On the 2nd of April we sailed from the Chesapeake with the whole of the squadron, consisting of seven line-of-battle ships, two fifty-gun ships, five frigates, and two sloops, and stood to the southward in search of the French fleet. On the 5th the fleet tacked and stood to the north-east.

There is something very exciting and interesting in forming one of a large fleet of men-of-war. I had sailed often, and more than enough with fleets of merchantmen and transports, but then I had generally to act the part of a whipper-in to a pack of lazy or worn-out hounds, and had to run in and out among them, hailing one, signalising a second, and firing a shot at another to keep them all in order, caring very little how my own ship looked, provided I could accomplish my object. Now, on the contrary, each ship sailed in proper order, and one vied with the other in the neatness of their appearance, and the rapidity with which various evolutions could be performed.

On the 6th the Charon was detached ahead of the squadron to look into the Delaware to ascertain if the French fleet was still there. We obeyed the order with alacrity, though we expected that if they were there we should be very quickly chased out again. We had great hopes that this would be done, as we might thus lead them down upon our own squadron which was well prepared to receive them. O'Driscoll rubbed his hands as we sailed up that magnificent estuary, keeping a bright look-out on every side for the mast-heads of the enemy's fleet.

"Arrah, now, won't it be fun to see them all come bounding out like bulldogs when by chance a stranger comes suddenly into the courtyard where they are chained up, all barking, and leaping, and pulling with the amiable wish of tearing him to pieces!" he exclaimed, as I was expressing a hope that they might still be found there.

On we sailed, till at last we felt convinced that the Frenchmen had already put to sea. Once more therefore we stood out again in search of the Admiral. On the 11th we spoke the Chatham, which ship had also been sent to look-out for the enemy. She had taken a prize, and from her had gained the information that a large fleet of merchantmen was in the neighbourhood, bound from Saint Domingo to Philadelphia under the convoy of the Dean and Confederacy State frigates.

I ought to have said that we had hove-to, and that Captain Ord of the Chatham had come on board us, Captain Symonds being the senior officer. Captain Ord now proposed that we should in company cruise off the heads of the Delaware in the hopes of intercepting this valuable convoy. Once more there appeared a certain prospect of my picking up an ample supply of prize-money, but greatly to our disappointment; Captain Symonds declined to accede to the proposal, though he allowed Captain Ord to remain if he thought fit. This Captain Ord said he should do, and returned on board the Chatham, while we made sail to the northward. That evening I heard Nol Grampus holding forth on the subject.

"I knew it would be so," he exclaimed, clapping his right hand down on his hat, which he held in his left; "our ship's got ill-lack in her sails, depend on that. I don't say nothing against our skipper; what he does is all right and above board, and a better man nor officer never stepped a deck, but, mark my words, that 'ere 'Chatham's' people now will be filling their pockets with gold dollars, while we shan't have a penny piece to chink in ours; as for our ship, I knows what I knows, and I thinks what I thinks."

The effect of old Nol's remarks were, however, counteracted before long, for on the 13th we sighted a large brig, which immediately stood away from us. We, therefore, made sail in chase. She sailed so fast we had to do our best to come up with her. It seemed, however, doubtful whether we should do so. Nol shook his head, and remarked that night would come down, and that she would slip away before we could overhaul her. Hour after hour passed. It was evident that we were gaining on her, and at length, at the end of a chase of seven hours we came up with the stranger, when she struck her flag and proved to be the Peggy, rebel privateer, of fourteen guns and seventy men, loaded with rum and indigo, from Carolina to Philadelphia.

On our arrival at New York with our prize, we had the mortification to find that the admiral approved of Captain Ord's proposition, and still greater was our annoyance to hear a few days afterwards that he, with the Roebuck and Orpheus, had taken the Confederacy and several of her convoy.

And now I was engaged in a scene, to do proper justice to which completely baffles all my powers of description. The fleet were sadly in want of men. By some means or other they must be procured. New York was, we heard, full of seafaring men, boatmen and others, accustomed to the water, whom the war had driven from their usual vocations, and who were now living on shore. To get hold of these was our object. It would not do to attempt to capture them by driblets, for if a few were pressed, the rest would take alarm and hide away where we were not likely to find them. The admiral's plans were quickly and secretly formed. All the boats of the fleet were ordered to assemble, with the crews well armed, by break of day, on board the Rainbow. Silently we pulled in for the city much in the same way that we should have attempted to surprise a place held by an enemy. Having completely surrounded all the lower parts of the town inhabited by the class of men we wanted, we commenced our press. While one portion of our force were told off to keep guard, the others broke into every house without ceremony, where there was a probability of finding men. Very seldom we stopped to knock for admission. Generally the door was forced open, and in we rushed, seizing the husband from the arms of his wife, and very often allowing him scarcely time to put on his clothes, while we were compelled to endure the bitter invectives, the tears, the screams, and abuse of his wife, whom we were thus cruelly robbing. Sometimes the men, aided by their better halves, made an attempt at resistance, but were speedily overpowered, bound hand and foot, and carried off. Often, too, we fell in with young men of a better class, mates of merchantmen and others lately married; and truly pitiable was it to witness the grief and agony of the poor young wives as they saw their husbands in the power of our rough-looking and seemingly heartless press-gangs. They did not scream; they did not abuse us; but often on their knees, with tears and sighs, they implored us to release those who had become dearer to them than life itself. These appeals I found harder to withstand than anything else, and had to steel my heart and to assume a roughness which I did not feel, to resist giving way to their entreaties. I did, as it was, all I could to assure them that their husbands would soon again be at liberty; though I might have remembered, had I thought more about it, how bitterly they would be disappointed. In too many instances, husbands and wives then parted, never met again. Fathers, also, were torn from their children, leaving them desolate indeed; young sons were carried off from their parents. We had not time to stop to listen to any remonstrances. Men must be had at every cost. The only question asked was, "Have you a protection?" If not, seamen, and often landsmen, if they were stout fellows, were bound hand and foot and carried off to the boats. I would have given much to have allowed one young man, especially, to escape. He had been aroused by the noise in the street, and was sitting up dressed when we entered his house, holding his wife in his arms. She was a fragile, delicate-looking girl, soon about to become a mother. I felt almost sure when I saw the couple that the shock would kill her.

"You will not take him, sir?" she said, calmly appealing to me as I entered the room in which my men had just seized him, though even they were inclined to treat him with some delicacy. "He has been an officer, sir. You will not carry him off and make a common seaman of him? Oh, sir, he is my husband, he does not wish to leave me. Let him, let him remain!"

This simple and artless appeal affected me much.

"He surely has some protection," said I. "Pray, let me see it."

"Oh, you relent, you relent!" she shrieked out joyfully.

"I have no protection that I am aware of, except the right of being free," answered the young man mournfully.

If I let this poor fellow off, so I must many others, and, besides, my duty is to take him; orders must be obeyed, I reflected.

"It cannot be helped," said I gruffly. "You must come along with us. The captain may let you off when he hears your story."

"I'll go quietly, but do not bind me, for mercy's sake," he answered calmly.

I walked out of the room. There was the sound of something falling on the floor. The poor young wife had fainted. Thus the husband had to leave her, unconscious of her bereavement, he was conveyed on board the Charon. Before we left the port, a letter was brought him from the shore. He was a widower. While he remained in the ship he was to all appearance a steady, obedient man, but I suspect that he wreaked a bitter vengeance ere long for the cruel wrong he felt that he had suffered.

The result of this hot-press was four hundred men, captured that forenoon. A fleet of transports now received on board another division of two thousand troops, to be conveyed to the assistance of Lord Cornwallis, at Portsmouth.

On the 12th of May, having fallen down to the Hook, we sailed with the whole fleet for the southward. Nothing occurred on the passage except the capture of an unfortunate brig, which found herself near us in a calm, and upon which nearly all the boats of the squadron set at once. It made me think of a number of birds of prey pouncing down on some poor beast of burden which has dropped through fatigue on the road. The commander-in-chief having given up the command of the convoy to Captain Symonds, leaving also the Roebuck and Assurance, he parted company, while we continued our course for our destination.

