On the morning of the 6th of October, twelve thousand American and French soldiers lay encamped in the form of a broad semi-circle almost a mile from the British earthworks about Yorktown. Still nearer, in a deep ravine, above which were some outworks that had been abandoned by the British on the approach of the allies, were the outposts; and these, lacking tents, had hutted themselves with boughs. Intermittently came the roar of a cannon from the British lines, and those in the hollow could occasionally see and hear a shell as it screeched past them overhead; but they gave not one-tenth the heed to it that they gave to the breakfast they were despatching. Indeed, their sole grumblings were at the meagreness of the ration which had been dealt out to them the night before ere they had been marched forward into their present position; and as a field officer, coming from the American camp, descended into the ravine, these found open expression.

“’T is mighty fine fer the ginral ter say in the ginral orders that he wants us if attacked ter rely on the bagonet,” spoke up one of the murmurers loud enough to make it evident that he intended the officer to overhear him; “but no troops kin fight on a shred o’ salt pork and a mouthful of collards.”

The officer halted, and speaking more to all those within hearing than to the man, said: “You got as good as any of the Continental regiments, boys, and better than some.”

“That may be, kun’l,” answered the complainant, “but how about the dandies?”

“Yes,” assented the officer. “We sent the French regiments all the flour and fresh meat the commissaries could lay hands on, I grant you. Is there one of you who would have kept it from them for his own benefit?”

“P’raps not,” acknowledged another, “but that don’t make it any the less unfairsome.”

“Remember they come to help us, and are really our guests. Nor are they accustomed to the privation we know too well. General Washington has surety that you can fight on an empty stomach, for you’ve done it many a time, but he is not so certain of the French.”

The remark was greeted with a general laugh, which seemed to dissipate the grievance.

“Lord!” exclaimed a corporal; “them fine birds do need careful tending.”

“’T ain’t ter be wondered at thet the Frenchies is so keerful ter bring their tents with ’em,” remarked a third. “Whatever would happen ter one o’ them Soissonnais fellers, with his rose-coloured facings an’ his white an’ rose feathers, if he had ter sleep in a bowery along o’ us? Some on ’em looks so pretty, thet it don’t seem right ter even trust ’em out in a heavy dew.” As he ended, the speaker looked down at his own linen overalls. “T ain’t no shakes they laughs a bit at us an won’t believe we are really snogers.”

“’T is for us to make them laugh the other way before we’ve done Cornwallis’s business,” remarked the officer. “But make up your minds to one thing, boys, if their caps are full of feathers and their uniforms more fit for a ball-room than for service, these same fine-plumaged birds can fight; and there must be no lagging if we are to prove ourselves their betters, or even their equals.”

“We’ll show ’em what the Jarsey game-cocks kin do, an don’t you be afeared, kun’l.”

As the assertion was made, a group of officers appeared on the brow of the ravine, and the colonel turned and went forward to meet them as they descended.

“How far in advance are your pickets, Colonel Brereton?” one of them asked.

“About three hundred paces, your Excellency.”

“And is the ground open?” demanded a second of the party, with a markedly French accent.

“There is some timber cover, General du Portail, but ’t is chiefly open and rolling.”

“We wish, sir, to advance as far as can be safely effected,” said Washington, “and shall rely on you for guidance.”

“This way, sir,” answered Brereton; and the whole party ascended out of the hollow through a side ravine which brought them into a clump of poplars occupied by a party of skirmishers, and which commanded a view of the British earthworks. Halting at the edge of the timber, glasses were levelled, and each man began a study of the enemy’s lines. Scarcely had they taken position when a puff of smoke rose from one of the redoubts, and a shell came screeching towards them, passing high enough to cut the branches of the trees over their heads, and bringing them falling among the group. A minute later a solid shot struck directly in their front, causing all except the commander-in-chief to fall back out of sight among the trees; but he, apparently unmoved by the danger, calmly continued observing the enemies’ works, and though directly in their view, for some reason they did not fire again.

