THE WAR IN THE SOUTH
Sau khi Burgoyne đầu hàng, chiến lược quân sự của người Anh tại các bang miền Bắc, như đã thấy, chỉ thuần túy mang tính phòng thủ, nhưng các bang miền Nam lại trở thành chiến trường của những giao tranh ác liệt.
Nhà vua đã hạ quyết tâm thu phục Georgia và hai xứ Carolina, và thoạt nhìn, có lúc tưởng như ý nguyện của ngài sẽ được thành toàn. Ở Tướng Augustine Prevost, cuối cùng triều đình đã tìm thấy một kẻ tâm đầu ý hợp với nhà vua, và những hành vi dã man cùng thói phá hoại của ông ta thuộc diện tàn bạo nhất trong cuộc chiến. Tướng Benjamin Lincoln được phái xuống miền Nam để đối phó với ông ta, và chẳng bao lâu sau đã được gia nhập bởi Bá tước Pulaski cùng đạo quân của ông.
AT THE CONSECRATION OF PULASKI'S BANNER
When the dying flame of day
Through the chancel shot its ray,
Far the glimmering tapers shed
Faint light on the cowlèd head;
And the censer burning swung,
Where, before the altar, hung
The crimson banner, that with prayer
Had been consecrated there.
And the nuns' sweet hymn was heard the while,
Sung low, in the dim, mysterious aisle.
"Take thy banner! May it wave
Proudly o'er the good and brave;
When the battle's distant wail
Breaks the sabbath of our vale,
When the clarion's music thrills
To the hearts of these lone hills,
When the spear in conflict shakes,
And the strong lance shivering breaks.
"Take thy banner! and, beneath
The battle-cloud's encircling wreath,
Guard it, till our homes are free!
Guard it! God will prosper thee!
In the dark and trying hour,
In the breaking forth of power,
In the rush of steeds and men,
His right hand will shield thee then.
"Take thy banner! But when night
Closes round the ghastly fight,
If the vanquished warrior bow,
Spare him! By our holy vow,
By our prayers and many tears,
By the mercy that endears,
Spare him! he our love hath shared!
Spare him! as thou wouldst be spared!
"Take thy banner! and if e'er
Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier,
And the muffled drum should beat
To the tread of mournful feet,
Then this crimson flag shall be
Martial cloak and shroud for thee."
The warrior took that banner proud,
And it was his martial cloak and shroud!
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Vào tháng 8 năm 1779, hạm đội Pháp dưới quyền D'Estaing xuất hiện ngoài khơi bờ biển Georgia, và các kế hoạch đã được vạch ra để chiếm lấy Savannah. Nơi này bị quân Pháp và quân Mỹ bao vây chặt chẽ, và trong gần một tháng trời, cuộc vây hít diễn ra vô cùng quyết liệt. Nhưng D'Estaing tỏ ra sốt ruột, và vào ngày 9 tháng 10, một cuộc tấn công chớp nhoáng nhằm chiếm lấy nơi này đã được tiến hành. Phe tấn công hoàn toàn thất bại, tổn thất hơn một nghìn người, trong khi tổn thất của người Anh chỉ vỏn vẹn năm mươi lăm người. Bá tước Pulaski là một trong số những kẻ đã ngã xuống.
[October 9, 1779]
Come let us rejoice,
With heart and with voice,
Her triumphs let loyalty show, sir,
While bumpers go round,
Reëcho the sound,
Huzza for the King and Prevost, sir.
With warlike parade,
And his Irish brigade,
His ships and his spruce Gallic host, sir,
As proud as an elf,
D'Estaing came himself,
And landed on Georgia's coast, sir.
There joining a band
Under Lincoln's command,
Of rebels and traitors and Whigs, sir,
'Gainst the town of Savannah
He planted his banner,
And then he felt wondrous big, sir.
With thund'ring of guns,
And bursting of bombs,
He thought to have frighten'd our boys, sir:
But amidst all their din,
Brave Maitland push'd in,
And Moncrieffe cried, "A fig for your noise," sir.
Chagrined at delay,
As he meant not to stay,
The Count form'd his troops in the morn, sir.
Van, centre, and rear
March'd up without fear,
Cock sure of success, by a storm, sir.
Though rude was the shock,
Unmov'd as a rock,
Stood our firm British bands to their works, sir,
While the brave German corps,
And Americans bore
Their parts as intrepid as Turks, sir.
Then muskets did rattle,
Fierce ragèd the battle,
Grape shot it flew thicker than hail, sir.
The ditch fill'd with slain,
Blood dyed all the plain,
When rebels and French turnèd tail, sir.
See! see! how they run!
Lord! what glorious fun!
How they tumble, by cannon mowed down, sir!
Brains fly all around,
Dying screeches resound,
And mangled limbs cover the ground, sir.
There Pulaski fell,
That imp of old Bell,
Who attempted to murder his king, sir.
But now he is gone
Whence he'll never return;
But will make hell with treason to ring, sir.
To Charleston with fear
The rebels repair;
D'Estaing scampers back to his boats, sir,
Each blaming the other,
Each cursing his brother,
And—may they cut each other's throats, sir.
Scarce three thousand men
The town did maintain,
'Gainst three times their number of foes, sir,
Who left on the plain,
Of wounded and slain,
Three thousand to fatten the crows, sir.
Three thousand! no less!
For the rebels confess
Some loss, as you very well know, sir.
Then let bumpers go round,
And reëcho the sound,
Huzza for the King and Prevost, sir.