We anchored with the convoy off Sewel's Point on the 20th, and Captain Symonds remained in command till the 30th, when the Richmond coming in, he was relieved of that duty by Captain Hudson. Twice during that time I was sent on shore with flags of truce to Hampton, where I was, as before, most hospitably received by my friends the Langtons. My first inquiries on returning to the coast of Virginia had been for Colonel Carlyon. He was still a prisoner at Portsmouth; but, from what I could learn, I had hopes that he would soon be exchanged. I was unable to see him before I was sent off to Hampton. On reaching the house of my friends, I eagerly asked after Madeline. I felt that it was unnecessary with them to disguise my feelings, and that it would please them better if I spoke openly to them on the subject.

"Where is she? Is she safe? Is she well?" I exclaimed, almost before the first greetings were over.

To all my questions they gave me satisfactory answers, and I went back much lighter of heart than I had been for a long time. They also loaded me with all the luxuries and delicacies which their most fertile province can produce, and welcomed indeed they were by my messmates, who had been for some time living chiefly on salt pork, beef, and peas-pudding—not pleasant food during a warm spring in that southern clime. On my second visit I had the satisfaction of negotiating the exchange of Colonel Carlyon and some other Americans with several of our own officers, who had been captured in the numerous engagements our forces had lately had in the Carolinas, as well as in some of what I may, with justice, call our marauding expeditions in Virginia. I had an opportunity of seeing Colonel Carlyon but for a moment, when he again expressed his gratitude for what he was pleased to call the very great services I had done him. Curious it may seem, but I had rather he had said less on the subject, and taken it for granted that nothing could give me greater satisfaction than assisting the father of one to whom I was so deeply attached. There was, I thought, too much stiffness and formality in his mode of expressing himself. I, of course, speak of what my feelings were at the time, and after I had left him my spirits once more sank to their former level. Those were busy times, and I had not much opportunity of being troubled with my own thoughts.

Once more, on the 4th of June, we put to sea, to convoy thirty sail of transports back to New York; chased a rebel privateer on our way, but she escaped us. When there, we refitted the ship, and sailed again for Virginia on the 24th of June. On the 26th spoke the Solebay and Warwick, with a convoy from Europe, and after parting from them on the same day, sighted another sail, which did her utmost to escape from us. We accordingly made sail after her, and at the end of four hours, on coming up and signalising her, she proved to be no other than the Cartwright packet from Falmouth to New York. The moment I discovered this my heart began to beat with anxiety to hear from those I loved so well. It was long since I had had any news from home. Letters might, I knew, have been written, but being so constantly on the move as I had been, there were great probabilities of their having missed me. The packet hove-to. She had letters on board for the Charon. The bag was delivered. I had one. There was a black seal to it. The handwriting was that of my sister.

There was bad news, I knew. For some moments I dared not open it. One of our family circle was gone. When I returned his or her place would be empty. I tore open the letter. One we could all of us least spare, one we had every reason to love and revere, was taken from us. My father was no more. A choking sensation filled my throat—tears, long strangers, then started to my eyes. Often had I pictured to myself the delight I should feel, should I carry home Madeline as my bride, in presenting her to him. I knew how he would admire her, how proud he would be of her, how he would have delighted to call her his little rebel American daughter-in-law. All that was ended. I should never again see the kind, good old man. I dashed the tears from my eyes, and in a hoarse voice gave the order to trim sails as we once more shaped a course to the southward.

We arrived off the Heads of Virginia on the 9th of July, and found there the Richmond, Guadaloupe, Fowey, and Vulcan fire-ship. It had been for some time seen that the town of Portsmouth was not a tenable post. The neighbourhood, especially in the summer season, was unhealthy, and ships of any size could not get up sufficiently near it to assist in its defence. The commanders-in-chief had accordingly resolved to evacuate it, and to occupy York Town, on the James River, instead. The latter place was supposed to possess many advantages over the former, while the river was navigable for ships of far larger burden than those which could approach Portsmouth.

The first division of the army having embarked on board the transports by the 30th of July we sailed with them, Lord Cornwallis himself, who took the command, being on board the Richmond. We landed the troops on the 2nd, and took possession of York Town and Gloucester without any opposition. It was not, however, till the 19th that the second division of the army arrived, Portsmouth being entirely evacuated. There was a general feeling that events of considerable importance were about to occur. While we were eagerly looking for a reinforcement of troops and the arrival of a fleet capable of competing with the French, the enemy were assembling their forces in the neighbourhood, and it was very evident would bring the whole of their strength to bear upon York Town, and to endeavour to crush our army there before the arrival of the aid we so much required. I resolved at all events to note down from day to day with even greater care than heretofore the occurrences which might take place in the stout brown journal which had already been so long my companion, and which I had preserved through so many chances of destruction both by fire and water—from thieves and the carelessness of servants and others to whom I had from time to time been compelled to entrust it. Yet here it still is, battered on the outside, like its owner; but, though its leaves are somewhat yellow and stained, as sound as ever in the main, and with the ink as black as the day it was written. Brief but, believe me, perfectly accurate, according to my means of information and my own observation, are the descriptions I am about to offer of those events. Before, however, I go on with my journal I will give a short account of the position now taken up by the British army.

The peninsula which is formed by the rivers James and York is one of the richest and most beautiful parts of Virginia. York Town is situated on the south bank of the latter-named stream and on the narrowest part of the peninsula, which is there but five miles across. Gloucester Point is on the north, and therefore the opposite side of the river, into which it extends so far that it reaches within almost a mile of York Town. The two posts thus completely command the navigation of the river, which is here of sufficient depth to allow ships of considerable size to ascend it. The force with which we now occupied these two important positions amounted to about 7000 men, and it was the intention of Lord Cornwallis so completely to fortify them both on the sea and land sides, that they might resist any attack likely to be made against them either by the French fleet or the combined American and French armies till we could be relieved by Sir Henry Clinton or by a fresh army and fleet from England. It was too well known from the first that the army was but ill-supplied with guns, and indeed with all the munitions of war requisite for carrying on offensive, or even defensive, operations against the enemy. This became still more evident when the guns and ammunition were landed from the ships-of-war, and the crews were summoned on shore to work them. Every effort was made to put our positions in an efficient state of defence, for our hopes of being relieved from New York were very slight, it being understood that General Washington was preparing for an attack on that city with all the forces he could muster in the north, at the same time that a sufficient number of troops were left in the south to give us a good deal of trouble, and to cause much anxiety to our commanders-in-chief. By my daily journal I find that on the 20th of August the Charon's lower deck guns were landed for the defences on shore, while she with the Richmond was moored so as to flank the enemy should they make an attack on Gloucester.

21st.—The troops were engaged in throwing up works, while the seamen of the squadron were employed in landing the guns and ammunition, the transports, meantime, being secured under the town of York.

22nd.—The seamen were employed in the boats, landing at every available spot on the river, and foraging. On the following day detachments of men were landed to assist the troops in throwing up works.

24th.—Foraging parties from the army and navy procuring fresh provisions often having to take them by force, while the remainder were employed on the works. It was an ominous circumstance that at no time did the inhabitants offer a cordial welcome to any of our troops, although to individuals they were often inclined to show courtesy and kindness.

25th.—The Richmond sailed for New York, leaving the command of the squadron to Captain Symonds.

26th.—I was sent to get off a schooner belonging to the enemy which had been run on shore in a small creek. I accomplished my mission, and, she being found a serviceable little craft, the commodore kept her as a tender, and appointed me to the command of her.

27th.—The Bonetta was sent to anchor on the Shoe as advanced ship to give notice of the approach of an enemy. I was employed with thirty seamen in fitting out the tender.

28th.—While the army was employed as before on the works, they were engaged in pulling down the houses in front of York Town, greatly to their amusement, it seemed. Tackles were hooked on to the top of the walls, and thundering down they came almost on the heads of the men. The wonder was that numbers were not crushed beneath the ruins as off they ran, laughing and shouting with glee at the havoc they had committed.

29th.—The Guadaloupe and Express despatched to Charleston, and the Loyalist sent to the Shoe to relieve the Bonetta.

