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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.

LXII
WITHIN THE LINES

One there was in Yorktown whose suffering was to
the eye as great as he who had watched from the
outside. A sudden change came over Clowes with
the realisation of their danger. He turned white
on the confirmation of the arrival of the French fleet; and
when the news spread through the town that a deserter had
arrived from the American camp with word of Washington's
approach, he fell on the street in a fit, out of which he came
only when he had been cupped, and sixty ounces of blood
taken from him. Not once after that did he seek out Janice,
or even come to the custom-house for food or sleep, but pale,
and talking much to himself he wandered restlessly about
the town, or still more commonly stood for hours on the
highest point of land which opened a view of the bay, gazing
anxiously eastward for the promised English fleet.

Janice was too occupied, however, with her mother even to
note this exemption. The exposure and fatigue of the long,
hot march to Yorktown had proved too great a tax upon
Mrs. Meredith's strength, and almost with their arrival she
took to her bed and slowly developed a low tidal fever, not
dangerous in its character, but unyielding to the doctor's
ministrations.

It was on the day that the videttes fell back on the town,
bringing word that the allies were advancing, that the girl
noticed so marked a change in her mother that she sent for
the army surgeon, and that she had done wisely was shown
by his gravity after a very cursory examination.

"Miss Meredith," he said, "this nursing is like to be of
longer duration than at first seemed probable, and will over-tax
your strength. 'T is best, therefore, that you let us move
Mrs. Meredith into the army hospital, where she can be
properly tended, and you saved from the strain."

"I could not but stay with her, doctor," answered Janice;
"but if you think it best for her that she be moved, I can as
well attend her there."

The surgeon bit his lip, then told her, "I'll try to secure
you permission, if your father think it best." He went
downstairs, and finding the squire said: "Mr. Meredith, I
have very ill news for you. It has been kept from the army,
but there has been for some days an outbreak of small-pox
among the negroes, and now your wife is attacked by it."

"Don't say it, man!" implored the squire.

"'T is, alas! but too true. It is necessary that she be at
once removed on board the hospital ship, and I shall return
as quickly as possible with my assistants and move her. The
more promptly you call your daughter from her bedside, the
better, for 't will just so much lessen the chance of contagion."

Before the father had well broken the news to Janice, or
could persuade her to leave the invalid, the surgeon was
returned, and, regardless of the girl's prayers and tears, her
mother was placed upon a stretcher, carried to the river-side,
and then transferred to the pest-ship, which was anchored in
mid-stream. Against his better judgment, but unable to resist
his daughter's appeals, the squire sought out Cornwallis with
the request that she might be allowed to attend Mrs. Meredith
on the ship, but the British general refused.

"Not only would it be contrary to necessary rules, sir, but it
would merely expose her needlessly. Fear not that Mrs.
Meredith will lack the best of care, for I will give especial
directions to the surgeons. My intention was to send a flag,
as soon as the enemy approached, with a request that I might
pass you all through the lines, out of danger; and this is a sad
derangement to the wish, for General Washington would certainly
refuse passage to any one sick of this disease, and all
must justify him in the refusal. I still think that 't would be
best to let me apply for leave for you and Miss Meredith to go
out, but--"

"Neither the lass nor I would consider it for a moment,
though grateful to your Lordship for the offer."

[Illustration: "Where are you going?"]

"Then I will see that you have room in one of the bomb-proofs,
but 't will be a time of horror, that I warn you."

He spoke only too truly, and the misery of the next twenty
days are impossible to picture. The moment the bombardment
began, father and daughter were forced to seek the protection
of one of the caves that had been dug in the side of the bluff;
and here, in damp, airless, almost dark, and fearfully overcrowded
quarters, they were compelled to remain day and
night during the siege. Almost from the first, scarcity of
wood produced an entire abandonment of cooked food, every
one subsisting on raw pork or raw salt beef, or, as Janice chose,
eating only ship biscuit and unground coffee berries. Once
the fire of the allies began to tell, each hour supplied a fresh
tale of wounded, and these were brought into the bomb-proofs
for the surgeons to tend, their presence and moans adding to the
nightmare; yet but for them it seemed to Janice she would have
gone mad in those weeks, for she devoted herself to nursing
and feeding them, as an escape from dwelling on her mother's
danger and their own helplessness. Even news from the pest-ship
had its torture, for when her father twice each day
descended the bluff to get the word from the doctor's boat, as it
came ashore, she stood in the low doorway of the cave, and at
every shot that was heard shrieking through the air, and at
every shell which exploded with a crash, she held her breath,
full of dread of what it might have done, and in anguish till her
father was safe returned with the unvarying and uncheering
bulletin the surgeons gave him of Mrs. Meredith's condition.

Yet those in the bomb-proofs escaped the direst of the
horrors. Above them were enacted scenes which turned even
the stoutest hearts sick with fear and loathing. The least of
these was the slaughter of the horses, baggage, cavalry, and
artillery, which want of forage rendered necessary, one whole
day being made hideous by the screams of the poor beasts, as
one by one they were led to a spot where the putrefying of
their carcasses would least endanger the health of the soldiery,
and their throats cut. All pretence of care of the negroes
disappeared with the demand on the officers and soldiers to
man the redoubts, and on the surgeons to care for the sick
and wounded soldiers, who soon numbered upwards of two
thousand. Naked and half starving, they who had dreamed
of freedom were left for the small-pox and putrid fever and
for shot and shell to work their will among them. In the abandoned
houses and even in the streets, they lay, sick, dismembered,
dying, and dead, with not so much as one to aid or
bury them.

