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.

Photograph from Wm. H. Rau, Philadelphia.

The Surrender of Cornwallis.

From the painting by Colonel John Trumbull,
the soldier-artist of the Revolution.