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Saying thou, O mournful River!
As of old dost wind and waste;
Falling down the rock for ever,
Rustling with a sound of haste
Through the dry-fringed meadow bottom;
But my hands along thy bed
Gather now no gems of autumn,
Or the dainties summer shed;
By the margin hoarsely flowing,
Yellow dock, and garget growing,
Drifts of wreck, and miry stain,

By river-wash, and dregs of rain.
Yet, though bound in desolation,
Bound and locked, thy waters pour
With a cry of exultation,

Uncontained by shore and shore;
With a measured deep vibration,
In its wind my cheek is wet,
But unheeding woe or warning,
Thou, through all the barren hours
Seems to sing of summer yet;
Thou with voice all sorrow scorning
Babblest on of leaves and flowers
Wearily, whilst I go mourning
O'er thy fallen banks and bowers.
But a faith thy music teaches
Might I to its import climb,

Still the yearning heart beseeches
Truth as when in summer time

Through these dells I vaguely sought her
In the dreamy summer time.
So the margin-paths and reaches
Once again I left to roam,
Left behind the roaring water,
Eddy-knots and clots of foam;
But it still disturbed me ever,
As a dream no reason yields,
From the ruin of the river

Winding up through empty fields,
That I could not gather something
Of the meaning and belief
In the voice of its triumphing,
Or the wisdom of its grief.

YORKTOWN IN 1854.

WHAT Yorktown was three quarters

of a century ago, few are alive to tell; but to see it now, a quiet, unobtrusive little town, of between twenty and thirty houses, half of them uninhabited, with the ruins of tenements destroyed during Cornwallis's siege, meeting you at every turn, one can scarcely realize that it was once the scene of a contest, more portentous to the welfare of the human race than any that has occurred since the dawn of the Christian era. It is true, many fiercer battles have been fought,

both before and since, where the loss of life has been much more fearful, and from which important results have followed; but these have been confined principally to the belligerent parties: no effect has ensued, which is to leave its impress upon mankind for all time to come. Not so at Yorktown; when Cornwallis' signature to the articles of capitulation was extorted from him, he virtually became an unwilling, but, nevertheless, a subscribing witness to the birth of this vast empire: the treaty of peace which followed, two years

afterwards, was a mere diplomatic formality. With the termination of the siege at Yorktown, all hostilities ceased, and peace practically prevailed. What the destiny, and what the mission of this republic, are questions which the result at Yorktown permits us not only to ask, but to attempt to solve; but for it the grand, at the same time moral experiment of man's capacity for self-government, would have been still in abeyance, and when it would have been tried, could only be known to a superior and controlling power. The last obstacle to this experiment, in the then thirteen colonies, was the remnant of a British army, entrenched in 1781 on the banks of York River: when that army was captured, the inhabitants of a large portion of this continent became, as far as human beings may, the masters of their own destiny; and from that day to this, they have been engaged in giving effect to political opinions which had hitherto been regarded as visionary and impracticable. Thus much for the result of the siege. We will now glance at the siege itself, and at the place where it occurred.

Near the commencement of the present year, a party, including the writer, embarked near the close of the day at Baltimore, on board of the little steamer Monmouth, bound up York River, touching at several intermediate landings. The next day, about sunset, we came in sight of what now remains of Yorktown. It is very pleasantly situated on the south bank of the river, on the brow of a hill, whence you have a view extending into the Chesapeake Bay, and reaching almost to the Virginia capes. The town has a fine harbor, and formerly enjoyed quite a valuable West Indian trade; but this is now all gone. Like most other southern villages, it is a dull, silent and monotonous place; and it requires no little effort of the imagination to repeople the hills and fields and waters of the present day, with that grim throng of stern and busy men which seventy-three years ago met here in deadly conflict. If one felt disposed to experiment upon the nerves of the inhabitants of a quiet and unsuspecting little hamlet, by the sudden explosion of a rocket or a musket, a more fitting place than Yorktown could not be found this side the Rocky Mountains; and if, before Cornwallis in 1781 marched into the place with his eight thousand British troops, with their long trains of artillery, ammunition and baggage-wagons, the town was as inoffensive and quiet as it appears now-the inhabitants of that day

must have been about as much astonished at the English general's approach, as if he and his men had arisen from the oysterbeds of the river.