When Washington finally turned about and rejoined the group, he said to Brereton: “Keep your men, sir, as they are at present disposed, out of sight of the batteries, till evening; then push your pickets forward as close to the town as they can venture, with orders to fall back, unless attacked, only with daylight. Last night the British put outside their lines a number of blacks stricken with the small-pox; you will order your skirmishers, therefore, to fire on them if they endeavour to repeat the attempt, for even the dictates of humanity cannot allow us to jeopardise the health of our army. Hold your regiment in readiness to move out at nightfall in support of the pioneers who will begin breaking ground this evening. Further and specific orders will reach you later through the regular channels.”

It was already dark when Brereton, guiding General du Portail and the engineers, once more came out upon the plain. Following after them were a corps of sappers and miners, regiments detailed as pioneers, carrying intrenching tools, regiments armed as usual, to support them if attacked, and carts loaded with bags of sand, empty barrels, fascines, and gabions. Advancing cautiously, each man keeping touch with the one in front of him, they went forward until within six hundred yards of the British position. Without delay, by means of lanterns which were screened from the foe by being carried in half-barrels, the engineering tapes were laid down, and with pick and shovel the fatigue party went to work, the eagerness of the men being such that, despite of orders, the men from the supporting regiments, leaving their muskets in charge of their fellow-soldiers, would join in the toil. Nor did their colonels reprove them for this; but, on the contrary, Brereton, finding six men from one company engaged in rolling a large rock out of the ditch and to the top of the rapidly waxing pile of earth in its rear, said approvingly: “Well done, boys. I’ve a wager with the Marquis de Chastellux that an American battery fires the first shot, and I see you intend that I shall win the bet.”

“Arrah, ’t is in yez pocket aready, colonel,” cried one of the sappers. “Sure, how kin a Frinchman expect to bate us whin nary ground-hog nor baver, the aither av thim, is theer in his counthry to tache him how to work wid earth an’ timber?”

So well was the night spent that when morning dawned the British found a long line of new earthworks stretched along their front; and though instantly their guns began cannonading them, the men were now protected and could dig on, unheeding of the fire. Indeed, such was the enthusiasm that when at six o’clock the order came for the regiments to fall in, and it was found that they were to be replaced by fresh troops, there was open grumbling. “’T is we did the work,” complained a sergeant, “and now them fellows who slept all night will steal the glory.”

“Not a bit of it, boys,” denied Brereton, as he was passing down the lines preparatory to giving the order of march. “There are still redoubts to be made and the guns are not up yet. ’T will come our turn in the trenches again before they are.”

Their commander spoke wittingly, for two days it took to get the trenches, and the redoubts thrown out in advance of them, completed, and the heavy siege-guns were not moved forward until after dark on the 8th. All night long and the most of the following morning the men toiled, placing them in position, paying no attention to the unceasing thunder of the British guns, unless to stop momentarily and gaze with admiration at the shells, each with its tail of fire, as they curved through the air, or to crack a joke over some one which flew especially near.

“Bark away,” laughed one, as he affectionately patted a twenty-four pounder just moved into its position, while shaking his other fist toward Yorktown. “Scold while ye kin, for ’t is yer last chance. Like men, we’ve sat silent for nine days, an’ let ye, like women, do the talkin’, but it ’s to-morrow mornin’ ye’ll find that, if we’ve kept still, it ’s not been for want of a tongue.”

It was noon when Brereton came hurrying into the battery to find the men sleeping among the guns, where they had dropped after their hard labour.

“How is it, Jack?” questioned the officer in command.

“General du Portail has reported the battery completed, and he tells me we’ve beat the French by at least two hours.”

A wild yell of joy broke from one of the apparently unconscious men, bringing most of the sleepers scrambling to their feet and grasping for their weapons. “I said they could never dig in them clothes!” he cried.

“’T is however to be another ‘Gentlemen of the guards, fire first,’” went on Brereton. “General Washington, as a compliment to the French, has decided that their guns shall fire the first shot.”