30th.—A day of much excitement and no little anxiety. About noon the Guadaloupe and Bonetta were seen standing up the harbour under all sail, and soon it became known that they had been chased by a fleet of French ships, consisting of twenty-six sail of the line, besides frigates, fire-ships, bombs, and transports, who followed them to the mouth of the harbour and captured the Loyalist within three miles of the town after a most gallant resistance, her masts having gone by the board before she struck her colours to the enemy. This fleet is commanded by the Count de Grasse, and has come direct from the West Indies. Three of their ships brought up at the mouth of the harbour, but the main body anchored at Lynhaven Bay.

31st.—The enemy's forces have assembled at Williamsburg, about twelve miles from York, under the command of the Marquis de la Fayette, and the French fleet advanced to the Shoe. Thus is York Town shut in both by sea and land, and it becomes evident that they intend more and more closely to press us in till they completely invest our positions. The troops and seamen engaged hard at the works. The shipping removing further up the harbour.

September 1st.—The French landed 6000 troops up the James river, which joined the Marquis de la Fayette at Williamsburg. The enemy now far outnumber us. I was sent for by the commodore that night, and directed to guard, till she had safely passed the French advanced ships, an express boat which was sent off to convey important despatches to New York, describing the dangerous position in which we were placed. The risk of being captured was very great. My greatest safeguard was in the very boldness of the undertaking. The night was dark, and as the roads where they were anchored were very wide, I might hope to slip by without being observed. As soon as night fell we sailed. The wind was fair, and we stood boldly on, looking out for the dark forms of the enemy's ships. One after the other were passed, till at midnight we were clear of the enemy, as we believed, and the despatch-boat stood on her course for the northward, while I made the best of my way back to port. Here I arrived by daylight, and my report seemed to give great satisfaction to the commodore.

2nd.—The seamen of the fleet were removed on shore, and took up their quarters in tents. Engaged night and day in throwing up works towards the sea, from which quarter an attack may be expected.

3rd.—Nine of the French ships advanced to Tous Marsh, and the rest employed in landing the artillery and stores up James river.

4th.—Mounted all the Charon's eighteen-pounders on the new sea works. The seamen engaged in pulling down the front of the town, and in cutting trees for stockades.

5th.—The enemy preparing to commence the attack.

6th and 7th.—The seamen unrigging the ships and hauling some transports on shore for the defence of the place. The army, as before, employed without intermission on the works, day and night.

8th.—The enemy's advanced ships quitted the river and joined the main body at Lynhaven Bay in consequence of Admiral Graves having appeared off the Capes with twenty sail of the line. After some slight skirmishing with the French, the British admiral was compelled from their great superiority in strength to retreat. The French also on their return to Lynhaven Bay unfortunately fell in with the Richmond and Iris frigates, both of which were captured.

9th.—My duties are very arduous, but honourable, and show the confidence reposed in me by my superior officer. I went down the river in the tender to reconnoitre the enemy's fleet, with orders to come occasionally up in sight of York to signal what was going on among them. The French fleet from Rhode Island under Monsieur de Barras had now joined them, making their force consist of thirty-six sail of the line besides frigates, fire-ships, bombs and transports. During the night I signalled to York Town that the enemy were at anchor in Lynhaven Bay, and then I stood off and on in sight of them, watching for any movement till daylight.

10th.—Observed the enemy getting under weigh from Lynhaven Bay. Watched them till they stood towards the Shoe. Ran up and signalled accordingly. Soon after they anchored at that place.

11th.—Calm, moderate weather. At four AM the enemy began to advance from the Shoe, at which time I lay becalmed about three miles from them, and as they brought the sea breeze with them while I was without power of moving, I felt that my time was come, and that I should once more fall into their hands as a prisoner. Ou Trou and all its horrors rose up before me. Old Nol looked very grave.

"It's hard times we shall have of it, Mr Hurry, if the breeze don't be smart about coming, sir," he remarked, shaking his head. "I'd sooner by half have a chance of fighting, sir, than running for our liberty."

"We have no choice left us, I fear, Grampus," said I. "However, we'll do our best, and not give in as long as the little barkie can swim."

"That's it, sir, that's the thing. The people will stick by you and go down in the craft if you wishes it," was his answer.

This being the spirit of my men, my hopes revived. The enemy came on slowly, but still they were nearing me. With hearty good-will every one on board kept whistling for a wind, but for all that the breeze did not come. At six o'clock one of the headmost ships tried the range of her guns by firing a shot at me. It came pretty near, but a miss is as good as a mile. There was, however, no time to be lost. Another and another shot came whistling after me. I cut away my boat, the breeze was rippling the water astern. I trimmed sails, the wind filled them. Once more the craft began to move. She slipped faster and faster through the water, and away she went before the wind with everything we could clap on her like a scalded cock, as O'Driscoll remarked afterwards, and for this time happily escaped the durance vile I had been anticipating. At noon I made the signal that the enemy were still approaching, and at four o'clock, they having anchored at the mouth of the harbour, I ran up to the town with the conviction that Othello's occupation had gone. In the evening I accordingly received orders to haul her on shore and to join the Charon's at the battery in which they were posted. I do not mean to say that we did not hope by some means or other to succeed, but even the most sanguine could not help acknowledging just then that things looked black and threatening in the extreme.



CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

DEFENCE OF YORK TOWN.—SENT WITH FIRE-SHIPS AGAINST FRENCH FLEET.— FAILURE.—IN COMMAND OF BATTERY.—FIERCE ENGAGEMENTS.—COLONEL CARLYON A PRISONER AND WOUNDED.—THE CHARON BLOWS UP.—DESPERATE CONDITION OF THE TOWN.—DEATH OF MY OLD FOLLOWER.—ATTEMPT TO EVACUATE TOWN FRUSTRATED BY A GALE.—I AM BADLY WOUNDED.—ARMY OF LORD CORNWALLIS CAPITULATES.—WAR AT AN END.—PRISONERS KINDLY TREATED BY AMERICANS AND FRENCH.—MADELINE BECOMES MY NURSE.—NEWS FROM ENGLAND.—SIR HURRICANE TEMPEST HAS LEFT ME HIS HEIR.—I MARRY THE LITTLE REBEL.—FINIS.

I could not help feeling, in common with many other thoughtful officers, that we were on the eve of great events. Each day, each hour confirmed this opinion, and now we were startled if not confounded by the undoubted information that General Washington had arrived with a considerable body of troops from the north. He arrived on the 24th in the Chesapeake, with, it was said, six thousand French and continental troops, whom we had the mortification to see a frigate and a body of transports go down to bring up, we no longer having the power to molest them. Thus still further was the dark thunder-cloud augmented, about, we believed, to break over our heads. Day and night, however, we continued working at the batteries, and levelling houses, and clearing all the ground round the lines of everything which might afford the enemy shelter in their expected attack.

September 15th, 1781.—Two ships of the line and a frigate came up a mile nearer the forts, and under cover of their guns foraging parties went on shore, whom we were thus prevented from attacking.

16th.—Never did men work harder than we had been doing to strengthen a position to enable us to hold out till the arrival of a fleet superior to the French; and from news received our hopes again arose that it might yet arrive before we were driven to extremities. Many persons have been blaming Sir Henry Clinton for allowing General Washington to pass by him, but the truth is, he did not expect that this would have been done, but fully believed that he purposed rather to besiege New York itself.

17th.—A ship of the line advanced from the shore and joined those off Tous Marsh. Signals being made all day long between the French Commodore and the Compte de Grasse. French frigates passing and re-passing between their squadrons. Something evidently in the wind.

18th.—Our forces employed as usual in pulling down houses and throwing up works.

19th.—All the women and children, the negroes and other non-combatants, were sent out of the town to enable us to eke out our not-over-abundant supply of provisions.

20th.—The soldiers engaged in throwing up works, the seamen in cutting down trees and in forming stockades.

