ent an expedition up the Combahee for the purpose. General Gist, with
some Maryland troops, was there to oppose him, and the British were
compelled to retreat to Charleston. In the skirmish that ensued, the
noble Colonel John Laurens, who had volunteered in the service, was
killed. He was mourned by all as a great public loss; and his was about
the last blood that flowed in the War for Independence.[1]

On the fourteenth of December following, the British evacuated
Charleston, and on the ensuing day the Americans, under General Greene,
marched into the city and took possession. He and his army were greeted
as deliverers. From the windows, balconies, and housetops, handkerchiefs
waved, and the mingled voices of women and children shouted, "God bless
you, gentlemen! Welcome! Welcome!" That evening the last hostile sail
was seen beyond Charleston bar, as a white speck upon the horizon. At
the close of the year only New York city was held in possession by
British troops.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] John Laurens was a son of Henry Laurens, president of the
continental Congress in 1777. He joined the army early in 1777, and was
wounded in the battle of Germantown. He continued in the army (with the
exception of a few months), under the immediate command of Washington,
until after the surrender of Cornwallis, in which event he was a
conspicuous participant as one of the commissioners appointed to arrange
the terms. Early in 1781, he was sent on a special mission to France to
solicit a loan of money and to procure arms. He was successful, and on
his return received the thanks of Congress. Within three days after his
arrival in Philadelphia, he had settled all matters with Congress, and
departed for the army in the South under Greene. There he did good
service, until his death, on the Combahee, on the twenty-seventh of
August, 1782, when he was but twenty-nine years of age. Washington, who
made him his aid, loved him as a child. He declared that he could
discover no fault in him, unless it was intrepidity, bordering on
rashness. "Poor Laurens," wrote Greene, "has fallen in a paltry little
skirmish. You knew his temper, and I predicted his fate. The love of
military glory made him seek it upon occasions unworthy his rank. The
state will feel his loss." He was buried upon the plantation of Mrs.
Stock, in whose family he spent the evening previous to his death in
cheerful conversation. A small enclosure, without a stone, marks his
grave.