A growl came from the captain of the nearest cannon. “I promised the old gal,” he muttered discontentedly, his hand on his thirty-two pounder, “that she should begin it, an’ she’s sighted to knock over that twelve pounder that ’s been teasin’ us, or may I never fire gun agin.”

“She’ll do it just as well on the second shot,” said Colonel Lamb, “and who cares which fires first, since we’ve beat them.”

It was three o’clock when Washington and Rochambeau, accompanied by their staffs, came out of the covert-way which permitted entrance and egress to a French redoubt, from the trenches in its rear, and infantry and gunners came to the “present.”

“Votre Excellence,” said Colonel d’Aboville, saluting, “moi cannoniers vous implorent de leur donner l’honneur immortel en mettant feu au premier coup de cannon.”

Washington, realizing that the speech was addressed to him, turned to Rochambeau with a helpless and questioning look.

“Zay desire zat your Excellency does zem ze honneur to fire ze first gun,” explained the French general.

Washington removed his hat and bowed. “Try as we will, count,” he said, “we cannot equal your nation in politeness.” In silence he stepped forward to the gun the colonel indicated, and the captain of the piece handed him the loggerhead with a salute and then fell back respectfully.

Washington touched the red-hot iron to the port fire; there was a puff of smoke, a deafening crash; and the great gun gave a little jump, as if for joy. A thousand pairs of eyes strained after the solid shot as it flew, then as it disappeared over the British earthworks and was heard to go tearing its way through some wall a great shout went up from one end of the lines of the allies, to the other.

Instantly came the roar of the other five cannon, and two ten-inch mortars echoed their thunder by sending ten-inch shells curving high in the air. Ere they descended one of the guns peeping from a British redoubt rose on end and disappeared; raising another cheer. At last the siege was begun.

As if to prove that the foe was nothing daunted, a solid shot, just topping the redoubt, tore through the middle of the group of generals, scattering sand and pebbles over them. Colonel Cobb, who stood nearest Washington, turning impulsively, said, “Sir, you are too much exposed here. Had you not better step back a little?”

“If you are afraid, Colonel Cobb,” quietly answered Washington, “you have liberty to step back.”

By dark three batteries were firing, and all through the night the guns on both sides rained shot and shell at each other. Two more batteries of thirty-two pounders opened fire on the 10th, and by hot shot set fire that evening to the “Charon” frigate, making a sight of marvellous grandeur, for the ship became one mass of fire from the water’s edge to her spintle-heads, all her ports belching flame and each spar and every rope ablaze at the same moment. The morning of the 11th found fifty-two pieces of artillery mounted and hurling a storm of projectiles into the British lines; and that evening, a second parallel was opened, bringing the guns of the besiegers less than three hundred yards from their earthworks, and putting all parts of the town within range. After this was completed, the defensive fire slackened, for every gun with which the garrison sought to make reply was dismounted the moment it was advanced into the embrasure, compelling their withdrawal during daylight hours; and though each night as soon as dark screened them from the accurate gunnery of the Americans, they were restored and the firing renewed, it was done with a feebleness that bespoke discouragement and exhaustion. For two days shot and shell splintered and tore through abattis and fraising, and levelled parapet and ditch, almost unanswered.

To the right of the new parallel, and almost enfilading it by their fire, were two detached redoubts of the British, well in advance of their main lines. To end their destructive cross fire, as well as to complete the investiture, it was determined to carry them by assault; and as dark settled down on the evening of the 14th, two storming parties, one of French grenadiers and chasseurs, drawn from the brigade of the Baron de Viomenil and under the command of the Comte de Deuxponts, and the second, of American light infantry, taken from the division of the Marquis de Lafayette and commanded by Alexander Hamilton, were moved out of the trenches, and, followed by strong supporting battalions, were advanced as far as was prudent.

It was while the American forlorn hope was standing at ease, awaiting the signal, that Colonel Brereton came hurrying up to where Hamilton and Laurens were whispering final details.