21st.—Heavy rain fell, greatly retarding the progress of the works. I was not a little pleased to hear that an attempt was to be made to destroy the French squadron at the mouth of the harbour, and that four fire-ships were to be employed on that service. I immediately offered to command one of them—an offer which was at once accepted. Lieutenants Conway and Symonds were appointed to command two others, and Mr Camel, a lieutenant of a privateer, had charge of the fourth. Our wish was to be under the orders of Captain Palmer of the Vulcan, whose experience and judgment we felt would insure success, but the commodore decided on allowing each of us to trust to our own abilities and to act according to circumstances. The vessels were patched-up schooners and sloops, and fitted in so hurried a way that they were scarcely manageable. The experiment was to have been made that night, but the wind and weather proving unfavourable, Captain Palmer, with whom we consulted, advised us to defer it till the following—

22nd.—The wind being about north-west, it was this evening considered practicable to attack the advanced ships of the enemy, and we accordingly made preparations for our hazardous expedition. The Vulcan and four other vessels were to be employed in the service. I was of course well acquainted with all the risks to be encountered. I knew that I might either be blown up, or, if overtaken by the enemy, cut to pieces without remorse, no quarter being given to people engaged in that sort of work. During the first day after volunteering I had not time to think much about the matter, but four-and-twenty hours spent in comparative inaction enabled me to contemplate the consequences in their true light, and though I felt as resolved and determined as ever, I knew well that this might be the last day of my existence. I did not so much dread the future, I own, as regret all I was leaving behind. I thought over and over again of Madeline—of the happiness I had hoped to enjoy with her—of the grief should I fall, my death would cause her. I thought of my family and of the dear ones still surviving at home who hoped to welcome me when war was over, but would hope in vain. I felt very grave and sad, but not the less resolved or undaunted I may say, and determined to do my duty. The time was approaching for our start. I walked aft and stood looking over the taffrail away from the crew, and there I offered up a deep, earnest prayer for protection for myself and also for my people in the expedition in which we were engaged. Yes, I prayed, and sincerely too, believing that I was praying aright as I stood over all those terrific combustibles which were to bring havoc and destruction among hundreds of our fellow-creatures not more guilty, not more worthy of death than were I and my fellows. I will not stop to moralise on that subject, yet I have often since thought that it is one worthy of deep consideration. Of one thing only I was certain that, as an officer in the Navy, I was doing my duty to my king and country in endeavouring to destroy their enemies, and all the rest I left to the guidance of Him who rules all things for the best. I now feel that there is a purer law, a stricter rule which should prevail instead of those which most men follow, but it would be out of place here to discuss the subject.

The ships in the harbour gave out the hour of midnight. It was the signal agreed on for starting. We made sail, cut our cables, and ran down the river. The wind held fair, the night was dark, and there appeared every probability that our undertaking would succeed. Nol Grampus, Rockets, and four other men were with me to man the boat in which we were to make our escape. Not a word was spoken. Every arrangement had before been made. Having placed our vessels in a position from which they could not fail to drift down on the enemy, we were to set fire to them, and then, jumping into our boats, pull away for our lives. There was not much fear of pursuit if the vessels hit their marks, as we knew that the boats of the squadron would be engaged in endeavouring to clear their ships of the burning craft. If, however, through a change of wind, or any other circumstance, they should drift clear of the ships, it was probable that the boats might come in chase of us to take vengeance on our heads for the injury we had attempted to inflict on them.

There lay the French squadron before us, no one on board dreaming of the havoc and destruction about to be wrought among them. It was just two o'clock in the morning. Our little flotilla of evil was slowly approaching. Evidently no sufficient watch was kept ahead of the French ships. Our success appeared certain. Suddenly a bright light burst forth, revealing our vessels clearly to the enemy, and shedding a lurid glare over their ships which lay sleeping on the calm water ahead. What had happened? There, blazing away on the right of our line, was the fire-ship commanded by Mr Camel, the lieutenant of the privateer. The proceeding was as unaccountable as strange, and I at once suspected that he had thus acted to betray us. I never have had cause to place much confidence in privateer officers, though undoubtedly many brave men are to be found among them. The instant the flames blazed up, the roll of drums was heard on board the French ships beating to quarters. Then a brisk fire from thirty to forty guns was opened on us, and the shot came rattling thickly about our heads. The light had revealed to the Frenchmen our fire-vessels, and they could not tell how many more might be in the rear, so they hurriedly cut their cables, and, in the greatest confusion, endeavoured to make sail to get out of our way. Mr Conway next set fire to his vessel, Symonds following his example, and both taking to their boats. I had still hopes of effecting my purpose, so I stood on. I had not gone far before Grampus exclaimed from forward—

"There, sir; there are the French launches; they are after us!"

Such was the case.

"Haul up the boat, my lads!" I exclaimed. "Jump into her!"

As the men slipped over the side I set fire to the train, and, before I had time to jump into the boat, the vessel was in a blaze from stem to stern. The Vulcan was the last vessel fired. She was, at the time, within her own length of a French twenty-four. What had become of her gallant commander and crew I could not discover. The French launches were after me. My people pulled away with all their might. It was, indeed, a matter of life and death. The other boats were ahead, and I hoped safe. Several bullets came whizzing past us. As I looked astern, my satisfaction was great to see our fire-ships still blazing away, and the Frenchmen drifting, as it appeared, towards the shore. As it afterwards appeared, two of them did drive on shore, and I believe that, had our ships had their guns on board, we might by prompt action have run down and destroyed them before reinforcements could have come to their aid. Happily for me the French launches were recalled to go to the assistance of their ships, and, finding myself no longer pursued, I lay on my oars to try and discover what had become of Captain Palmer. To my great satisfaction, he soon made his appearance, having, at first, wisely pulled across the stream, where he had not been observed. All the boats assembling together, we returned considerably crestfallen and dispirited to our tents. Whether it was treachery, cowardice, or want of consideration induced the privateer's man to set fire to his vessel I cannot say, but owing to him alone was the failure of our expedition to be attributed.

23rd.—The French this morning got off their ships, and removed to a more respectable distance from the garrison. Guard-boats were sent down the river, and continued rowing all night. This duty pressed very severely on the seamen of the fleet. The enemy began their march from Williamsburg, and on this day attacked and drove in our pickets.

24th.—The seamen were directed to man the guns in the front, and they were then to-day reviewed by Lord Cornwallis.

25th.—To-day the seamen were again inspected by Lord Cornwallis, and went through the exercise of the great guns before him, when his lordship expressed himself highly pleased with our conduct. At this time, the first lieutenant of the Charon commanded a battery in the centre of the lines of one twenty-four, two eighteens, and two twelves; I had charge of a battery with three eighteenss and four sixes, in front of the 17th Regiment to the right; Lieutenant Symonds, one of three nines to the left of mine; Lieutenant Conway, of two nines, to the right of all; Mr Conway, of two twelves, as flanking guns; the master of the Fowey, of two nines, in front of the 43rd Regiment; while all the batteries to the left were manned by seamen from the transports, under the command of the agent. All the sea batteries were commanded by Mr Robb, master of the Charon. Thus it will be seen that the Navy took a very active part in the defence of the place.

26th.—The seamen's tents were to-day moved in front of the quarters of the army, close to our batteries. This was done, as we were in momentary expectation of being attacked by the enemy.

27th.—Our pickets were driven in, and the enemy advanced in order of battle. The troops marched out to meet them, Lord Cornwallis being resolved to give them battle; but they retired as we advanced, evidently at that time not wishing to bring on the final struggle. Our army, therefore, returned within the lines.

28th.—At noon the enemy appeared in front of our works, in force about 26,000. They extended the whole distance from the right to the left of our lines, and a very formidable force they appeared. It was evident that they wished, by their show of numbers, to strike terror into the hearts of our men. They were mistaken, however, if such was their object, for nothing could persuade our fellows that any one of themselves was not equal to twenty Continentals or Frenchmen. It is very well for the men to despise an enemy, and to feel sure that they can thrash him; but officers, on the contrary, cannot have too much respect for him, nor do too much to insure victory, or take too many precautions to guard against surprise. A body of the enemy advancing to reconnoitre in a ravine in front of my battery, I opened fire on them till they rapidly dispersed.