Ngay khi Clinton hay tin về chiến thắng này, ông ta quyết định chiếm lấy Charleston—nơi Tướng Lincoln đang đồn trú cùng ba nghìn quân. Lincoln quyết định cố thủ chống lại cuộc vây hít với hy vọng có viện binh; nhưng chẳng có ai đến cả, và vào ngày 12 tháng 5 năm 1780, để tránh việc đổ máu vô ích, ông đã đầu hàng quân đội Anh cùng toàn bộ thành phố.
[May 12, 1780]
King Hancock sat in regal state,
And big with pride and vainly great,
Address'd his rebel crew:
"These haughty Britons soon shall yield
The boasted honors of the field,
While our brave sons pursue.
"Six thousand fighting men or more,
Protect the Carolina shore,
And Freedom will defend;
And stubborn Britons soon shall feel,
'Gainst Charleston, and hearts of steel,
How vainly they contend."
But ere he spake, in dread array,
To rebel foes, ill-fated day,
The British boys appear;
Their mien with martial ardor fir'd,
And by their country's wrongs inspir'd,
Shook Lincoln's heart with fear.
See Clinton brave, serene, and great,
For mighty deeds rever'd by fate,
Direct the thund'ring fight,
While Mars, propitious god of war,
Looks down from his triumphal car
With wonder and delight.
"Clinton," he cries, "the palm is thine,
'Midst heroes thou wert born to shine
A great immortal name,
And Cornwallis' mighty deeds appear
Conspicuous each revolving year,
The pledge of future fame."
Our tars, their share of glories won,
For they among the bravest shone,
Undaunted, firm, and bold;
Whene'er engag'd, their ardor show'd
Hearts which with native valor glow'd,
Hearts of true British mould.
Toàn bộ Nam Carolina chẳng mấy chốc đã bị quân Anh tràn ngập; điền trang bị tịch thu, nhà cửa bị thiêu rụi, và những kẻ bị tình nghi là phản quốc đều bị đem treo cổ mà không cần qua xét xử. Kháng chiến có tổ chức là điều bất khả thi, nhưng tại bang này chẳng bao lâu sau đã xuất hiện một số thủ lĩnh du kích, nổi bật nhất trong số đó là Francis Marion—có lẽ là nhân vật đậm chất hội họa nhất của cuộc Cách mạng. Chưa từng có một hành động tàn nhược nào làm vẩn đục ánh hào quang danh tiếng của ông, nhưng cũng không một thủ lĩnh du kích nào vượt qua được tài năng của ông trong việc gây khốn đốn cho kẻ thù bằng phương thức chiến tranh chính đáng.
We follow where the Swamp Fox guides,
His friends and merry men are we;
And when the troop of Tarleton rides,
We burrow in the cypress-tree.
The turfy hammock is our bed,
Our home is in the red deer's den,
Our roof, the tree-top overhead,
For we are wild and hunted men.
We fly by day and shun its light,
But, prompt to strike the sudden blow,
We mount and start with early night,
And through the forest track our foe.
And soon he hears our chargers leap,
The flashing sabre blinds his eyes,
And ere he drives away his sleep,
And rushes from his camp, he dies.
Free bridle-bit, good gallant steed,
That will not ask a kind caress
To swim the Santee at our need,
When on his heels the foemen press,—
The true heart and the ready hand,
The spirit stubborn to be free,
The twisted bore, the smiting brand,—
And we are Marion's men, you see.
Now light the fire and cook the meal,
The last perhaps that we shall taste;
I hear the Swamp Fox round us steal,
And that's a sign we move in haste.
He whistles to the scouts, and hark!
You hear his order calm and low.
Come, wave your torch across the dark,
And let us see the boys that go.
We may not see their forms again,
God help 'em, should they find the strife!
For they are strong and fearless men,
And make no coward terms for life;
They'll fight as long as Marion bids,
And when he speaks the word to shy,
Then, not till then, they turn their steeds,
Through thickening shade and swamp to fly.
Now stir the fire and lie at ease,—
The scouts are gone, and on the brush
I see the Colonel bend his knee,
To take his slumbers too. But hush!
He's praying, comrades; 'tis not strange;
The man that's fighting day by day
May well, when night comes, take a change,
And down upon his knees to pray.
Break up that hoe-cake, boys, and hand
The sly and silent jug that's there;
I love not it should idly stand
When Marion's men have need of cheer.
'Tis seldom that our luck affords
A stuff like this we just have quaffed,
And dry potatoes on our boards
May always call for such a draught.
Now pile the brush and roll the log;
Hard pillow, but a soldier's head
That's half the time in brake and bog
Must never think of softer bed.
The owl is hooting to the night,
The cooter crawling o'er the bank,
And in that pond the flashing light
Tells where the alligator sank.
What! 'tis the signal! start so soon,
And through the Santee swamp so deep,
Without the aid of friendly moon,
And we, Heaven help us! half asleep!
But courage, comrades! Marion leads,
The Swamp Fox takes us out to-night;
So clear your swords and spur your steeds,
There's goodly chance, I think, of fight.
We follow where the Swamp Fox guides,
We leave the swamp and cypress-tree,
Our spurs are in our coursers' sides,
And ready for the strife are we.
The Tory camp is now in sight,
And there he cowers within his den;
He hears our shouts, he dreads the fight,
He fears, and flies from Marion's men.
William Gilmore Simms.
Our band is few, but true and tried,
Our leader frank and bold;
The British soldier trembles
When Marion's name is told.
Our fortress is the good greenwood,
Our tent the cypress-tree;
We know the forest round us
As seamen know the sea.
We know its walls of thorny vines,
Its glades of reedy grass,
Its safe and silent islands
Within the dark morass.
