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.
Jasper on the Ramparts.
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.