29th.—Lord Cornwallis, having in vain, with his small army of 5000 men, offered the enemy battle, and finding them intent on waiting their own time to attack him on the left flank, moved this night with all the army inside the works. He did not doubt but that, by acting on the defensive, we should be able to hold out till the arrival of the long and earnestly-expected fleet and army to relieve us. It is no disparagement to the bravery of our little army to say that that succour was most earnestly prayed for. A body of French horse and foot attacked the German Legion, who had to retreat under the cover of a battery to the left. I had again to open fire with my 18-pounders on a body of the enemy who appeared in front of the works, but took to flight as the shot went rattling in among them.

30th.—The enemy broke ground, and began to throw up redoubts, moving on at the same time in three columns towards our centre. They quickly took possession of two of our redoubts, which we had evacuated on withdrawing into the town. At eleven o'clock they attacked the right and left of the town with the intention evidently of storming the flanking redoubts. A smart action ensued. Our men behaved magnificently, so did the enemy; but after severe fighting for two hours they were repulsed, and while our batteries played on them they were driven back in great confusion into the woods behind the town.

1st October.—The Hessian Legion with other light troops made a sortie, and while skirmishing in front of the town captured several of the enemy. The Hessians returned into the town close to my battery. I observed that they were carrying among them a person on a litter. At first I thought that it was one of their own wounded people, but as they came nearer his uniform showed me that he was an American officer. A strong impulse induced me to hurry down to meet him, and I knew at all events that very likely the Hessians would not understand him, and I was anxious to render him assistance—a mark of my interest in the Americans which I felt glad my duty would allow me to bestow. I started when I got up to the litter, for though his features were convulsed with pain, I recognised Colonel Carlyon. He had been shot through both his legs. He knew me when I spoke to him. I explained who he was as well as I could to one of the Hessian officers whom I knew, and entreated that he might be carefully looked after. Just then O'Driscoll, who had come on shore from the ship, arrived to pay me a visit, and volunteered to accompany Colonel Carlyon to some house where he might be comfortably lodged, and to get a surgeon to attend to his wounds. I explained to the colonel what I had done. He pressed my hand warmly as if he understood me, for he was in too much pain to speak, and I hurried back to my battery.

The enemy were now night and day engaged in throwing up works, while our batteries kept up a continual cannonade on the people labouring in them, which impeded their operations somewhat. Notwithstanding this, from the immense number of men employed, the works were raised with astonishing rapidity. At night a negro was caught deserting to the enemy with a note in his possession from one of the merchants in the town describing the distressed state of the garrison. I have not spoken much of our distress, but it was very great. Our supply of food was daily becoming more scanty and bad, and it could scarcely be concealed that even our ammunition was failing us. The treacherous merchant was at once taken in custody, to be tried for his crime.

2nd October.—A constant and heavy cannonade kept up all day on the enemy's working parties. They nearly completed their first parallel. Our men occupied in throwing up works.

3rd.—Much as yesterday. The enemy bringing up their artillery.

4th.—A flag came in from the enemy; the cause I know not. Perhaps to offer terms. We kept up as hot a fire as our want of ammunition would allow. Each day I sent to inquire after Colonel Carlyon, but could not leave my battery.

5th.—The French displayed five stand of colours on their works, while the Americans displayed their new States' flag of the Stars and Stripes; we eagerly looking for that relief which would enable us to sally out from behind our works, beside which we stood fretting angrily, and drive them away into the recesses of their woods and marshes.

6th and 7th.—The enemy mounting their heavy artillery on their first parallel and supplying their batteries with ammunition. The garrison throwing up traverses to defend the works.

8th.—The enemy attacked our pickets on the left at midnight, and drove them inside the lines. Some time after this a body of them came to the barricade and persuaded the officers that they were deserters. The officers of the 43rd regiment, in a most unwary manner having got on the works to show them the way in, were treacherously shot at and killed, their murderers making their escape.

9th.—The enemy having completed their works and mounted their guns, their batteries opened on the evening of this day with great vigour, that on the right of eight 24-pounders, and that on the left of four 24-pounders and two eighteens. Day and night the cannonade continued without intermission—we, as well as we could, keeping up a reply. Several shot having struck the Charon and Guadaloupe, they were removed farther down the river. It will be impossible to account for the killed and wounded in each day's action. I may be able to say something about it if I come out of the work alive. All I can now say is that the slaughter is very great. Among the killed this day is the commissary-general, who with several other officers lost their lives, while sitting at dinner, by a shell which burst among them.

10th.—The enemy opened several fresh batteries to-day. One of them commanded the Charon, on which they began to cannonade with red-hot shot. I heard of her danger from Tom Rockets, who came hurrying into the battery with a look of as much concern as if the town had been taken.

"They're at her, sir!" he exclaimed. "They're blazing away like fury, and I see'd smoke, when last I looked at her, coming up her main-hatchway. Poor old barkie! I don't by no manner of means like the look of things."

I could ill spare any of my people from the battery, but I despatched a master's mate, with Grampus, Rockets, and a few other men, to render what assistance they could. They, however, very soon returned.

"I know'd it would be so," exclaimed old Grampus, throwing down his hat and almost blubbering outright. "The dear old barkie, there's an end on her. I know'd she was to have ill-luck from the time we first came inside them Capes of Virginia; but I didn't think, that I didn't, that she'd have been blown to blazes by them infernal hot iron balls, which to my mind ain't fit for Christians to make use on, that they ain't. Well, there was we a-waiting for a boat to get aboard her, though I didn't think there was much use, seeing she was in a blaze from stem to stern. In a few minutes the flames licked and coiled themselves up round the masts and spars till they reached the mast-heads, and then she broke adrift from her moorings, and, not content with getting burnt herself, what should she do but drive aboard a transport which she set on fire, and then there the two were burning away together, without the power of mortal man to stop them. The enemy were still commanding them, while our old barkie, to show that she was game to the last, kept firing away her own guns as long as one of them remained mounted, and then up she went in a shower of sparks and flames, and wasn't long in burning to the water's edge."

The master's mate told me that, notwithstanding the circumstances Nol had described, he could scarcely restrain him and the other men from shoving off to get aboard the frigate. The inconvenience we suffered, the loss of our things, was not to be compared to our regret for the destruction, (for her rate), of one of the finest ships in the Navy. Scenes almost indescribable of distress and death, misery and suffering, now crowd around us on every side.

This evening the enemy, having mounted more of his artillery, totally silenced Number 5 battery commanded by the first lieutenant of the Charon, the shot and shells having torn up his platforms and dismounted his guns. He, with his men, was therefore obliged to quit it. At ten o'clock at night the enemy under cover of their guns made a general attack from the centre to the left, but were again repulsed. Twice I witnessed the Hessians give way before the enemy in front of my works. The cannonade continued all night with a warmth hitherto unsurpassed. The slaughter in all parts of the town was very great. We were occasionally employed in restoring the works which the enemy had knocked down. Not a moment was there for rest; every man was employed either in fighting or toiling with pickaxe or shovel. Many parts of the town were set on fire, a lurid glare being cast over the whole scene, exposing to sight the falling buildings, the brave garrison working their guns or labouring in the trenches, the wounded carried off on litters, the dead strewed about in every direction; the whole to my idea presenting a picture more awful and terrific than any I had ever yet beheld; yet I had seen, as may be remembered, in my day a good deal of hard fighting.