Woe to the English soldiery
That little dread us near!
On them shall light at midnight
A strange and sudden fear:
When, waking to their tents on fire,
They grasp their arms in vain,
And they who stand to face us
Are beat to earth again;
And they who fly in terror deem
A mighty host behind,
And hear the tramp of thousands
Upon the hollow wind.
Then sweet the hour that brings release
From danger and from toil;
We talk the battle over,
We share the battle's spoil.
The woodland rings with laugh and shout,
As if a hunt were up,
And woodland flowers are gathered
To crown the soldier's cup.
With merry songs we mock the wind
That in the pine-top grieves,
And slumber long and sweetly
On beds of oaken leaves.
Well knows the fair and friendly moon
The band that Marion leads—
The glitter of their rifles,
The scampering of their steeds.
'Tis life to guide the fiery barb
Across the moonlight plain;
Tis life to feel the night-wind
That lifts his tossing mane.
A moment in the British camp—
A moment—and away,
Back to the pathless forest
Before the peep of day.
Grave men there are by broad Santee,
Grave men with hoary hairs;
Their hearts are all with Marion,
For Marion are their prayers.
And lovely ladies greet our band
With kindliest welcoming,
With smiles like those of summer,
And tears like those of spring.
For them we wear these trusty arms,
And lay them down no more
Till we have driven the Briton
Forever from our shore.
William Cullen Bryant.
Nằm trong số các thành viên thuộc đội quân của Marion là một gã khổng lồ người Scotland tên là Macdonald, nhân vật chính của nhiều cuộc phiêu lưu táo bạo, trong đó cuộc đột kích của hắn qua Georgetown, Nam Carolina, chỉ với vỏn vẹn bốn kỵ binh, là chiến tích phi thường nhất. Georgetown là một vùng đất kiên cố, được bảo vệ bởi một đội đồn trú gồm ba trăm người.
[1780]
I remember it well; 'twas a morn dull and gray,
And the legion lay idle and listless that day,
A thin drizzle of rain piercing chill to the soul,
And with not a spare bumper to brighten the bowl,
When Macdonald arose, and unsheathing his blade,
Cried, "Who'll back me, brave comrades? I'm hot for a raid.
Let the carbines be loaded, the war harness ring,
Then swift death to the Redcoats, and down with the King!"
We leaped up at his summons, all eager and bright,
To our finger-tips thrilling to join him in fight;
Yet he chose from our numbers four men and no more.
"Stalwart brothers," quoth he, "you'll be strong as fourscore,
If you follow me fast wheresoever I lead,
With keen sword and true pistol, stanch heart and bold steed.
Let the weapons be loaded, the bridle-bits ring,
Then swift death to the Redcoats, and down with the King!"
In a trice we were mounted; Macdonald's tall form
Seated firm in the saddle, his face like a storm
When the clouds on Ben Lomond hang heavy and stark,
And the red veins of lightning pulse hot through the dark;
His left hand on his sword-belt, his right lifted free,
With a prick from the spurred heel, a touch from the knee,
His lithe Arab was off like an eagle on wing—
Ha! death, death to the Redcoats, and down with the King!
'Twas three leagues to the town, where, in insolent pride,
Of their disciplined numbers, their works strong and wide,
The big Britons, oblivious of warfare and arms,
A soft dolce were wrapped in, not dreaming of harms,
When fierce yells, as if borne on some fiend-ridden rout,
With strange cheer after cheer, are heard echoing without,
Over which, like the blast of ten trumpeters, ring,
"Death, death to the Redcoats, and down with the King!"
Such a tumult we raised with steel, hoof-stroke, and shout,
That the foemen made straight for their inmost redoubt,
And therein, with pale lips and cowed spirits, quoth they,
"Lord, the whole rebel army assaults us to-day.
Are the works, think you, strong? God of heaven, what a din!
'Tis the front wall besieged—have the rebels rushed in?
It must be; for, hark! hark to that jubilant ring
Of 'death to the Redcoats, and down with the King!'"
Meanwhile, through the town like a whirlwind we sped,
And ere long be assured that our broadswords were red;
And the ground here and there by an ominous stain
Showed how the stark soldier beside it was slain:
A fat sergeant-major, who yawed like a goose,
With his waddling bow-legs, and his trappings all loose,
By one back-handed blow the Macdonald cuts down,
To the shoulder-blade cleaving him sheer through the crown,
And the last words that greet his dim consciousness ring
With "Death, death to the Redcoats, and down with the King!"
Having cleared all the streets, not an enemy left
Whose heart was unpierced, or whose headpiece uncleft,
What should we do next, but—as careless and calm
As if we were scenting a summer morn's balm
'Mid a land of pure peace—just serenely drop down
On the few constant friends who still stopped in the town.
What a welcome they gave us! One dear little thing,
As I kissed her sweet lips, did I dream of the King?—
Of the King or his minions? No; war and its scars
Seemed as distant just then as the fierce front of Mars
From a love-girdled earth; but, alack! on our bliss,
On the close clasp of arms and kiss showering on kiss,
Broke the rude bruit of battle, the rush thick and fast
Of the Britons made 'ware of our rash ruse at last;
So we haste to our coursers, yet flying, we fling
The old watch-words abroad, "Down with Redcoats and King!"
As we scampered pell-mell o'er the hard-beaten track
We had traversed that morn, we glanced momently back,
And beheld their long earth-works all compassed in flame:
With a vile plunge and hiss the huge musket-balls came,
And the soil was ploughed up, and the space 'toisnt the trees
Seemed to hum with the war-song of Brobdingnag bees;
Yet above them, beyond them, victoriously ring
The shouts, "Death to the Redcoats, and down with the King!"
