was anxious to return to the West Indies; and above all he
did not wish to fight in the bay. He therefore proposed firmly and
vigorously to leave two ships in the river, and stand out to sea with
his fleet. The Yorktown campaign began to look as if it had reached
its conclusion. Once again Washington wrote one of his masterly
letters of expostulation and remonstrance, and once more he prevailed,
aided by the reasoning and appeals of Lafayette, who carried the
message. De Grasse consented to stay, and Washington, grateful beyond
measure, wrote him that "a great mind knows how to make personal
sacrifice to secure an important general good." Under the
circumstances, and in view of the general truth of this complimentary
sentiment, one cannot help rejoicing that De Grasse had "a great
mind."

At all events he stayed, and thereafter everything went well. The
northern army landed at Williamsburg and marched for Yorktown on the
28th. They reconnoitred the outlying works the next day, and prepared
for an immediate assault; but in the night Cornwallis abandoned all
his outside works and withdrew into the town. Washington thereupon
advanced at once, and prepared for the siege. On the night of the 5th,
the trenches were opened only six hundred yards from the enemy's line,
and in three days the first parallel was completed. On the 11th the
second parallel was begun, and on the 14th the American batteries
played on the two advanced redoubts with such effect that the breaches
were pronounced practicable. Washington at once ordered an assault.
The smaller redoubt was stormed by the Americans under Hamilton and
taken in ten minutes. The other, larger and more strongly garrisoned,
was carried by the French with equal gallantry, after half an hour's
fighting. During the assault Washington stood in an embrasure of the
grand battery watching the advance of the men. He was always given to
exposing himself recklessly when there was fighting to be done, but
not when he was only an observer. This night, however, he was much
exposed to the enemy's fire. One of his aides, anxious and disturbed
for his safety, told him that the place was perilous. "If you think
so," was the quiet answer, "you are at liberty to step back." The
moment was too exciting, too fraught with meaning, to think of peril.
The old fighting spirit of Braddock's field was unchained for the last
time. He would have liked to head the American assault, sword in hand,
and as he c