Those conversant with our revolutionary history, will recollect, that the campaign of 1781 was opened by Cornwallis in the South; that Sir Henry Clinton, the previous year, in his descent upon Charleston, had divided his forces: learing a considerable portion of them under Cornwallis, to operate in the Southern colonies, while the commander-in-chief, with the others returned to head-quarters, New York. This movement offered an advantage which could not escape the quick military perceptions of Washington; who, early in May, 1781, commenced concentrating his forces near New York, for the double purpose of preventing Sir Henry Clinton from despatching reinforcements to the relief of his subordinate in the South, and at the same time, of blinding him as to his real intentions. The investment of New York required a large force and heavy siege-trains; these were all provided, and the feint was perfect.

In the mean time, Cornwallis and Greene had met at Guilford Court-house, where the British commander had received a check. Tarleton had been cut to pieces at the Cow-pens; and Lafayette, with three thousand men, was in Virgi nia, and of course between the royal army and New York; and as Cornwallis left the country he had overrun, Greene stood ready to occupy it; so that the British commander was only sure of the ground on which he was, for the time being, encamped. The Americans were not in sufficient force to offer him frequent battle; but they adopted the more prudent alternative, of hanging on his flanks and rear, and crippling him on every opportunity. Under these circumstances Cornwallis, with a view of placing himself nearer his resources, commenced his march northward. Lafayette, however, with his command, which had been reinforced, and which was now in a region where it could receive accessions, as they were required, blocked his road; and the English general found himself so straitened, that he was compelled to make urgent appeals to Sir Henry Clinton, for reinforcements; but Sir Henry deemed hinself so seriously threatened by Washington, that he dared not spare a man; but in reply, directed Cornwallis to take up a position on the seaboard, fortify himself, and await reinforcements. In obedience to this order, Yorktown was the place

selected. The spot was a judicious position for the purpose of carrying out the orders of the commander-in-chief; but the very reverse, for holding in check, an advancing hostile force; a contingency which the English general seems never to have contemplated. It proved a trap to Cornwallis, from which no ingenuity of his could save him. It was now that the masterly tactics of Washington began to develope themselves; he had no sooner seen Cornwallis in position at Yorktown, than, under various pretexts, he commenced preparing at the head of Chesapeake Bay a large number of transports; and keeping up the show of a siege on New York, he set about quietly sending off detachments through New Jersey, at the same time so disposing of them as to continue the threat on New York, until near the end of July, when every thing being in readiness, he suddenly concentrated his forces at Philadelphia, made rapid marches towards his transports, and having reached them was well on his way to attack Cornwallis, before the English commanderin-chief had the least suspicion of his design. For the purpose of comprehending the sagacity and beauty of this movement, the reader would do well to take the map and trace the course of Washington down the Chesapeake Bay into James River, and up that river to Williamsburg, twenty-five miles from Yorktown, and see how effectually he placed himself in Cornwallis's rear. In passing, it is as well to say, that it was these combinations and movements, which placed Washington among the very ablest military commanders of the age.

On the 27th Sept., 1781, the American army encamped within a mile of Cornwallis's lines; and the next day the French portion of the army having taken up its position on the left of the Americans, at about the same distance from the enemy, a cannonade from the British entrenchments ushered in the siege. During the night of the 29th, the British evacuated several of their redoubts, and retired within their lines; on the next day, 30th, these redoubts were occupied by the investing forces. On the 1st October, ground was broken by the Americans on their first parallel of approaches, under a furious cannonade from the enemy. On the 9th, several of the American redoubts being completed, General Washington himself pointed and fired the first gun, which was succeeded by a terrific cannonade by both armies, from over three hundred pieces of artillery. This was kept up nearly without cessation, for six days.

On the 15th, a couple of British redoubts were stormed: one by the French, and the other by the Americans. On the 17th Cornwallis sent in a flag of truce, which, as all know, resulted in his capitulation on the 19th. Thus much for the progress of the siege.