Ah! that was a feat, lads, to boast of! What men
Like you weaklings to-day had durst cope with us then?
Though I say it who should not, I am ready to vow
I'd o'ermatch a half score of your fops even now—
The poor puny prigs, mincing up, mincing down,
Through the whole wasted day the thronged streets of the town:
Why, their dainty white necks 'twere but pastime to wring—
Ay! my muscles are firm still; I fought 'gainst the King!
Dare you doubt it? well, give me the weightiest of all
The sheathed sabres that hang there, unlooped on the wall;
Hurl the scabbard aside; yield the blade to my clasp;
Do you see, with one hand how I poise it and grasp
The rough iron-bound hilt? With this long hissing sweep
I have smitten full many a foeman with sleep—
That forlorn, final sleep! God! what memories cling
To those gallant old times when we fought 'gainst the King.
Paul Hamilton Hayne.
Chỉ đứng sau Marion trong cuộc chiến tranh du kích điên cuồng này là Thomas Sumter, một người gốc Virginia, sau đó sẽ tiếp tục phụng sự đất nước bằng những phương thức khác. Trong suốt mùa hè năm 1780, ông duy trì một chiến dịch du kích dồn dập đến mức Cornwallis gọi ông là "cơn dịch hạch lớn nhất trong vùng".
When Carolina's hope grew pale
Before the British lion's tread,
And Freedom's sigh in every gale
Was heard above her martyr'd dead;
When from her mountain heights subdued,
In pride of place forbid to soar,
Her Eagle banner, quench'd in blood,
Lay sullen on the indignant shore,
Breathing revenge, invoking doom,
Tyrant! upon thy purple host,
When all stood wrapt in steadfast gloom,
And silence brooded o'er her coast,
Stealthy, as when from thicket dun,
The Indian springs upon his bow,
Up rose, South Mount, thy warrior son,
And headlong darted on the foe.
Not in the pride of war he came,
With bugle note and banner high,
And nodding plume, and steel of flame,
Red battle's gorgeous panoply!
With followers few, but undismay'd,
Each change and chance of fate withstood,
Beneath her sunshine and her shade,
The same heroic brotherhood!
From secret nook, in other land,
Emerging fleet along the pine,
Prone down he flew before his band,
Like eagle on the British line!
Catacoba's waters smiled again,
To see her Sumter's soul in arms;
And issuing from each glade and glen,
Rekindled by war's fierce alarms,
Throng'd hundreds through the solitude
Of the wild forest, to the call
Of him whose spirit, unsubdued,
Fresh impulse gave to each, to all.
By day the burning sands they ply,
Night sees them in the fell ravine;
Familiar to each follower's eye,
The tangled brake, the hall of green.
Roused by their tread from covert deep,
Springs the gaunt wolf, and thus while near
Is heard, forbidding thought of sleep,
The rattling serpent's sound of fear!
Before or break of early morn,
Or fox looks out from copse to close,
Before the hunter winds his horn.
Sumter's already on his foes!
He beat them back! beneath the flame
Of valor quailing, or the shock!
And carved, at last, a hero's name
Upon the glorious Hanging Rock!
And time, that shades or sears the wreath,
Where glory binds the soldier's brow,
Kept bright her Sumter's fame in death,
His hour of proudest triumph, now.
And ne'er shall tyrant tread the shore
Where Sumter bled, nor bled in vain;
A thousand hearts shall break, before
They wear the oppressor's chains again.
O never can thy sons forget
The mighty lessons taught by thee;
Since—treasured by the eternal debt—
Their watchword is thy memory!
J. W. Simmons.
Nam Carolina quá quan trọng để có thể phó mặc cho tài năng của các chỉ huy du kích, và Tướng Gates nhanh chóng được vội vã điều đến chiến trường, chỉ để rồi bị Cornwallis đánh bại một cách nhục nhã tại Camden và bị truy quét với tổn thất lên tới hai nghìn người. Phấn khích trước chiến thắng này, Cornwallis khởi hành tiến vào Bắc Carolina; thế nhưng toàn bộ xứ sở đã vùng lên sục sôi, và vào ngày 7 tháng 10, một phân đội gồm một nghìn hai trăm người đã bị dồn vào chân tường tại King's Mountain, để rồi hoặc bị tiêu diệt hoặc bị bắt sống.
[October 7, 1780]
Twas on a pleasant mountain
The Tory heathens lay,
With a doughty major at their head,
One Ferguson, they say.
Cornwallis had detach'd him
A-thieving for to go,
And catch the Carolina men,
Or bring the rebels low.
The scamp had rang'd the country
In search of royal aid,
And with his owls, perchèd on high,
He taught them all his trade.
But ah! that fatal morning,
When Shelby brave drew near!
'Tis certainly a warning
That ministers should hear.
And Campbell, and Cleveland,
And Colonel Sevier,
Each with a band of gallant men,
To Ferguson appear.
Just as the sun was setting
Behind the western hills,
Just then our trusty rifles sent
A dose of leaden pills.
Up, up the steep together
Brave Williams led his troop,
And join'd by Winston, bold and true,
Disturb'd the Tory coop.
The royal slaves, the royal owls,
Flew high on every hand;
But soon they settled—gave a howl,
And quarter'd to Cleveland.
I would not tell the number
Of Tories slain that day,
But surely it is certain
That none did run away.
For all that were a-living,
Were happy to give up;
So let us make thanksgiving,
And pass the bright tin-cup.
