"Done at Paris, this third Day of September,
In the Year of our Lord one thousand and seven hundred & eighty three.--
D. Hartley, John Adams, B. Franklin, John Jay"
Facsimile of Signatures to Treaty of Peace
[1783]
Peace came like a heavenly benediction to the country and the army,
exhausted by so long and so fierce a struggle. No general engagement
took place after the siege of Yorktown; but the armies kept close watch
upon each other, and minor skirmishes were frequent. Washington's 10,000
men were encamped near the Hudson, to see that Clinton's forces in New
York did no harm. In the South, Greene's valiant band, aided by Wayne
and his rangers, without regular food or pay, kept the British cooped up
in Charleston and Augusta.
Congress in due time declared cessation of hostilities, and on April 19,
1783, just eight years from the battle of Lexington, Washington read the
declaration at the headquarters of his army. The British had evacuated
Charleston the previous December. In July, Savannah saw the last of the
redcoats file out, and the British troops were collected at New York. On
November 25th, Sir Guy Carleton, who had superseded Clinton, embarked
with his entire army, besides a throng of refugees, in boats for Long
Island and Staten Island, where they soon took ship for England. "The
imperial standard of Great Britain fell at the fort over which it had
floated for a hundred and twenty years, and in its place the Stars and
Stripes of American Independence flashed in the sun. Fleet and army,
royal flag and scarlet uniform, coronet and ribbon, every sign and
symbol of foreign authority, which from Concord to Saratoga and from
Saratoga to Yorktown had sought to subdue the colonies, vanished from
these shores. Colonial and provincial America had ended, national
America had begun."
The American troops took possession of New York amid the huzzas of the
people and the roar of cannon. On November 25th, Washington with his
suite, surrounded by grateful and admiring throngs, made a formal entry
into the city whence he had been compelled to flee seven years before.
The time had now come when the national hero might lay down the great
burden which he had borne with herculean strength and courage through so
many years of distress and gloom. On December 4th he joined his
principal officers at the popular Fraunces's Tavern, near the Battery,
to bid them farewell. Tears filled every eye. Even Washington could not
master his feelings, as one after another the heroes who had been with
him upon the tented field and in so many moments of dreadful strife drew
near to press his hand. They followed him through ranks of parading
infantry to the Whitehall ferry, where he boarded his barge, and waving
his hat in a last, voiceless farewell, crossed to the Jersey shore.
Arrived at Annapolis after a journey which had been one long ovation,
the saviour of his country appeared before Congress, December 23d, to
resign the commission which he had so grandly fulfilled. His address was
in noble key, but abbreviated by choking emotion. The President of
Congress having replied in fitting words, Washington withdrew, and
continued his journey to the long-missed peace and seclusion of his
Mount Vernon home.
CHAPTER VIII.
AMERICAN MANHOOD IN THE REVOLUTION
[1775-1781]
It would be foolish to say that the Revolutionary soldiers never
quailed. Militia too often gave way before the steady bayonet charge of
British regulars, at times fleeing panic-stricken. Troops whose term of
service was out would go home at critical moments. Hardships and lack of
pay in a few instances led to mutiny and desertion. But the marvel is
that they fought so bravely, endured so much, and complained so little.
One reason was the patriotism of the people at large behind them.
Soldiers who turned their backs on Boston, leaving Washington in the
lurch, were refused food along the road home. Women placed rifles in the
hands of husbands, sons, or lovers, and said "Go!"
The rank and file in this war, coming from farm, work-bench,
logging-camp, or fisher's boat, had a superb physical basis for camp and
field life. Used to the rifle from boyhood, they kept their powder dry
and made every one of their scanty bullets tell. The Revolutionary
soldier's splendid courage has glorified a score of battle-fields; while
Valley Forge, with its days of hunger and nights of cold, its sick-beds
on the damp ground, and its bloody footprints in the snow, tell of his
patient endurance.
At Bunker Hill an undisciplined body of farmers, ill-armed, weary,
hungry and thirsty, calmly awaited the charge of old British
campaigners, and by a fire of dreadful precision drove them back. "They
may talk of their Mindens and their Fontenoys," said the British
general, Howe, "but there was no such fire there." At Charleston, while
the wooden fort shook with the British broadsides, Moultrie and his
South Carolina boys, half naked in the stifling heat, through twelve
long hours smoked their pipes and carefully pointed their guns. At Long
Island, to gain time for the retreat of the rest, five Maryland
companies flew again and again in the face of the pursuing host. At
Monmouth, eight thousand British were in hot pursuit of the retreating
Americans. Square in their front Washington planted two Pennsylvania and
Maryland regiments, saying, "Gentlemen, I depend upon you to hold the
ground until I can form the main army." And hold it they did.
Heroism grander than that of the battlefield, which can calmly meet an
ignominious death, was not lacking. Captain Nathan Hale, a quiet,
studious spirit, just graduated from Yale College, volunteered to enter
the British lines on Long Island as a spy. He was caught, and soon swung
from an apple tree in Colonel Rutgers's orchard, a corpse. Bible and
religious ministrations denied him, his letters to mother and sister
destroyed, women standing by and sobbing, he met his fate without a
tremor. "I only regret," comes his voice from yon rude scaffold, "that I
have but one life to give for my country." It is a shame that America so
long had no monument to this heroic man. One almost rejoices that the
British captain, Cunningham, author of the cruelty to Hale, himself met
death on the gallows, in London, 1791. How different from Hale's the
treatment bestowed upon Andre, the British spy who fell into our hands.