The morning following our arrival at Yorktown, broke sullenly, portending a storm, which set in furiously before twelve o'clock; but while it was threatening, we availed ourselves of the opportunity of walking over the battle-field. The American breastworks are nearly obliterated; but the more permanent entrenchments of the British are still comparatively perfect. We resolved to take the incidents of the siege, as far as possible, in chronological order, and of course our first care was to hunt up the outworks evacuated by the English on the night of the 29th September. They lie on the western outskirts of the town, and are still in good preservation. They were strong positions, and their abandonment must have left the portion of the town in which they were situated in a very exposed condition, and our officers, when they took possession of them, expressed much surprise at their being voluntarily given up. We next looked for the two redoubts stormed by the allied forces on the 15th October. The first, or most eastern of these, (that stormed by the Americans.) being near the river, has nearly been washed away; that taken by the French portion of the allied army, may still be traced. The capture of these redoubts brought the antagonists, as it were, within speaking distance; and it became too apparent to Cornwallis, that unless succor arrived, (of which there was no reasonable hope,) or unless he could escape by a stealthy night retreat, his destruction or surrender was inevitable. On the succeeding night, therefore (the 16th), he attempted an escape across the river to Gloucester Point, where a small French force was stationed for the purpose of watching Tarleton, entrenched there; this force it was determined to overpower and destroy, when the entire British army, after abandoning their artillery, ammunition and baggagetrains, were to have moved off in full retreat, through a portion of Virginia, through Maryland, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey, all occupied by the American troops, until a Junction could have been formed with Sir Henry Cinton in New York. In pursuance of this determination, a portion of the besieged army had actually crossed the river, and another considerable detachment were em

barked in boats, and part of the way over, when a violent storm of wind and rain sprung up, nearly engulfing the whole party, and sent the boats with their passengers, so far down the river, that it was a late hour the next day before they could rejoin the main body of their army. It was regarded as a very rash attempt, and demonstrated the desperate straits to which Cornwallis was reduced. On the 17th he solicited a truce.

We then entered the main works, situated on the eastern edge of the town; these are still in excellent keeping, and must have been truly formidable when bristling with cannon and filled with soldiers. What first attracted our attention was their brevity; but this was probably considered an excusable military fault, if it was one, as all military commanders prefer compact works, with as few assailable points as possible. But, perhaps our ideas had imperceptibly become exaggerated, from the reflection that there was an army of about eight thousand men stationed for their defence; and, if it were desirable, these men were capable of occupying defences much more extended than those before us. But there they were, with banks too broad to be perforated by a cannon-shot, and too steep to be easily scaled by an assailant. In a conspicuous angle of these works may be seen the foundation and ruins of the costly mansion of the patriotic Governor Nelson who commanded the Virginia militia at the siege. Justly supposing that his house would be the most convenient spot for Cornwallis's headquarters, the Governor, with rare disinterestedness, offered the American gunners a guinea a-piece for every shot which should hit his own house-a promise which it is said he scrupulously redeemed. Under such incentives it was, of course, soon a heap of ruins; and Cornwallis, after seeing his servant killed, was driven farther into the town, to another mansion belonging to the Nelsons, although the American shot still pursued him. The house is of bricks, and the marks of several balls are still to be seen; one shot penetrated the southeast corner, went through the wall, entered the dining-room, tore off a couple of panels of the wainscoting, and spent its force against the marble mantel, which it shattered to pieces. Three other cannon shot have left their marks, all on the eastern gable end. Two of them went through the wall, the hole made by one of these is still open; a third struck half way. This

house is now occupied by the estimable widow of the grandson of Governor Nel

son.

Attached to the personal staff of General Washington, during the siege, was a clergyman by the name of Evans. One day, in the midst of a severe cannonade, the general and his staff were occupying an exposed position within the American lines, when a shot struck the ground so near the spot where the general and his staff were standing, that it threw the earth on to the clergyman's hat, which gave him great alarm. Evincing his terror in his countenance, he took off his hat, saying, "see this, General!" to which Washington replied, "you had better-show your hat, sir, to your wife and children!"

After traversing the entrenchments, we sought the field where the formalities of the surrender took place. It is at present a respectable inclosure of some hundred acres, and it was about the same in 1781. It joins the town on the south. The precise spot where General O'Harra is said to have delivered up his sword and apologized for the absence of his commander, is now marked by a couple of poplar trees, which were planted by some one in commemoration of the event. field itself is nearly a plain, and is admirably adapted to the purposes for which it had been chosen.