To all the brave regiments,
Let's toast 'em for their health,
And may our good country
Have quietude and wealth.
Chiến thắng huy hoàng này đã thắp lại niềm hy vọng cho những người ái quốc ở miền Nam, và Cornwallis chẳng mấy chốc đã nhận thấy bản thân rơi vào một tình thế hiểm nghèo. Cuối cùng, ông ta buộc phải cắt cử Tarleton, mang theo một nghìn một trăm quân, đi tấn công lực lượng nhỏ bé gồm chín trăm quân của Daniel Morgan—đội quân đang đe dọa các tuyến đường liên lạc của ông. Khi Tarleton tiến đến, Morgan rút lui về một bãi chăn thả gia súc có tên là Cowpens nằm gần King's Mountain, và tại đây, vào ngày 17 tháng 1 năm 1781, Tarleton tấn công ông, để rồi rốt cuộc phải hứng chịu một thất bại hoàn toàn.
[January 17, 1781]
To the Cowpens riding proudly, boasting loudly, rebels scorning,
Tarleton hurried, hot and eager for the fight;
From the Cowpens, sore confounded, on that January morning,
Tarleton hurried somewhat faster, fain to save himself by flight.
In the morn he scorned us rarely, but he fairly found his error,
When his force was made our ready blows to feel;
When his horsemen and his footmen fled in wild and pallid terror
At the leaping of our bullets and the sweeping of our steel.
All the day before we fled them, and we led them to pursue us,
Then at night on Thickety Mountain made our camp;
There we lay upon our rifles, slumber quickly coming to us,
Spite the crackling of our camp-fires and our sentries' heavy tramp.
Morning on the mountain border ranged in order found our forces,
Ere our scouts announced the coming of the foe;
While the hoar-frost lying near us, and the distant water-courses,
Gleamed like silver in the sunlight, seemed like silver in their glow.
Morgan ranged us there to meet them, and to greet them with such favor
That they scarce would care to follow us again;
In the rear, the Continentals—none were readier, nor braver;
In the van, with ready rifles, steady, stern, our mountain men.
Washington, our trooper peerless, gay and fearless, with his forces
Waiting panther-like upon the foe to fall,
Formed upon the slope behind us, where, on raw-boned country horses,
Sat the sudden-summoned levies brought from Georgia by McCall.
Soon we heard a distant drumming, nearer coming, slow advancing—
It was then upon the very nick of nine.
Soon upon the road from Spartanburg we saw their bayonets glancing,
And the morning sunlight playing on their swaying scarlet line.
In the distance seen so dimly, they looked grimly; coming nearer,
There was naught about them fearful, after all,
Until some one near me spoke in voice than falling water clearer,
"Tarleton's quarter is the sword-blade, Tarleton's mercy is the ball."
Then the memory came unto me, heavy, gloomy, of my brother
Who was slain while asking quarter at their hand;
Of that morning when was driven forth my sister and my mother
From our cabin in the valley by the spoilers of the land.
I remembered of my brother slain, my mother spurned and beaten.
Of my sister in her beauty brought to shame;
Of the wretches' jeers and laughter, as from mud-sill up to rafter
Of the stripped and plundered cabin leapt the fierce, consuming flame.
But that memory had no power there in that hour there to depress me—
No! it stirred within my spirit fiercer ire;
And I gripped my sword-hilt firmer, and my arm and heart grew stronger;
And I longed to meet the wronger on the sea of steel and fire.
On they came, our might disdaining, where the raining bullets leaden
Pattered fast from scattered rifles on each wing;
Here and there went down a foeman, and the ground began to redden;
And they drew them back a moment, like the tiger ere his spring.
Then said Morgan, "Ball and powder kill much prouder men than George's;
On your rifles and a careful aim rely.
They were trained in many battles—we in workshops, fields, and forges;
But we have our homes to fight for, and we do not fear to die."
Though our leader's words we cheered not, yet we feared not; we awaited,
Strong of heart, the threatened onset, and it came:
Up the sloping hill-side swiftly rushed the foe so fiercely hated;
On they came with gleaming bayonet 'mid the cannon's smoke and flame.
At their head rode Tarleton proudly; ringing loudly o'er the yelling
Of his men we heard his voice's brazen tone;
With his dark eyes flashing fiercely, and his sombre features telling
In their look the pride that filled him as the champion of the throne.
On they pressed, when sudden flashing, ringing, crashing, came the firing
Of our forward line upon their close-set ranks;
Then at coming of their steel, which moved with steadiness untiring.
Fled our mountaineers, re-forming in good order on our flanks.
Then the combat's raging anger, din, and clangor, round and o'er us
Filled the forest, stirred the air, and shook the ground;
Charged with thunder-tramp the horsemen, while their sabres shone before us,
Gleaming lightly, streaming brightly, through the smoky cloud around.
Through the pines and oaks resounding, madly bounding from the mountain,
Leapt the rattle of the battle and the roar;
Fierce the hand-to-hand engaging, and the human freshet raging
Of the surging current urging past a dark and bloody shore.
Soon the course of fight was altered; soon they faltered at the leaden
Storm that smote them, and we saw their centre swerve.
Tarleton's eye flashed fierce in anger; Tarleton's face began to redden;
Tarleton gave the closing order—"Bring to action the reserve!"
Up the slope his legion thundered, full three hundred; fiercely spurring,
Cheering lustily, they fell upon our flanks;
And their worn and wearied comrades, at the sound so spirit-stirring,
Felt a thrill of hope and courage pass along their shattered ranks.
