The siege begins in earnest. Shot and shell are hurled into the British lines. All day and all night long, are heard the roaring of cannon and the bursting of shells. Bang! bang! The French fire red-hot shot across the water and set fire to the British transports.
New lines of redoubts are thrown up during the night, and guns are mounted, which pound away at the doomed army. Two of the British redoubts are troublesome. These are gallantly captured.
On the next night, Cornwallis makes a vigorous effort to break through the American lines, but is driven back into the town. With seventy cannon pounding away, the British earthworks are fast crumbling. The British commander grows desperate. He thinks that, by leaving his baggage and his sick behind, he can cross the river to Gloucester in boats, by night, cut through the French, and by forced marches make his way to New York.
On the night of the 16th, a few of the redcoats actually succeeded in reaching the opposite shore, when a storm of wind and rain suddenly arose and continued till morning. This last ray of hope was gone.
Cornwallis had his headquarters in a large brick mansion owned by a Tory. It was a fine target for the artillery, and was soon riddled. His lordship stayed in the house until a cannon ball killed his steward, as he was carrying a tureen of soup to his master's table.
The British general now moved his headquarters into Governor Nelson's fine stone mansion. Its owner was in command of the Virginia troops in the besieging army. He was the "war governor" who had left his crops to their fate, and his plows in the furrows, while his horses and his oxen were harnessed to the cannon that were being hurried to the siege. When Nelson learned, through a deserter, where Cornwallis and his staff were, regardless of his personal loss, he ordered the bombarding of the house.
In Trumbull's famous painting, "The Surrender of Cornwallis," Governor Nelson's mansion is plainly seen.
By this time, the only safe place in Yorktown was a cave, which had been dug under the bank of the river. To this spot, as the story goes, Cornwallis moved his headquarters. Here he received a British colonel who had made his way in the night through the French fleet, to bring orders from Sir Henry Clinton. Cornwallis was to hold out to the last. Seven thousand troops had sailed to his relief.
His lordship served a lunch for his guest, and while they were drinking their wine, the colonel declared his intention of going up on the ramparts for a moment, to take a look at the Yankees. As he left, he gayly said that on his return he would give Washington's health in a bumper. It was useless to urge him to remain under shelter. He had scarcely climbed to the top of the redoubt when his head was shot off by a cannon ball.
On October 17, the thirteenth day of the siege and the fourth anniversary of Burgoyne's surrender, a red-coated drummer boy stands on the rampart and beats a parley. A white flag is raised on the British works. The roar of the cannon ceases. Cornwallis sends an officer to ask that fighting be stopped for twenty-four hours.