the rear of Greene's army; but the American commander formed his men, and faced him so quickly as to defeat the intended surprise. The British line was now furiously assaulted in front and on both flanks, while Washington's horse fell upon their rear. Lord Rawdon ordered up his reserves; and the veteran Maryland regiment, under Granby, gave way before the British bayonet. Confusion, and a retreat of Greene's troops over the hill, followed; but the American cavalry rushed into the British lines, held them in check, and brought away the cannon the infantry had left. Greene went into camp twelve miles from the battle-ground for temporary rest.

In the mean time, Lee and Marion had attacked and taken Fort Watson, between Camden and Charleston; and the released patriots between the Pedee and the Santee flew to arms. Rawdon, alarmed for his communications, abandoned Camden, and "retreated to Monk's Corner." The Americans took Fort Motte, Orangeburg, Fort Granby, and Augusta. Uniting his forces with Lee, an attack was made. upon the main stronghold of the British at "Ninety-six;" but Rawdon approaching, re-enforced by three regiments from Ireland, Greene retired; and swamps fifteen miles broad, and a circuit of seventy miles, the only practicable route, separated the hostile armies.

Greene had now relieved a large part of South Carolina, and shut up the British to a small territory between the Santee and the Lower Savannah. A season of comparative quiet followed, neither party being prepared to commence aggressive movements.

In April, 1781, Lafayette appears in command of a small New-England force to observe Phillips and Cornwallis in Virginia, just in time to save Richmond from the clutches of Phillips, who hastened to unite his forces with those of Cornwallis to aid in the vain attempt to prevent the junction. of Lafayette and Wagner.

Count de Grasse approaching the Chesapeake with a

powerful French fleet, and the British commander fearing, with reason, an attack of the allied armies and the French just arrived from Newport, orders were sent to Cornwallis to take up, for the present, some strong position in Virginia. But Washington and Rochambeau determined to leave New York undisturbed, and make a vigorous effort against Cornwallis. Lafayette was therefore ordered to cut off his retreat into North Carolina.

Greene was now again in the field. Uniting his continentals to Pickens's militia and Marion's dashing corps, he moved towards the enemy, now commanded by Col. Stuart. The bloody battle of Eutaw Springs followed. Both armies fought with the bravery and skill of veterans. The Americans, after a fierce conflict, broke the English left, and seemed upon the verge of a great triumph, when a body of British threw themselves into a stone house; and, while Greene's men were attempting in vain to dislodge them, Stuart's veterans repulsed a cavalry attack, and gained the rear of the Americans, and compelled them to retreat. The army of Congress numbered a few more than two thousand, and the British a few less. Of this small force, the British lost some seven hundred men, and the Americans nearly as many.

The victory of this fiercely-contested field was claimed by both parties; but all the fruits of victory were with the Americans. The British retreated to Monk's Corner; and, being shut up between the Cooper and Ashley, they had no power to extricate themselves.

The sufferings of Greene's soldiers were dreadful. They were barefoot, and almost destitute of clothing. They must go back to the Santee Hills to rest.

At length, the long-expected French fleet appeared in American waters. Count de Grasse, after a cautious defensive engagement with a portion of the English fleet, safely conducting a large number of merchantmen into a place of safety, and convoying another large fleet so far towards France as to be out of danger, by skilful manoeuvring