By the wind the smoke-cloud lifted lightly drifted to the nor'ward,
And displayed in all their pride the scarlet foe;
We beheld them, with a steady tramp and fearless, moving forward,
With their banners proudly waving, and their bayonets levelled low.
Morgan gave his order clearly—"Fall back nearly to the border
Of the hill and let the enemy come nigher!"
Oh! they thought we had retreated, and they charged in fierce disorder,
When out rang the voice of Howard—"To the right about, face!—Fire!"
Then upon our very wheeling came the pealing of our volley,
And our balls made red a pathway down the hill;
Broke the foe and shrank and cowered; rang again the voice of Howard—
"Give the hireling dogs the bayonet!"—and we did it with a will.
In the meanwhile one red-coated troop, unnoted, riding faster
Than their comrades on our rear in fury bore;
But the light-horse led by Washington soon brought it to disaster,
For they shattered it and scattered it, and smote it fast and sore.
Like a herd of startled cattle from the battlefield we drove them;
In disorder down the Mill-gap road they fled;
Tarleton led them in the racing, fast he fled before our chasing,
And he stopped not for the dying, and he stayed not for the dead.
Down the Mill-gap road they scurried and they hurried with such fleetness—
We had never seen such running in our lives!
Ran they swifter than if seeking homes to taste domestic sweetness,
Having many years been parted from their children and their wives.
Ah! for some no wife to meet them, child to greet them, friend to shield them!
To their home o'er ocean never sailing back;
After them the red avengers, bitter hate for death had sealed them,
Yelped the dark and red-eyed sleuth-hound unrelenting on their track.
In their midst I saw one trooper, and around his waist I noted
Tied a simple silken scarf of blue and white;
When my vision grasped it clearly to my hatred I devoted
Him, from all the hireling wretches who were mingled there in flight.
For that token in the summer had been from our cabin taken
By the robber-hands of wrongers of my kin;
'Twas my sister's—for the moment things around me were forsaken;
I was blind to fleeing foemen, I was deaf to battle's din.
Olden comrades round me lying dead or dying were unheeded;
Vain to me they looked for succor in their need.
O'er the corses of the soldiers, through the gory pools I speeded,
Driving rowel-deep my spurs within my madly-bounding steed.
As I came he turned, and staring at my glaring eyes he shivered;
Pallid fear went quickly o'er his features grim;
As he grasped his sword in terror, every nerve within him quivered,
For his guilty spirit told him why I solely sought for him.
Though the stroke I dealt he parried, onward carried, down I bore him—
Horse and rider—down together went the twain:
"Quarter!"—He! that scarf had doomed him! stood a son and brother o'er him;
Down through plume and brass and leather went my sabre to the brain—
Ha! no music like that crushing through the skull-bone to the brain.
Thomas Dunn English.
Thất bại của Tarleton đã tước đi của Cornwallis gần một phần ba binh lực, khiến tình cảnh của ông ta càng trở nên tuyệt vọng hơn bao giờ hết. Ông ta tiếp tục hành quân băng qua Bắc Carolina và giao chiến với Greene trong một trận chiến bất phân thắng bại tại Guilford Court-House vào ngày 15 tháng 3, rồi sau đó rút lui về Wilmington. Với chiến lược tuyệt vời, Greene lập tức khởi hành tiến về Nam Carolina, chiếm lại hầu như toàn bộ các pháo đài do người Anh nắm giữ tại đây, và vào ngày 8 tháng 9 đã tấn công quân Anh tại Eutaw Springs, buộc họ phải rút lui về Charleston.
[September 8, 1781]
Hark! 'tis the voice of the mountain,
And it speaks to our heart in its pride,
As it tells of the bearing of heroes
Who compassed its summits and died!
How they gathered to strife as the eagles,
When the foeman had clambered the height!
How, with scent keen and eager as beagles,
They hunted him down for the fight.
Hark! through the gorge of the valley,
'Tis the bugle that tells of the foe;
Our own quickly sounds for the rally,
And we snatch down the rifle and go.
As the hunter who hears of the panther,
Each arms him and leaps to his steed,
Rides forth through the desolate antre,
With his knife and his rifle at need.
From a thousand deep gorges they gather,
From the cot lowly perched by the rill,
The cabin half hid in the heather,
'Neath the crag which the eagle keeps still;
Each lonely at first in his roaming,
Till the vale to the sight opens fair,
And he sees the low cot through the gloaming,
When his bugle gives tongue to the air.
Thus a thousand brave hunters assemble
For the hunt of the insolent foe,
And soon shall his myrmidons tremble
'Neath the shock of the thunderbolt's blow.
Down the lone heights now wind they together,
As the mountain-brooks flow to the vale,
And now, as they group on the heather,
The keen scout delivers his tale:
"The British—the Tories are on us,
And now is the moment to prove
To the women whose virtues have won us,
That our virtues are worthy their love!
They have swept the vast valleys below us
With fire, to the hills from the sea;
And here would they seek to o'erthrow us
In a realm which our eagle makes free!"
No war-council suffered to trifle
With the hours devote to the deed;
Swift followed the grasp of the rifle,
Swift followed the bound to the steed;
And soon, to the eyes of our yeomen,
All panting with rage at the sight,
Gleamed the long wavy tents of the foeman,
As he lay in his camp on the height.
Grim dashed they away as they bounded,
The hunters to hem in the prey,
And, with Deckard's long rifles surrounded,
Then the British rose fast to the fray;
And never with arms of more vigor
Did their bayonets press through the strife.
Where, with every swift pull of the trigger,
The sharpshooters dashed out a life!