“I could n’t keep out of this,” he explained; “and the marquis was good enough to say I might serve as a volunteer.”

“The more the merrier,” responded Laurens. “Come along with me, Jack. We are to take the fort in the rear, and you shall have your stomach full of fighting, I’ll warrant you. Here, put this paper in your hat, if you don’t want to be stuck by our own men.”

Hamilton, turning from the two, addressed the three battalions. “Light infantry,” he said, “when the council of war reached the decision to carry the works in our front, Baron de Viomenil argued that both should be left to his troops, as the American soldiery could not be depended upon for an assault. The commander-in-chief would not disgrace us by yielding to his claim, and ’t is for us to prove that he was right. We have shown the French artillerists that we can serve our guns quicker and more accurately; now let us see if we cannot prove ourselves the swifter and steadier at this work. Let the sergeants see to it that each man in his file has a piece of paper in his hat, and that each has removed the flint from his gun. I want you to carry the redoubt without a shot, by the bayonet alone.”

A murmur of assent and applause passed along the lines, and then all stood listening for the signal. It was a night of intense darkness, and now, after ten days of unending bombardment, the cannonading had entirely ceased, giving place to a stillness which to ears so long accustomed to the uproar seemed to have a menacing quality in it.

Suddenly a gun boomed loud and clear; and as its echo reverberated out over the river, every man clutched his musket more firmly. Boom! went a second close upon the first, and each soldier drew a deep breath as if to prepare for some exertion. Boom! went a third, and a restless undulation swept along the lines. Boom! for a fourth time roared a cannon, and some of the men laughed nervously. Boom! rolled out yet a fifth, and the ranks stood tense and rigid, every ear, every sense, straining.

Boom! crashed the sixth gun, and not a man needed the “Forward, light infantry!” of the commander, every one of them being in motion before the order was given. Steadily they advanced in silence, save only for muttered grumbles here and there over the slowness of the pace.

Without warning, out of the blackness came a challenge, “Who goes there?”

Making no answer, the stormers broke into a run and swept forward with a rush.

“Bang!” went a single musket; and had it been fired into a mine, the tremendous uproar that ensued could not have come more instantaneously, for twenty cannon thundered, and the redoubts fairly seemed to spit fire as the defenders’ muskets flashed. High in the air rose rockets, which lit up the whole scene, and for the time they lasted fairly turned the night into day.

As the main and flanking parties swept up to the redoubt, the sappers and miners, who formed the first rank, attacked the abattis with their axes; but the troops, mad with long waiting and fretted by the galling fire of the foe, would not wait, and, pushing them aside, clambering, boosting, and tumbling went over the obstruction. Not pausing to form in the ditch, they scrambled up the parapet and went surging over the crest, pell-mell, upon the British.

Brereton, sword in hand, had half sprung, half been tossed upon the row of barrels filled with earth which topped the breastworks, only to face a bayonet which one of the garrison lunged up at him. A sharp prick he felt in his chest; but as in the quick thought of danger he realised his death moment, the weapon, instead of being driven home, was jerked back, and the soldier who had thrust with it cried:—

“Charlie!”

“Fred!” exclaimed Jack, and the two men caught each other by the hand and stood still while the invaders poured past them over the barrels.

It was Mobray who spoke first. “Oh, Charlie!” he almost sobbed, “one misery at least has been saved me! My God! You bleed.”

“A pin-prick only, Fred. But what does this mean? You! and in the ranks.”

“Ay, and for three years desperately seeking a death which will not come!”

“And the Fusileers?”

“Hold this redoubt. Oh, Charlie, to think that your sword should ever be raised against the old regiment!”

As Mobray spoke, came a cry from the garrison, “We yield!” and the clatter of their weapons could be heard as they were grounded, or were thrown to the earth.

“Quick!” cried Brereton, fairly hauling Sir Frederick to where he stood. “Run, Fred! At least, you shall be no prisoner.” Jack gave him a last squeeze of the hand and a shove, which sent his friend fairly staggering down into the ditch.