The

Next in order was the "Moore house," in the eastern parlor of which Cornwallis signed the articles of capitulation. The place is now called the "Temple Farm," and the house, which is of wood, appears much as it did when occupied by Cornwallis. It is outside of the entrenchments, and within musket shot of them on the east. A lawn of some three hundred yards in extent slopes from the house to the banks of the river; and although the place shows some evidences of dilapidation, it has a pleasant aspect. On the farm there is an ancient inclosure of bricks, which the tradition of the country says was formerly a tower, and built as a defence against the savages. We saw no traces of a tower; but from the extent of the ground walled in, and the number of tombs which it is said to have contained, it seems most probable that it was intended originally as a burial-place. Only one of the tombs is now to be seen, and it bears an inscription of a date only forty-seven years after the first settlement of Virginia by Europeans at Jamestown. The inscription, which is still very perfect, is preceded by an elaborate heraldic device, which of course is unintelligible to

us republicans. The figure of an animal which we pronounced a goat, seems to predominate, but of its signification in a coat of arms we must confess ignorance. The inscription reads thus:

Major WILLIAM GOOCH,

dyed, Octob. 29th, 1655.

"Within this tomb, there doth interred lie,
No shape, but substance, true nobility:
Itself, though young, in years but twenty-nine,
Yet graced with nature's morall and divine.
The church from him did good participate,
In counsell rare, fit to adorn a state."

Before taking a survey of the battle field, we were advised to pay our respects to an aged inhabitant of the place, by the name of Robert Anderson. Being at the same time assured, that although utter strangers, and under the necessity of introducing ourselves, we would meet not only with a polite, but a cordial reception: this was all verified; but Mr. Anderson, on account of his age and the threatening state of the weather, was compelled to excuse himself from walking over the grounds with us, yet he gave us such information as was of great assistance to us in our subsequent researches; and after we had been over the field, he addressed us a polite note, saying that if the inspection of an authentic plot of the works with the positions of the opposing forces correctly noted down, would be of any assistance to us, he had one in his possession which it would afford him pleasure to exhibit. The plot was made by an officer, who was present at the siege, and while the forces were still in position and if our recollection is correct, the survey was made, while the terms of the capitulation were under dis

cussion. It is probably the only contemporaneous plot of the field now extant. We, of course, very gladly availed ourselves of the invitation, and were much gratified by an inspection of the map, which enabled us to verify some of our notes. Mr. Anderson, who was born during the siege, and of course is over seventy years of age, has resided nearly all his life in Yorktown; consequently, it has been in his power to gather many interesting incidents connected with the siege, from those who were active participators in it. These may be denominated its unwritten history, and are highly interesting. Besides the incidents, he has collected numerous relics at different times from the field; among those which he showed us was a small belt-plate, bearing the inscription of "A. Gordon, Guards," and several others, one with a date as far back as 1755. He also exhibited part of a wax-candle, which is said to have belonged to Cornwallis. There was also a heavy dragoon's sabre, and a cart load of cannon-shot and bomb-shells.

An excavation in the marl banks of the river, fancifully called "Cornwallis's Cave," is exhibited as the place where the British commander took refuge during the bombardment. This, of course, is improbable, as no military man of reputation could behave in this way, without suffering disgrace. The place, as it is comparatively dry and secure from shot from the town side, was probably used as a magazine of some kind. Its extent is scarcely sufficient to suppose it was a store for provisions; hence the inference seems natural, that it was occupied as a powder magazine.

IN

SEA FROM SHORE.

"Argosies of magic sails,

Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly tales." "Come unto these yellow sands."

the month of June, Prue and I like to walk upon the Battery toward sunset, and watch the steamers, crowded with passengers, bound for the pleasant places along the coast where people pass the hot months. Sea-side lodgings are not very comfortable, I am told, but who would not be a little pinched in his chamber, if his windows looked upon the sea? In such praises of the ocean do I indulge

Tennyson.

at such times, and so respectfully do I regard the sailors who may chance to pass, that Prue often says, with her shrewd smile, that my mind is a kind of Chelsea Hospital, full of abortive marine hopes and wishes, broken-legged intentions, blind regrets, and desires, whose hands have been shot away in some hard battle of experience, so that they cannot grasp the results towards which they

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