'Twas the meeting of eagles and lions;
Twas the rushing of tempests and waves;
Insolent triumph 'gainst patriot defiance,
Born freemen 'gainst sycophant slaves;
Scotch Ferguson sounding his whistle,
As from danger to danger he flies.
Feels the moral that lies in Scotch thistle,
With its "touch me who dare" and he dies!
An hour, and the battle is over;
The eagles are rending the prey;
The serpents seek flight into cover,
But the terror still stands in the way:
More dreadful the doom that on treason
Avenges the wrongs of the state;
And the oak-tree for many a season
Bears fruit for the vultures of fate!
William Gilmore Simms.
TO THE MEMORY OF THE BRAVE AMERICANS,
UNDER GENERAL GREENE, IN SOUTH CAROLINA,
WHO FELL IN THE ACTION OF SEPTEMBER 8, 1781,
AT EUTAW SPRINGS.
At Eutaw Springs the valiant died:
Their limbs with dust are covered o'er—
Weep on, ye springs, your tearful tide;
How many heroes are no more!
If in this wreck of ruin they
Can yet be thought to claim a tear,
O smite thy gentle breast, and say
The friends of freedom slumber here!
Thou who shalt trace this bloody plain,
If goodness rules thy generous breast,
Sigh for the wasted, rural reign;
Sigh for the shepherds, sunk to rest!
Stranger, their humble graves adorn;
You too may fall and ask a tear;
'Tis not the beauty of the morn
That proves the evening shall be clear—
They saw their injured country's woe;
The flaming town, the wasted field;
Then rushed to meet the insulting foe;
They took the spear,—but left the shield.
Led by thy conquering genius, Greene,
The Britons they compelled to fly;
None distant viewed the fatal plain,
None grieved, in such a cause, to die—
But, like the Parthians famed of old,
Who, flying, still their arrows threw,
These routed Britons, full as bold,
Retreated, and retreating slew.
Now rest in peace, our patriot band;
Though far from Nature's limits thrown,
We trust they find a happier land,
A brighter sunshine of their own.
Philip Freneau.
Trong khi đó, Cornwallis đã hành quân về hướng Virginia, tới Petersburg vào ngày 20 tháng 5 năm 1781, hội quân với các lực lượng Anh tại đây và nâng tổng số quân lên năm nghìn người. Ông ta tiến xuống bán đảo và lập đại bản doanh tại Yorktown, bổ sung thêm lực lượng đồn trú ở Portsmouth vào đạo quân của mình, nhờ đó quy mô lực lượng đã vượt quá bảy nghìn người.
Cornwallis led a country dance,
The like was never seen, sir,
Much retrograde and much advance,
And all with General Greene, sir.
They rambled up and rambled down,
Joined hands, then off they run, sir.
Our General Greene to Charlestown,
The earl to Wilmington, sir.
Greene in the South then danced a set,
And got a mighty name, sir,
Cornwallis jigged with young Fayette,
But suffered in his fame, sir.
Then down he figured to the shore,
Most like a lordly dancer,
And on his courtly honor swore
He would no more advance, sir.
Quoth he, my guards are weary grown
With footing country dances,
They never at St. James's shone,
At capers, kicks, or prances.
Though men so gallant ne'er were seen,
While sauntering on parade, sir,
Or wriggling o'er the park's smooth green,
Or at a masquerade, sir.
Yet are red heels and long-laced skirts,
For stumps and briars meet, sir?
Or stand they chance with hunting-shirts,
Or hardy veteran feet, sir?
Now housed in York, he challenged all,
At minuet or all 'amande,
And lessons for a courtly ball
His guards by day and night conned.
This challenge known, full soon there came
A set who had the bon ton,
De Grasse and Rochambeau, whose fame
Fut brillant pour un long tems.
And Washington, Columbia's son,
Whom easy nature taught, sir,
That grace which can't by pains be won,
Or Plutus's gold be bought, sir.
Now hand in hand they circle round
This ever-dancing peer, sir;
Their gentle movements soon confound
The earl as they draw near, sir.
His music soon forgets to play—
His feet can move no more, sir,
And all his bands now curse the day
They jiggèd to our shore, sir.
Now Tories all, what can ye say?
Come—is not this a griper,
That while your hopes are danced away,
Tis you must pay the piper?
Tại đây, một nhân tố bất ngờ xuất hiện trên sân khấu. Một hạm đội hùng mạnh của Pháp dưới quyền Bá tước de Grasse đã giương buồm tiến về vị Chesapeake, và Washington, với sự táo bạo xứng tầm với Caesar hay Napoleon, quyết định điều chuyển lực lượng của mình từ sông Hudson tới Virginia để tiêu diệt Cornwallis. Ngày 19 tháng 8, quân đội của Washington vượt sông Hudson tại King's Ferry và bắt đầu cuộc hành trình dài bốn trăm dặm của mình. Ngày 18 tháng 9, họ xuất hiện trước thành Yorktown. Đội chiến thuyền Pháp đã có mặt từ trước, và Cornwallis đã lọt vào tròng. Chẳng còn đường nào trốn thoát. Ngày 17 tháng 10, ông ta kéo cờ trắng, và hai ngày sau, quân đội Anh với hơn bảy nghìn quân đã hạ khí giới đầu hàng.
[October 19, 1781]
When British troops first landed here,
With Howe commander o'er them,
They thought they'd make us quake for fear,
And carry all before them;
With thirty thousand men or more,
And she without assistance,
America must needs give o'er,
And make no more resistance.