He was fed from Washington's table, and supported to his execution by
every manifestation of sympathy for his suffering.
John Paul Jones.
The stanch and useful loyalty of the New England clergy in the
Revolution has been much dwelt upon--none too much, however. With them
should be mentioned the Rev. James Caldwell, Presbyterian pastor at
Elizabeth, N. J., who, when English soldiers raided the town, and its
defenders were short of wadding, tore up his hymn-book for their use,
urging: "Give them Watts, boys, give them Watts."
No fiercer naval battle was ever fought than when Jones, in the old and
rotten Bon Homme Richard, grappled with the new British frigate Serapis.
Yard-arm to yardarm, port-hole to port-hole, the fight raged for hours.
Three times both vessels were on fire. The Serapis's guns tore a
complete breach in the Richard from main-mast to stern. The Richard was
sinking, but the intrepid Jones fought on, and the Serapis struck.
Fight between the Bon Homme Richard and the Serapis.
As the roll of Revolutionary officers is called, what matchless figures
file past the mind's eye! We see stalwart Ethan Allen entering
Ticonderoga too early in the morning to find its commander in a
presentable condition, and demanding possession "in the name of Almighty
God and the Continental Congress "--destined, himself, in a few months,
to be sailing down the St. Lawrence in irons, bound for long captivity
in England. We behold gallant Prescott leisurely promenading the Bunker
Hill parapet to inspirit his men, shot and shell hurtling thick around.
There is Israel Putnam--"Old Put" the boys dubbed him. He was no
general, but we forgive his costly blunders at Brooklyn Heights and
Peekskill as we think of him leaving plough in furrow at the drum-beat
to arms, and speeding to the deadly front at Boston, or with iron
firmness stemming the retreat from Bunker Hill. Young Richard Montgomery
might have been next to Washington in the war but for Sir Guy Carleton's
deadly grape-shot from the Quebec walls the closing moments of 1775.
Buried at Quebec, his remains were transferred by the State of New York,
July 8, 1818, to their present resting-place in front of St. Paul's, New
York City, the then aged widow tearfully watching the funeral barge as
it floated past Montgomery Place on the Hudson.
General Anthony Wayne.
During a four years' apprenticeship under Washington, General Greene had
caught more of his master's spirit and method than did any other
American leader, and one year's separate command at the South gave him a
martial fame second only to Washington's own. In him the great chief's
word was fulfilled, "I send you a general." A naked, starving army, an
empty military chest, the surrounding country impoverished and full of
loyalists--these were his difficulties. Three States practically cleared
of the royal army in ten months--this was his achievement. He retreated
only to advance, was beaten only to fight again. One hardly knows which
to admire most, his tireless energy and vigilance, his prudence in
retreat, his boldness and vigor in attack, his cheerful courage in
defeat, or his mingled kindness and firmness toward a suffering and
mutinous army.
John Stark, eccentric but true, famous for cool courage--how stubbornly,
with his New Hampshire boys, he held the rail fence at Bunker Hill, and
covered the retreat when ammunition was gone! But Stark's most brilliant
deed was at Bennington. "There they are, boys--the redcoats, and by
night they're ours, or Molly Stark's a widow." Those "boys," without
bayonets, their artillery shooting stones for balls, were little more
than a mob. But with confidence in him, on they rush, up, over, sweeping
Baume's Hessians from the field like a tornado. The figure of General
Schuyler comes before us--quieter but not less noble, an invalid, set to
hard tasks with little glory. His magnanimous soul forgets self in
country as he cheerfully gives all possible help to Gates, his
supplanter, and puts the torch to his own grain-fields at Saratoga lest
they feed the foe.
The Encounter between Tarleton and Colonel Washington.
And matchless Dan Morgan of Virginia, with his band of riflemen, tall,
sinewy fellows, in hunting-shirts, leggins, and moccasins, each with
hatchet, hunter's knife, and rifle, dead sure to hit a man's head every
time at two hundred and fifty yards. It was one of these men who shot
the gallant Briton, Fraser, at Bemis's Heights. Morgan became the ablest
leader of light troops then living. How gallantly he headed the forlorn
hope under the icy walls of Quebec, where he was taken prisoner, and at
Saratoga with his shrill whistle and stentorian voice called his
dauntless braves where the fight was thickest! But Cowpens was Morgan's
crowning feat. Inspiring militia and veterans alike with a courage they
had never felt before, he routs Tarleton's trained band of horse, and
then, skilful in retreat as he had been bold in fight, laughs at baffled
Cornwallis's rage.
Gladly would one form fuller acquaintance with other Revolutionary
leaders: Stirling, Sullivan, Sumter, Mad Anthony Wayne, of Monmouth and
Stony Point fame, Glover with his brave following of Marblehead
fishermen, who, able to row as well as shoot, manned the oars that
critical night when General Washington crossed to Trenton. But space is
too brief. Colonel Washington, the dashing cavalryman, was the Custer of
the Revolution. All the patriot ladies idolized him. In a hot
sword-fight with the Colonel, Tarleton had had three fingers nearly
severed. Subsequently in conversation with a South Carolina lady
Tarleton said: "Why do you ladies so lionize Colonel Washington? He is
an ignorant fellow. He can hardly write his name." "But you are a
witness that he can make his mark," was the reply.