Mobray sprang through a break in the abattis, but had not run ten feet when he turned and shouted back something which the thundering of the artillery prevented Brereton from entirely hearing, but the words he distinguished were sufficient to make him catch at the barrels for support, for they were:—

“Janice Meredith … Yorktown … point of death … small-pox.”

For a moment Brereton stood in a kind of daze; but as the full horror of Mobray’s words came home to him, he groaned. Turning, he plunged down into the fortress with a look of a man bereft, and striding to the commander cried, “For God’s sake, Hamilton, give me something to do!”

“The very man I wanted,” replied the little colonel. “Carry word to the marquis that the redoubt is ours, and that the supports may advance.”

Dashing out of the now open sally port, Jack ran at his top speed, and within two minutes delivered the report to General de Lafayette.

"Ah, mes braves,” ejaculated the marquis, triumphantly. “My own countreemen they thought they would not it do, and now my boys, they have the fort before Deuxponts has his,” he went on, as he pointed into the darkness, out of which could be seen the flash of muskets. “Ah, we will teach the baron a lesson. Colonel Barber,” he ordered, turning to his aide, “ride at your best quickness to General Viomenil; tell him, with my compliments, that our fort, it is ours, and that we can give him the assistance, if he needs it.”

The help was not needed, for in five minutes the second outpost was also in the possession of the allies. Working parties were at once thrown forward, and before morning the two captured positions were connected with and made part of the already established parallel.

The fall of these two redoubts in turn opened an enfilading fire on the British, and in desperation, just before dawn on the 15th a sortie was made, and the French were driven out of one of the batteries, and the guns spiked but the advantage could not be held against the reserves that came up at the first alarm, and they were in turn forced out at the point of the bayonet.

On the morning of the 16th almost a hundred heavy guns and mortars were in position; and for twenty-four hours the whole peninsula trembled, as they poured a torrent of destructive, direct, and raking fire, at the closest range, into the weakened defences and crumbling town, with scarcely pretence of resistance from the hemmed in and exhausted British, every shot which especially told being greeted with cheers from the trenches of the allies.

One there was in the uniform of a field officer, who never cheered, yet who, standing in a recklessly exposed position, staringly followed each solid shot as it buried itself in the earthworks, or, passing over them, was heard to strike in the town, and each shell, as it curved upwards and downwards in its great arc. Sometimes the explosion of the latter would throw fragments of what it destroyed in the air,—earth, shingles, bricks, and even human limbs,—raising a cry of triumph from those who served the piece, but he only pressed his lips the more tightly together, as if enduring some torture. Nor could he be persuaded to leave his place for food or sleep, urge who would, but with careworn face and haggard eyes never left it for thirty hours. Occasionally, when for a minute or two there would come an accidental break in the firing, his lips could be seen to move as if he were speaking to himself. Not one knew why he stood there following each shot so anxiously, or little recked that, when there was not one to fasten his attention, he saw instead a pair of dark eyes shadowed by long lashes, delicately pencilled eyebrows, a low fore-head surmounted by a wealth of darkest brown hair, a little straight nose, cheeks scarcely ever two minutes the same tint, and lips that, whether they spoke or no, wooed as never words yet did. And as each time the vision flashed out before him, he would half mutter, half sob a prayer:—

“Oh, God, rob her of her beauty if you will, but do not let disease or shot kill her.”

It was he, watching as no other man in all those lines watched, who suddenly, a little after ten o’clock on the morning of the 17th, shouted:—

“Cease firing!”

Every man within hearing turned to him, and then looked to where his finger pointed.

On the top of a British redoubt stood a red-coated drummer, to the eye beating his instrument, but the sound of it was drowned in the roar of the guns. As the order passed from battery to battery, the thunder gradually ceased, and all that could be heard was the distant riffle of the single drum, sounding “The Parley.” Once the cessation of the firing was complete, an officer, whose uniform and accoutrements flashed out brilliantly as the eastern sun shone on them, mounted the works, and standing beside the drummer slowly waved a white flag.