued--but soon ended, as if by mutual consent--neither commander being willing to hazard a nocturnal rencounter.

At a council of war summoned by Gates, the Baron de Kalb advised a retreat to their former encampment, as in their present position they were between two marshes, while at Rugely's mills they would have the decided advantage as to position. In this, however, he was overruled by Gates, who decided to wait the approach of the enemy where they were.

We shall not enter into the details of this unfortunate battle. It was sad and sanguinary. General Gates misjudged as to position; but still greater was his error in attempting to change the order of battle almost at the moment when the battle began. Of this latter mistake, Cornwallis was not slow to take advantage, but at once ordered his troops to charge. Unprepared for an attack so sudden and so furious, the American column gave way--the Virginians actually betaking themselves to flight. All was soon confusion and uproar. De Kalb threw himself at the head of the regular troops, and, infusing into them the fire and indignation which animated his own bosom, led them on. They advanced firm--calm--determined. But the contest was now unequal. They could not resist the impetuous torrent which came thundering upon them. They could not save the battle. And at this time--their ranks thinned--their path obstructed--the cavalry of Tarleton came bearing down upon them with the impetuosity of a whirlwind. "Shot after shot had struck the Baron de Kalb, and the blood was pouring from his side in streams; yet, animated by that spirit which has made the hero in every age, he rallied his men for a last charge, and led them at the point of the bayonet on the dense ranks. Striking a bayonet from his breast, and laying the grenadier that held it dead at his feet, he pressed forward, and, in the very act of cheering on his men, fell with the blood gushing from eleven wounds. His aids immediately covered him with their bodies, exclaiming, 'Save the Baron de Kalb! save the Baron de Kalb!'"

But their efforts to save him were unavailing. He was taken prisoner, and his troops fled. Gates, meanwhile, was pursuing his fugitive army. Their arrest and recall were, however, beyond his power. The rout was entire; the defeat complete; owing, as was thought by men of competent judgment, to the mismanagement of Gates.

De Kalb survived his wounds but a short time. He was able, however, to dictate a brief letter to the patriotic band of soldiers at whose head he had planted himself, and who nobly sustained him up to the moment of his fall. He died in the cause of liberty--regretted by all who knew his worth as a man and a soldier--and honored by congress, which directed a monument to be erected to his memory at Annapolis.

The battle at Camden was sanguinary, and had the effect to spread a gloom over the face of American affairs. The loss of the patriots exceeded six hundred in killed; the wounded and prisoners thirteen hundred. The British stated their loss to be only three hundred in killed and wounded.

Cornwallis was the victor--but the British cause had now reached its culminating point. Elated at their successes, the conquerors grew insolent and rapacious; the Americans, resolute and determined.

4. BATTLE OF COWPENS.

Never did a service require an able and efficient commander more than the American service at the South, following the disastrous defeat of Gates at the battle of Camden. Fortunately, the precise man was found in General Greene, "who, next to Washington, was the ablest commander in the Revolutionary army"--an officer of large experience, and distinguished for two qualities, which were more important, at this juncture, than all others--"great caution and great rapidity." To these were added a wonderful fortitude and as wonderful perseverance.

On assuming the command, Greene found the army reduced to two thousand men, of whom not more than eight hundred were fit for service. The officers, however, had few equals--and no superiors. There were Morgan, Lee, Marion, Sumpter, and Washington (Lieutenant-colonel), men, whose heroic achievements have justly placed them high on the rolls of military fame. Had the army borne any comparison to its officers, either in point of numbers or in discipline, energy, and enthusiasm, the royal cause, in the South, would have met a still earlier doom than it did. But the army was not only greatly reduced in numbers, but so destitute was it of arms, ammunition, food, and clothing, that it seemed a matter of presumption to attempt entering the list with Cornwallis, who, to a well-disciplined and powerful army, added every desirable materiel of war. But it often occurred during the Revolutionary struggle, that "the race was not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong."

The first measure adopted by Greene was unusual--he separated his forces, small as they were, into several divisions, and stationed them at different points. For this he has been censured, as contrary to military rule; but the sequel proved the wisdom of the measure. It served greatly to dismay Cornwallis, who scarcely knew in what direction to proceed, or which one to attack--whether Morgan, Marion, or Lee, who, with their respective detachments, were threatening him from different points.

At length, however, he decided to begin with Morgan, who was stationed at Cowpens, with an available force of less than a thousand men. The plan proposed by Cornwallis was, that Tarleton, with eleven hundred men, should assail him in front, while he himself, with the main army, would attempt to prevent his retreat. On the appearance of Tarleton, Morgan retired; but being, at length, hotly pressed, a contest became inevitable. The first onset of Tarleton was terrible--the Americans gave way, and the victorious British were anticipating the utter rout of their foes. But, at a critical moment of the action, Colonel Washington, who had been watching the various movements of the respective armies, gave orders to his bugler to sound a charge. It was nobly done! Nothing could withstand the impetuosity, the fire, the fury of the assailants. The infantry, which was pressing on to victory, were, as in a moment, borne down, and scattered like chaff before the whirlwind. Morgan had time to rally his repulsed force; and, with such an example as had been set them, they now sped their way to victory. It was a brief, but a stirring, sanguinary scene. Tarleton lost of his eleven hundred, seven hundred--besides two cannon, eight hundred muskets, and a hundred dragoons.

The battle over, Morgan hastily retired, in order to escape Cornwallis, who was bearing down upon him. In this he was successful; but it was only at the sacrifice of the baggage, and a large part of the stores of the army. Cornwallis pursued a similar policy--never was man more determined to make sure of the enemy than he was; and never was man more determined to escape than Morgan. His object was to reach the head-quarters of Greene; but, at the distance of fifty miles, it was his good fortune to meet his general, who, with a small force, was hastening to his assistance.

5. RETREAT--SUBSEQUENT MOVEMENTS.