On the morning of the 17th a fresh number of wounded
men were brought into the already overcrowded cave; and
though Janice was faint with the long days of anxiety, fright,
bad air, poor food, and hard work, she went from man to
man, doing what could be done to ease their torments and
lessen their groans. The last brought in was in a faint, with
the lower part of his face and shoulder horribly torn and shattered
by the fragments of a shell, but a little brandy revived
him, and he moaned for water. Hurriedly she stooped over
him, to drop a little from a spoon between the open lips.

"Janice!" he startled her by crying.

"Who are--? Oh, Sir Frederick!" she exclaimed. "You!
How came you here?"

"They let me out of the prison Clowes me put in," Mobray
gasped; "and having nothing better, I enlisted in the
ranks under another name." There he choked with blood.

"Doctor," called Janice, "come quickly!"

"Humph!" growled the surgeon, after one glance. "You
should not summon me to waste time on him. Can't you see
't is hopeless?"

"Oh, don't--" began Janice.

"Nay, he speaks the truth," said Mobray; "and I thank
God 't is so. Don't cry. I am glad to go; and though I have
wasted my life, 't is a happier death than poor John Andre's."

For a moment only the sobs of the girl could be heard,
then the dying man gaspingly resumed: "A comrade I once
had whom I loved best in this world till I knew you. By a
strange chance we loved the same girl; I wish I might die
with the knowledge that he is to have the happiness that was
denied to me."

"Oh, Sir Frederick, you must not ask it! He--"

"His was so bitter a story that he deserves a love such as
yours would be to make it up to him. I can remember him
the merriest of us all, loved by every man in the regiment,
from batman to colonel."

"And what changed him?" Janice could not help asking.

"T was one evening at the mess of the Fusileers, when
Powel, too deep in drink to know what he was saying, blurted
out something concerning Mrs. Loring's relations with Sir
William. Poor Charlie was the one man in the force who
knew not why such favouritism had been shown in his being put
so young into Howe's regiment. But that we were eight to
one, he'd have killed Powel then and there. Prevented in
that, he set off to slay his colonel, never dreaming he was his
own father. He burst in on me late that night, crazed with
grief, and told me how he had found him at his mother's, and
how she had robbed him of his vengeance by a word. The
next day he disappeared, and never news had I of him until
that encounter at Greenwood. Does he not deserve something
to sweeten his life?"

"I feel for him deeply," replied the girl, sadly, "the more
that I did him a grave wrong in my thoughts, and by some
words I spoke must have cut him to the quick and added pain
to pain."

"Then you will make him happy?"

"No, Sir Frederick, that I cannot."

"Don't punish him for what was not his fault."

"'T is not for that," she explained. "Once I loved him, I
own. But in a moment of direst need, when I appealed to
him, he failed me; and though now I better understand his
resentment against my father and myself I could never bring
myself to forgive his cruelty, even were my love not dead."

"I will not believe it of him. Hot and impulsive he is by
nature, but never cruel or resentful."

"'T is, alas! but too true," grieved Janice.

Once again the baronet choked with blood and struggled
for a moment convulsively. Then more faintly he said: "Wilt
give him my love and a good-by?"

"I will," sobbed the girl.

Nothing more was said for some time, then Mobray asked
faintly: "Is it that I am losing consciousness, or has the firing
eased?"

Janice raised her head with a start. "Why, it has stopped,"
she exclaimed. "What can it mean?"

"That courage and tenacity have done their all, and now
must yield. Poor Cornwallis! I make no doubt he'd gladly
change places with me at this instant."

Here Mr. Meredith's voice broke in upon them, as standing
in the mouth of the cave he called: "Come, Janice. The
firing has ceased, to permit an exchange of flags with the
rebels. Up with ye, and get the fresh air while ye can."

"I will stay here, father," replied the girl, "and care for--"

"Nonsense, lass! Ye shall not kill yourself. I order ye to
come away."

"Go, Miss Meredith," begged Mobray. "You can do
naught for me, and--and--I would have--Do as he says."
His hand blindly groped until Janice placed hers within it,
when he gave it a weak pressure as he said, "'T is many a
long march and many a sleepless night that the memory of
you has sweetened. Thank you, and good-by."

Reluctantly Janice came out of the bomb-proof, blinking
and gasping with the novelty of sunlight and sea breeze, after
the darkness and stench of the last weeks; and her father, partly
supporting, led her up the bluff. It was a strange transformation
that greeted her eyes,--ploughed-up streets and ruins of
buildings dismantled by shot or left heaps of ashes by the
shell, everywhere telling of the fury of the siege.

Keep your eyes closed, lass," suggested the squire, "for
there are sights of horror. In a moment I'll have ye at
headquarters, where things have been kept more tidy. There,
now ye can look; sit down here and fill your lungs with this
good air."

Silently the two seated themselves on the steps of the
Nelson house, now pierced in every direction by the shot of
the allies, though less damaged than many others. Presently
Janice's attention was caught by the sound of shuffling footsteps,
as of one with only partial use of his legs, and glancing
up she gave a slight cry of fear. And well she might, for
there stood the commissary, with his face like one risen from
the dead, it was so white and staring.

"Meredith," he whispered, as if his larynx were parched
beyond the ability to speak aloud, while with one hand he held
his throat in a vain attempt to make his speech less weak and
raucous, "they say 'The Parley' has been beat and a flag
sent out, and that the post is to be surrendered. Tell me
that Cornwallis will never do that. He 's a brave man. Tell
me it is n't so."

"Nothing else is there for him to do, Clowes. He 's made
a splendid defence, but now scarce a gun is left mounted and
powder and shot are both exhausted; to persist longer would
be useless murder."