11th.—No words of mine can properly describe the dreadful condition to which our small but brave garrison was reduced. The enemy this evening began their second parallel by which they advanced three hundred yards nearer to us. Their fire continued incessant from heavy artillery and mortars, and we opened fresh embrasures to flank their works, keeping up a constant fire from all the howitzers and small mortars were possessed. Upwards of a thousand shells were thrown into the works this night, and every spot alike became dangerous. To talk of the thundering of the cannon, the cries of the wounded, and the shrieks and distressing gestures of the inhabitants, whose dwellings were in flames, and knew not where to seek for safety, will but give a faint picture of what was taking place. Yet amidst all this havoc, destruction, and suffering, the known scarcity of everything necessary to prolong the siege, no murmuring was heard. Not a wish was expressed to give up the town while the most distant hope remained of our being relieved. On the contrary, our gallant little army, taking example from their chief, exhibited the most undaunted resolution, and hourly gave proof of their attachment to the noble general who had so often led them on to victory in the field. One man there is, and one only, who may well tremble at the result. Often do I think of him and what his fate will be if the place is taken by assault. Yet, strange to say, he appears as cool and fearless as the rest. On this night the enemy burnt several transports with red-hot shot and sunk two others from a battery on the left. The inhabitants who still remained in the town, and other non-combatants, were now living in holes under the cliffs or along the shore by the river side. Even there, however, they were not safe, the shot finding them out in their places of refuge and destroying numbers of them. My great anxiety was for Colonel Carlyon. He was recovering from his wounds, but I dreaded lest a stray shot or shell might penetrate the hospital, and that he might share the fate of so many of our own people. I sent him a message whenever I had an opportunity, and received many kind expressions from him in return.

12th.—At eight o'clock this morning the enemy sunk one of the fire-ships from a fresh battery thrown up during the night. All day a hot fire was kept up from it which almost completed the destruction of the shipping intended for the defence of the town against an attack by sea.

At nine o'clock the chief officer of artillery waited on the commodore with a message from Lord Cornwallis, requesting that the lieutenants of the navy with their men should move on from the right into the hornwork on the left, which the crews of the transports had quitted in consequence of the heavy fire to which it was exposed. It was every instant expected that the enemy would storm the works. Hearing this, I immediately volunteered to work this battery, and set off for it accordingly, with a midshipman and thirty-six seamen, it being understood that I was to be relieved in eight hours by the first lieutenant. In fifty-two minutes after my arrival in the hornwork the enemy silenced the three left guns by closing the embrasures, and shortly afterwards they dismounted a twelve-pounder, knocked off the muzzles of two eighteens, and for the last hour and a half of the time I had undertaken to hold the post left me with one eighteen-pounder. Although even a part of its muzzle also was shot away, I kept up a fire with it, determining to hold out to the last. My poor fellows were falling thick around me. Numbers had been wounded; scarcely one had escaped; eight had been killed. Tom Rockets had received a bad injury on one arm; still he worked away with the other, helping as best he could to load and fire the gun. The midshipman, Nol Grampus, and I were the only men in the battery uninjured. Old Nol stood as upright and undaunted as ever. The gun had just been loaded; he held the match in his hand; he was about to fire. At that instant I saw a shell pitching into the battery. Our gun went off. Its roar seemed louder than before. At the same instant there was the noise of the bursting of the shell. I was covered with dust and smoke. It cleared away, but when I looked out for Grampus, expecting to see him at the gun, he was gone. A little way off lay a mangled form. I ran up. It was that of my old faithful follower and friend. He knew me, but he was breathing out his last.

"I knowed it would be so, Mr Hurry," he whispered, as I stooped down over him. "When I saw the old barkie go I knowed that the days of many on us was numbered. I'd have like to have seen the war ended, and you, Mr Hurry, made happy. Bless you, my boy, bless you! You've always showed your love for the old seaman. Well, it's all right. I don't fear to die. He who rules up aloft knows what's best. He will have mercy on a poor ignorant sailor who trusts on One who came on earth to save him. That's my religion. You stick to that, boy! I can't see. I'm cold, very cold."

I took my old friend's hand. He pressed it faintly. "Thank ye, thank ye," I thought he said. His lips moved for a few moments, then suddenly he fell back. A shudder passed through his frame, and he was gone. A better or a braver seaman than Nol Grampus never died fighting for his sovereign's cause.

I had to spring up and help work the gun, for another of my poor fellows was just knocked over. I looked at my watch. It was the time my relief should arrive, and time it was, for the midshipman and I were the only two now remaining unhurt. Out of the thirty-six men who followed me into the battery nine lay dead, eight more were breathing out their last on the ground, and of the nineteen others most had lost either an arm or a leg.

At last my brother-officer with some men appeared. He stood aghast, as well he might, at the spectacle presented to him. As he was approaching me a shell fell in the space between us, sending its fragments in every direction. I felt that I was wounded, and, staggering back, I fell to the ground. My brother-officer ran to lift me up. I found that I had been struck on the right leg and received a severe contusion on the head, but in a few minutes I was able to stand. The midshipman also was wounded in the arm by the same shell, and he and I were the only two people able to walk out of the battery. Of the others several died before they were removed. I left it at a quarter-past six, and on my way past the redoubt, where he had been the greater part of the time, I received the thanks of my Lord Cornwallis for what he was pleased to call my gallantry and determination.

13th.—Too clearly does it appear that a struggle in which we can scarcely hope to be the victors is approaching. The besiegers have greatly augmented the number of their guns and mortars in the works of their second parallel, while our lines, it is evident, are becoming every hour more and more defenceless. Even the most sanguine begin to despair of the arrival of relief in time to save the garrison from a surrender, although the commander-in-chief at New York sends us assurance that he will come to our aid; but he has not started, and any hour may seal our fate.

At five this evening, in spite of my wound, I again quitted my battery on the right, having volunteered to command two eighteen-pounders on the left. I kept up a constant fire with them all night on the enemy's works. By the morning the battery was masked, and I and my people returned to our own works.

14th.—Our works were now in every direction reduced almost to heaps of ruins, and incapable of withstanding the tremendous fire poured into them by the enemy's artillery, which, from want of ammunition, we had no power of silencing. Considerable breaches were made in our strongest batteries and redoubts; indeed, it was too evident that they were no longer tenable. Early this morning the enemy sunk another fire-ship and two transports; at seven in the evening they attempted to storm the flanking redoubts to the right, but were repulsed with considerable loss. We were all kept on the qui vive, for it was evident that they had not done with us yet. This was proved at nine o'clock, when we were warned that they were advancing against us with a force believed to be not less than 17,000 men. From right to left they came on, with drums beating and loud huzzas, and attempted to storm our works. We opened on them with all our guns from one end of our works to the other. They replied with their musketry, and it may well be supposed how terrific appeared that blaze of fire extending throughout the whole length of that wide-stretching line. It was a sight which, although many are the battles I have seen, I shall never forget. Then there were the burning houses, the bursting shells, the roar of the artillery, the rattle of the musketry, the crashing of falling buildings, the blowing-up of mines, the cries of the combatants, the shrieks of the wounded, the loud clang of the martial bands, the wild huzzas of the stormers, the defiant shouts of our gallant fellows,—all these must be thrown in, and yet after all no adequate conception can be formed of that midnight scene of slaughter and destruction. Our men fought fiercely and desperately; soldiers and sailors vied with each other in their feats of gallantry. Bravely they stood at the breaches in our crumbling works; the sick and wounded rushed to the trenches. I heard a voice near me which I recognised as that of Tom Rockets.

"I thought you had been in your bed, Tom," said I.

"So I was, sir," he answered; "but I couldn't stay there when this sort of fun was going on, so as I'd yet one arm at liberty I thought as how I'd come and use it alongside you, Mr Hurry; I knew you wasn't over well to do either."

Tom had no jacket on, and his arm was bound up just as it had been when he managed to make his escape from the hospital. Although in most directions we drove the enemy back, they managed to carry two of our flanking redoubts on the left, which had hitherto retarded their approaches, when nearly all the poor fellows in them were, as is generally the case when a post is taken by storm, put to the bayonet.

15th.—The enemy lost no time in throwing up a line of communication between the two flanking redoubts, which they perfected before daylight. The consequence of this to us was most disastrous, for they would now rake the whole of our lines. Still we persevered and returned, though it must be owned but feebly, the vigorous fire they kept up on us.