entered the Chesapeake about the last of August. The British Admiral Graves, now commanding the combined British fleet, arriving off the mouth of the bay on the 5th of September, was greatly astonished to find De Grasse securely inside with twenty-four ships of the line. After four most distressing failures, the French fleet now became able to render most effective service. The count, put into immediate communication with Lafayette, sent ships to block up James and York Rivers, and thus prevented the retreat of Cornwallis, who intrenched himself strongly at Yorktown. Sending three thousand French troops to re-enforce Lafayette, De Grasse at once ordered his fleet to sea. Avoiding a general engagement, he succeeded in covering the French fleet from Newport under Du Barras, who availed himself of a favorable moment to slip into the bay with his invaluable cargo of military stores and heavy guns for the siege of Yorktown. Arrangements for the contemplated attack on Cornwallis were promptly consummated by Washington, De Grasse, and Rochambeau. The French and American forces were brought down the Chesapeake in transports, and were soon united under Lafayette at Williamsburg. Gov. Nelson came up with three thousand five hundred Virginia militia, and the whole besieging army rose to sixteen thousand men. The British forces, about eight thousand strong, with the advantage of their strong defences, firmly but anxiously waited the attack. Two advance redoubts were stormed, one by the French, the other by the Americans under Alexander Hamilton, whose thirst for military glory had thrown him into the lines. These rival forces rushed to their objects with the greatest daring. Both were irresistible, and these "redoubts were included in the second parallel." The works about Yorktown began to crumble under the guns of the assailing forces. A brave sally was attempted, and failed. "As a last resort, Cornwallis thought of passing his army across to Gloucester, forcing a passage through the troops on that side, and making a push for New York; but

a violent storm drove his boats down the river, and even that desperate scheme had to be abandoned."* The longdreaded end had come at length. For more than fourteen months, this brave commander had struggled against destiny with incredible energy. He entered the field with the air of a conqueror. He fought pitched battles; he marched and suffered, advanced and retreated; blew up his stores; dashed into the ranks of his enemies, and scattered them to the winds; received coolly the most astounding defeats of his auxiliary expeditions; and, when at length brought to bay, he planned his defences skilfully, and made the best of his failing munitions of war. But he saw at length that it was all in vain; and, like a true soldier, he resolved to spare the further effusion of blood, and surrendered his forces, now seven thousand in number, to Washington, as prisoners of war.

This grand event in the South had at length answered to the capture of Burgoyne in the North, and the War of American Independence was virtually ended.

THE HEROISM OF THE NATIONAL LIFE.

The bravery of war is not of itself true heroism. It appears on both sides; is no certain evidence of the right, or guaranty of victory; and may be evinced, in a high degree, by heaven-daring offenders against the claims of God and the rights of man.

Nor would the reckless courage of individuals, or of companies of American volunteers, in separate and unorganized warfare, give hope of success against the sturdy, well-planned measures of a powerful nation for a period of eight long bloody years. But the following great facts appear appropriately to conclude this chapter.

The resistance of force by arms came after a war of principles had been going on for a hundred and fifty years. The rights of freemen had been searched out and defined

* Hildreth, iii. 369.

with the vigor of the keenest logic and the clearness of light. The usurpations of despotism had exhausted argument, prerogative, and administrative ability; and at length had drawn the sword with the avowed purpose of subjugating or destroying the colonists, who could not be overawed.

When this crisis came on, individual patriots found whole communities with them: the menaced colonies found all other colonies promptly arranged by their side. When the necessity for State action arose, inchoate but real States appeared with the habits of independent legislation already formed, and under the direction of a statesmanship of which any people might be proud. When the peril of irregular, unorganized warfare was seen, a living nation. appeared clothed with representative powers to consolidate the belligerent forces, and exalt the struggle to national dignity. This was the mysterious common life of a growing people. Few could comprehend its character, or explain its origin. It was not anticipated; it was hardly invoked; it was certainly not well understood. And yet it was here, throbbing in the bosoms of three millions of people, and organizing the scattered elements of a nation into the power of a formidable unity, without uttering a word in regard to its predestined independence.

If any man had asked the wisest American, "What is the character of this life?" he would probably have answered, "Feeble, uncertain, very humble, and limited in its aim." If the same question had been put to an English absolutist, he would have said, "There is nothing of it: a few brief ebullitions of passion, and it is gone." But a profounder insight into the philosophy of history and the plans of God would have revealed the life of a new and powerful nation throbbing with energy, and instinct with a heroism which would measure its power, not by the numbers of its men, but by the divine justice of its cause. This is true heroism. Hence, when the British Government coolly calculated the force and expense of overwhelming this rebellion, the Ameri