The Siege of Yorktown: Hamilton's Charge at Redoubt Ten

The night was black and still. No moon hung in the Virginia sky. A young officer crouched low in the tall grass and listened. Somewhere ahead, in the dark, stood a wall of earth and sharpened logs called Redoubt Ten. Behind that wall stood British soldiers with loaded muskets and fixed bayonets. Behind those soldiers stood the city of Yorktown. And if Yorktown fell, the Revolutionary War would be over. The young officer's name was Alexander Hamilton. He was twenty-six years old, slender and sharp-eyed, with sandy hair tucked under a tricorn hat. For years he had served as General Washington's aide, writing letters and carrying orders while other men won glory in battle. Hamilton was brilliant with a quill. But tonight, at last, he had asked for a different kind of honor. Tonight, he would lead men into the fight. It was October 14, 1781. General Washington's plan was bold and exact. Two allied columns would rush two small British forts at the same moment. The French would take Redoubt Nine to the left. Hamilton's men would take Redoubt Ten on the right. Both forts had to fall before dawn. If one survived, British cannons inside could tear apart the allied lines. Every second mattered. Hamilton turned to the four hundred soldiers kneeling behind him. He could barely see their faces in the darkness. Some were men who had shivered at Valley Forge. Some had crossed the Delaware on a freezing Christmas night. All of them knew what a bayonet charge meant. "No muskets," Hamilton whispered. "Not one shot. If a musket fires, the whole garrison wakes. We go in silent and we go in fast. Fix your bayonets." The soft scrape of iron on iron ran down the line. Hamilton drew his sword. He looked back once more at those tired, determined faces. "Follow me," he said quietly. "America is watching." They moved through the grass like shadows. The ground was soft. Fallen leaves cushioned their boots. Fifty yards. Forty. Then a British sentry shouted. A musket cracked. And Hamilton did the only thing left to do. He ran. "Forward!" he cried, and his voice split the dark Virginia night wide open. Four hundred men poured out of the shadows, sprinting hard, hearts hammering, bayonets gleaming. The British soldiers on the wall fired once, twice, but Hamilton's men were already at the outer barrier, chopping and pulling at the sharpened stakes with their bare hands. Wood splintered. Men grunted and pushed and climbed. Hamilton leaped onto a soldier's back and vaulted over the wall. He landed inside Redoubt Ten. Around him, his men poured over the top like a wave. The fight inside was fierce and close, fought with steel in the dark, but it lasted only minutes. One by one, British soldiers dropped their weapons and raised their hands. Redoubt Ten had fallen. Across the way, the French had taken Redoubt Nine at nearly the same moment. Both forts were gone before dawn. General Washington, watching from a distant hill, lowered his telescope and closed his eyes for a long, quiet moment. His aide whispered, "Sir, what does this mean?" Washington opened his eyes. "It means," he said softly, "that this is almost over." He was right. With both redoubts gone, the allies moved their cannons close. British General Cornwallis had nowhere left to go. Ten days later, on October 19, 1781, Cornwallis surrendered his army. A band played a tune called "The World Turned Upside Down." Young Hamilton had wanted to serve his country not just with words, but with his whole heart. On that dark October night in Virginia, he did exactly that. And the nation he helped build still stands today, strong and free, because ordinary people dared to do extraordinary things in the dark.