16th.—At half-past four in the morning, Lord Cornwallis directed a sortie to be made in order to destroy or to spike the guns in one of the enemy's batteries which was causing us most annoyance. The party consisted of about a hundred and fifty men from the guards, the light infantry and the 80th regiment. Never have I seen a more spirited or dashing affair. Away they went, nor stopped till they had surmounted the enemy's works, which were found to be occupied by French troops, upwards of a hundred of whom were bayoneted. Eleven guns were spiked and in five minutes they were back again within our lines with the loss only of twelve killed and wounded. Scarcely anything took place in the garrison with which the enemy were not made acquainted. The general, therefore, never allowed any of his intentions to transpire till the moment of execution. It was therefore without much surprise that I heard at midnight that boats were in readiness to convey the troops over to the Gloucester side, and that the seamen were to keep up as heavy a fire as we could, to deceive the enemy. When the troops had passed over we were to make a rush for the boats and get across to follow them as best we could. What was then to be done we were left to divine. The sick and wounded and prisoners, and our guns and stores, were of course to be abandoned. Scarcely had I heard of the proposed plan before I found that the embarkation had commenced. The night had been threatening, and now a storm with wind and rain, thunder and lightning, such as I had not often witnessed, commenced and increased in fury. It made our work easier in deceiving the enemy, though our artillery seemed but a mockery of the thunder of the skies. Our gallant seamen felt that the safety of the army depended on their exertions, and in spite of the showers of shot and shell falling among us all night, most nobly did they stand to their guns. The time was approaching when I expected to receive orders to call them off from the lines, that we might commence our retreat. O'Driscoll was engaged in the embarkation of the troops. He was to come when they had crossed, to assist me in managing the retreat of the seamen. At length I heard his voice in my battery.

"All right," I exclaimed. "One shot more and we'll make a run for it."

"Not at all right," was his answer. "The plan has failed, and if the enemy discover our condition we are done for. I came to stop you from leaving your guns."

"What has happened?" I exclaimed.

"The larger part of the army were got across in safety when the gale increased so much that I began to doubt the possibility of passing over any more. Even the empty boats could scarcely make head against it. I was going to represent this to the commodore, when I found that two of the boats full of troops had drifted down the river before the gale. If the poor fellows in them have escaped drowning, they will by daylight fall into the hands of the enemy. This settled the question; the further embarkation of the troops has been stopped, and now I must hurry away to endeavour to get the main body back again before our manoeuvre is discovered."

The troops remaining on the York side once more returned to the lines, and the night passed away, as had many previous nights, both sides keeping up a heavy cannonade with the addition of the fearful storm which raged till long after the sun had risen on the scene of slaughter and destruction.

The plan formed by our noble general was worthy of him, desperate as it may appear, and would, I believe, have succeeded had not the elements been against him. Sallying from the lines at Gloucester Point as soon as all the army had crossed over, he intended to attack the camp of the French cavalry, mount the infantry on their horses, and push on by rapid marches towards the north, till he could form a junction with such forces as Sir Henry Clinton might send out to his support. Part of the navy and a small body of troops were to be left behind to arrange terms for the inhabitants as well as for our poor wounded and sick men, who could not be moved. The baggage also of course was to have been abandoned. Had the plan succeeded, it would have been looked upon as one of the most gallant exploits on record. Still many lives might have been sacrificed and no adequate object obtained, so I doubt not that events turned out for the best.

17th.—At length the storm began to abate, but great was our anxiety lest the enemy should discover our situation and attack us. Happily they did not come on, and by noon we were able to bring back that part of the army which had crossed the river. Our generals held a council of war, and it became known that the sad hour had arrived when we must sue for terms with the enemy, or undergo all the dangers of an assault with the certainty of being defeated at last. With feelings of sorrow and regret we saw the flag of truce depart. We waited the result with anxiety. Whatever were the terms proposed they were peremptorily refused by the enemy, and our brave general determined to hold out for one day more on the bare possibility of relief arriving from New York. The fire accordingly re-commenced on both sides with greater fury than before.

18th.—During the whole morning the fire from all the batteries continued with unabated warmth, though one after the other our guns were becoming useless. I continued working away at mine with gloomy desperation. I was suffering from my wounds, from fatigue, and from hunger too, for our provisions had almost failed us. I could have gone on, however, as long as a man remained alive to help me work my guns. At last a shot came through the embrasure at which was a gun I was on the point of firing. Suddenly I felt my arm jerked up—the match dropped from my nerveless arm, and I fell. At that moment the signal was given to cease firing. Another flag of truce was going forth. I felt that I was desperately wounded—I believed that my last hour had come.

It was just then four o'clock. This was nearly the last shot fired during that hateful and fratricidal war. Angels were rejoicing that blood had ceased to flow, though proud British hearts were sad and humbled at the thoughts of their defeat. That hour struck the knell of England's supremacy in the West, and gave forth the first glad notes of the establishment of American Independence. Directly afterwards the cannonade from the side of the enemy ceased along the whole extent of their line.

My men, when they saw me on the ground, lifted me up, and placed me on a litter already deeply stained with blood. O'Driscoll arrived, and sincere was the sorrow and commiseration he expressed when he saw me. I inquired for Colonel Carlyon, and entreated that I might be conveyed to where he was.

I felt a longing desire to see Madeline's father once more, and to send by him, should he survive, my last message of love and devotion to her. I thought that he would not hesitate about delivering them.

"I will inquire where your friend the colonel is," answered O'Driscoll. "He was removed, I know, for the house where he lay was too much battered to be longer tenable. I am uncertain to what quarters he has been removed."

My heart sank within me when I heard these words, for I fully believed that Colonel Carlyon had been killed, and that O'Driscoll was unwilling to wound my feelings by the information. My men now moved on with me through the town. I need not again describe the scenes I witnessed—the dead scattered about, piles of ruins, houses battered and blackened, the remnant of the inhabitants wandering about looking for their lost friends, maimed and wounded soldiers and seamen—gaunt, pale and starved—others still unhurt, looking angry and sullen at the thought of our defeat. Officers were standing about in groups, greeting each other with vexed and sorrowful looks. I was suffering too much physically to feel deeply on the matter, but my sensations were of a very mixed character, and I do not feel that it was derogatory to my character, as a loyal subject of his Majesty, or as a British officer, to say that I heartily prayed that the war might be over, even though the proposed humiliating surrender might be the last great event connected with it. After I had been conveyed through several ruined, half-burned streets, my bearers at length stopped at a house where O'Driscoll told me he believed Colonel Carlyon was to be found.

Such was the case. Though sitting up, he was unable to walk. The expression of sorrow and commiseration which lit up his countenance, and the kind words with which he greeted me, gave me the assurance that I was regarded by him in the light I desired. It was some time before a surgeon could attend me—so many more urgent cases demanding the care of the medical men in every direction. In the meantime notice was brought us that a cessation of arms had been agreed on, and which time was afterwards increased till the following day.

Like a father or a fond brother did Colonel Carlyon tend me all that night, refusing to lie down till my wounds had been dressed, and I had sunk into the slumber I so much needed.

19th.—The day—painful, though scarcely to be called humiliating, to the brave army which had so heroically endured that desperate if not protracted siege—at length arrived. Lord Cornwallis, finding that our enemies had resolved to grant us alone the terms which they had previously offered—that we had not as yet experienced the effect of the fire from the flanking redoubts, armed with numerous pieces of heavy artillery ready to open on us—that our garrison was now reduced to scarcely three thousand effective men, in want both of provisions and ammunition—felt that the only course open to him, to prevent the horrors of an assault, and to save the lives of the remainder of his troops, was to accept them. Accordingly, at noon, the army surrendered prisoners-of-war to the United States of America, while the navy became prisoners by arrangement to the Compte de Grasse. At one o'clock a regiment of American troops, followed by one of French, took possession of the works, with drums beating and colours flying, when the British flag was struck, and that of America displayed in its stead. At three o'clock the British troops marched out, with drums beating and colours cased, towards the enemy's lines. There in a wide field were drawn up the armies of the allies, with the generals ready to receive them. Proud and happy, indeed, must Washington and his brethren-in-arms have felt at this, to them, glorious termination of the struggle.

Sullen and sad looked our men, I was told, as, with gestures of impatience and vexation, they grounded their arms, and then marched back into the town. At the same time the enemy took possession of all our lines and works. My wounds, though severe, were not dangerous, and I was able to take an interest in all that was going forward, and to receive the visits of friends who came to inquire after me and to offer me assistance. With regard to the condition of the garrison on the day we surrendered, I can state positively that, on a correct muster, we were unable to march out more than two thousand five hundred men. We found, therefore, that we had lost, in killed and wounded, upwards of a thousand, and from sickness four hundred and fifty. From this calculation it will be seen that we had about a hundred and ten killed and wounded every day after the enemy opened their batteries. The remaining troops were at Gloucester, on the other side of the river, the works of which they bravely defended to the last.