But Washington, her glorious son,
Of British hosts the terror,
Soon, by repeated overthrows,
Convinc'd them of their error;
Let Princeton, and let Trenton tell,
What gallant deeds he's done, sir,
And Monmouth's plains where hundreds fell,
And thousands more have run, sir.
Cornwallis, too, when he approach'd
Virginia's old dominion,
Thought he would soon her conqu'ror be;
And so was North's opinion.
From State to State with rapid stride,
His troops had march'd before, sir,
Till quite elate with martial pride,
He thought all dangers o'er, sir.
But our allies, to his surprise,
The Chesapeake had enter'd;
And now too late, he curs'd his fate,
And wish'd he ne'er had ventur'd,
For Washington no sooner knew
The visit he had paid her,
Than to his parent State he flew,
To crush the bold invader.
When he sat down before the town,
His Lordship soon surrender'd;
His martial pride he laid aside,
And cas'd the British standard;
Gods! how this stroke will North provoke,
And all his thoughts confuse, sir!
And how the Peers will hang their ears,
When first they hear the news, sir.
Be peace, the glorious end of war,
By this event effected;
And be the name of Washington
To latest times respected;
Then let us toast America,
And France in union with her;
And may Great Britain rue the day
Her hostile bands came hither.
Come, all ye bold Americans, to you the truth I tell,
Tis of a sad disaster, which late on Britain fell;
Twas near the height of Old Yorktown, where the cannons loud did roar,
A summons to Cornwallis, to fight or else give o'er.
A summons to surrender was sent unto the lord,
Which made him feel like poor Burgoyne and quickly draw his sword,
Saying, "Must I give o'er those glittering troops, those ships and armies too,
And yield to General Washington, and his brave noble crew?"
A council to surrender this lord did then command;
"What say you, my brave heroes, to yield you must depend;
Don't you hear the bomb-shells flying, boys, and the thundering cannon's roar?
De Grasse is in the harbor, and Washington's on shore."
Twas on the nineteenth of October, in the year of '81,
Cornwallis did surrender to General Washington;
Six thousand chosen British troops march'd out and grounded arms;
Huzza, ye bold Americans, for now sweet music charms.
Six thousand chosen British troops to Washington resign'd,
Besides some thousand Hessians that could not stay behind;
Both refugees and Tories all, when the devil gets his due,
O now we have got thousands, boys, but then we should have few.
Unto New York this lord has gone, surrendering you see,
And for to write these doleful lines unto his majesty;
For to contradict those lines, which he before had sent,
That he and his brave British crew were conquerors where they went.
Here's a health to General Washington, and his brave noble crew,
Likewise unto De Grasse, and all that liberty pursue;
May they scourge these bloody tyrants, all from our Yankee shore,
And with the arms of Freedom cause the wars they are all o'er.
"Vào sáng sớm một ngày cuối tuần trời tối mịt của tuần thứ tư tháng 10, một lão người Đức chất phác, chậm rãi bước đi trên các con phố ở Philadelphia trong ca gác đêm của mình, cất tiếng hô vang, 'Basht dree o'glock, und Gornvallis ish dakendt!' và những người khó ngủ liền giật mình vùng dậy khỏi giường rồi tung cửa sổ ra." Toàn bộ đất nước bùng nổ trong niềm hân hoan trước tin tức này, và mọi khoảng đất trống của làng xã đều rực sáng bởi những ngọn lửa ăn mừng.
OCTOBER, 1781
"Past two o'clock and Cornwallis is taken."
How the voice rolled down the street
Till the silence rang and echoed
With the stir of hurrying feet!
In the hush of the Quaker city,
As the night drew on to morn,
How it startled the troubled sleepers,
Like the cry for a man-child born!
"Past two o'clock and Cornwallis is taken."
How they gathered, man and maid,
Here the child with a heart for the flint-lock,
There the trembling grandsire staid!
From the stateliest homes of the city,
From hovels that love might scorn,
How they followed that ringing summons,
Like the cry for a king's heir born!
"Past two o'clock and Cornwallis is taken."
I can see the quick lights flare,
See the glad, wild face at the window,
Half dumb in a breathless stare.
In the pause of an hour portentous,
In the gloom of a hope forlorn,
How it throbbed to the star-deep heavens,
Like the cry for a nation born!
"Past two o'clock and Cornwallis is taken."
How the message is sped and gone
To the farm and the town and the forest
Till the world was one vast dawn!
To distant and slave-sunk races,
Bowed down in their chains that morn,
How it swept on the winds of heaven,
Like a cry for God's justice born!
Lewis Worthington Smith.
(Written soon after the surrender of Cornwallis)
When a certain great King, whose initial is G.,
Forces stamps upon paper and folks to drink tea;
When these folks burn his tea and stampt-paper, like stubble,
You may guess that this King is then coming to trouble.
But when a Petition he treads under feet,
And sends over the ocean an army and fleet,
When that army, half famished, and frantic with rage,
Is cooped up with a leader whose name rhymes to cage;
When that leader goes home, dejected and sad;
You may then be assur'd the King's prospects are bad.
But when B. and C. with their armies are taken
This King will do well if he saves his own bacon:
In the year Seventeen hundred and eighty and two
A stroke he shall get, that will make him look blue;
And soon, very soon, shall the season arrive,
When Nebuchadnezzar to pasture shall drive.
In the year eighty-three, the affair will be over
And he shall eat turnips that grow in Hanover;
The face of the Lion will then become pale,
He shall yield fifteen teeth and be sheared of his tail—
O King, my dear King, you shall be very sore,
From the Stars and the Stripes you will mercy implore,
And your Lion shall growl, but hardly bite more.—
Philip Freneau.