The ruinous condition of the town and works, which altogether did not cover half a mile of ground in length and nothing like it in width, may be conceived by the accounts I have already given. I may remark that from one end to the other it was strewed with shot and shell, and had truly the appearance of a ploughed field. I must not close my account of the public events of this memorable period without speaking of the civility and humanity the English prisoners received from the French—so different to that which I experienced when I fell into their hands at Saint Domingo. They showed evident compassion for our condition, and not only rendered us every delicate attention in their power, but gave the officers a captain's guard of grenadiers to guard them from the insolence and abuse of the American soldiers, who showed, it was said, much disposition to ill-treat and rob them. The excitement and the great exertion made by all had hitherto kept at bay the attacks of sickness from many who now began, their toils over, to succumb to them. Intermittent fevers appeared, and few, I believe, escaped. Among those who died was my gallant friend and brother-officer, Lieutenant Conway, whose name I have before frequently mentioned. For my own part, I received the greatest personal kindness both from Americans and French. Those especially who had at any time received any attention from the English seemed anxious on this occasion to exhibit their gratitude. Among them I must particularly mention Monsieur Clenard who commanded the Compte D'Artois, the French ship we and the Bienfaisant took off Ireland. He now commanded one of the ships of war in the French fleet. He showed the Charon's, in particular, every mark of esteem and kindness. So did a French officer we took in the Peggy privateer, when we went in search of the French fleet, and whom we had properly treated when he was on board us. Such conduct reflects the highest honour on the French, and authorises them to expect, should any of their people at any time by the chances of war fall into our hands, the same kindness and consideration.

The American officers were not backward in the same liberal and generous conduct. I had on one occasion—I omitted to mention it—an opportunity of showing a favour to the son of a Colonel Matthews in the American army. Colonel Matthews immediately came and offered money, servants and horses, and invited me to his house as soon as I could be moved. Mr Jones also, a gentleman residing at Hampton, whose family I had met there, sent the instant he heard we had been defeated to ascertain how he could best serve me, and wrote to assure me that, should I decide to remain on my parole in America, he would request General Washington to allow me to reside at his house, and that money or anything he had was at my service. Just at the same time I received a similar message from Mrs Langton, whose house was not more than seven miles from York Town. I need scarcely say that, grateful as I felt for all the other offers of kindness I had received. I resolved, should I have the power, to accept hers. The public events which took place on the days subsequent to the surrender may not be considered of general interest. On the 20th the French ships of war came up the harbour, and on the following day the British troops were marched into the country, where they were to be distributed, and kept as prisoners of war till the conclusion of peace. The seamen still remained in the town. On the 21st, paroles of honour were granted to the officers of the Navy, who were to go to Europe in flags of truce with all the seamen and marines. Every exertion was made to fit out the vessels remaining in the harbour for this purpose, but it was not till the 2nd of November that they were ready to take their departure. On the very day we capitulated, Sir Henry Clinton, with a large fleet of line-of-battle ships and frigates, with seven thousand of his best troops, set sail from New York. He did not appear off the Capes of Virginia till the 24th, when, hearing what had occurred, he returned to New York. It was not, however, till the 26th of January, 1782, that a treaty of peace was signed at Paris, the happy news of which reached Philadelphia on the 23rd of March. But I am anticipating events.

Colonel Carlyon was sufficiently recovered two days after the surrender of York Town to be removed to Mrs Langton's, but several days elapsed before I was able to follow him, when I obtained permission from the commodore as well as from the Compte de Grasse, to remain in America till my health was restored. I had an affectionate parting with O'Driscoll and with my old follower, Tom Rockets, who were the bearers of many messages from me to my family.

"Tell them, O'Driscoll," said I, "that though I am a loyal subject of King George, I see no reason why I should not win the hand, as I believe I have the heart, of a daughter of America."

"You're right, my dear boy," he answered. "You'll be doing the most loyal thing in your power, for you'll be winning back a subject who would otherwise be lost, and gaining many little subjects too, maybe, old fellow," he added, with a poke in my wounded ribs which almost upset me.

At length a litter was brought into my room, and I was carried in it on men's shoulders to the house of my friends. What words of mine can do justice to the generous kindness and the delicate attention with which I was treated by all the family, and the marks of tender affection I received from one who was there to welcome me? When I first looked up, after I had been placed on the bed prepared for my wounded form, Madeline stood by my side. My wounds healed. I rapidly recovered my strength, and then the depressing feeling of my poverty, of my utter inability to support a wife as I desired that Madeline should be maintained, came over me. She ascertained the cause of my despondency.

"But papa can obtain employment for you," she remarked. "Why not, when there is peace, leave the British Navy and enter that of the United States? Surely it is equally honourable!"

Little did she know, when she said that, how, with all its faults, I loved the glorious Navy of England: I perhaps scarcely knew myself, till the sensations which the suggestion conjured up in my bosom told me. Even the idea of quitting the sea and following some occupation on shore had not the attraction for me which might have been supposed. Still I had resolved to adopt the latter alternative if her father would bestow her hand on me. He had been absent for some time, attending to public affairs. At length he returned. I explained to him my position. I thought he looked grave and sad as I went on speaking.

"I have been under a mistake," he observed. "I thought that you were in the expectation of receiving a good property, and that you would have the means of supporting my dear child. This war has ruined my estate, and I am but little able to leave her anything. It will be better for you both to part; I grieve that you should have again met."

These words pierced me to the heart, and overthrew all the bright visions I had conjured up. They were so unlike, too, what I expected to hear from him. I pressed my hands on my face and groaned. I dared not meet Madeline. I thought that, too probably, he would prohibit me from seeing her again. I sat the picture of despair. Just then a negro servant entered the room, and gave a packet of letters to the colonel. He handed me one with a black seal. Another blow. Some other member of my family dead. It is too bitter. I cannot stand this. I'll go to sea again, and hope that in mercy I may lose that life which has become too burdensome to bear. Such thoughts, (wrong and impious I know they were), passed through my mind as I kept the letter in my hand before breaking the seal. I looked at the superscription. It was from my dear sister Jane. I tore it open. The contents soon riveted my attention. It was not long. One passage ran thus:—

"Some weeks ago, our old relation, Sir Hurricane Tempest, much to our surprise, sent to ask one of us to go and nurse him, saying that he was, he believed, on his death-bed, and beseeching us to have compassion on a friendless, childless old man. The lot fell on me. I found him very different to what I expected, and interested in all matters concerning us. Do you remember, Hurry, rescuing an old gentleman from the mob in London during the Lord George Gordon riots? That was Sir Hurricane himself. He knew you; and when I told him about you, and that you had fallen in love with an American lady, the daughter of a rebel, and that you had no means of marrying her, he answered, 'But he shall have the means. I'll give them to him. I like his spirit. I like her. Her friends have espoused the right side—the side of liberty. They were not afraid to stand up boldly against tyranny and injustice. Tell him I shall be happy to welcome the little rebel as my niece, if I live, and, at all events, to know that her children will inherit my property.' Soon after this our kind old uncle died, and he has left you, as far as I can understand, fully three thousand a year."

How my heart bounded when I heard these words! I handed the letter to Colonel Carlyon. He rose and took my hand.

"I had not intended to be very stern when, just now, I spoke to you," he said, and I knew that he spoke the truth. "I wished to ascertain whether your affection for my daughter was as great as I was assured it is. I know that you are eager to give her, before she hears it from others, the satisfactory information you have received. Go and tell her."

I did. A few days subsequent to the news of peace being received, we were married. After a tour in the States she accompanied me to England, and my American bride won golden opinions from all the relatives and friends to whom I had the happiness of introducing her. A dutiful and affectionate wife she has always been to me, and I have had just cause to be thankful that I married the Little Rebel.

THE END