aces of
destination."

There were twenty-eight stand of colors to be delivered up. Twenty-eight
British captains, each bearing a flag, were drawn up in line. Opposite
to them, twenty-eight American sergeants were placed to receive the
colors. At a given signal the colors were surrendered.

The next day Washington addressed his army in words of gratulation and
tender regard. He issued the following order, also, to the army:

"Divine service is to be performed to-morrow in the several brigades and
divisions. The commander-in-chief earnestly recommends that the troops
not on duty shall universally attend, with that seriousness of
deportment and gratitude of heart which the recognition of such
reiterated and astonishing interpositions of Providence demand of us."

In the midst of this rejoicing, Washington received the sad intelligence
that his step-son, John Parke Custis, was lying at the point of death.
Mr. Custis accompanied his mother, Mrs. Washington, to Cambridge, the
first winter of the Revolution, and became one of her husband's aides.
He was taken sick after the army invested Yorktown, and no hope of his
recovery was entertained. He longed to live, however, to witness the
surrender of Cornwallis. On the day of the ceremony of capitulation, he
was taken from his bed and conveyed to the place, where he might behold
the scene. The ceremony over, he was willing to be conveyed to Elthain,
where he was taken immediately. Within thirty hours thereafter, the
message came to the general that Custis was in a dying condition.

At midnight Washington, accompanied by a single officer and groom,
started on horseback for Elthain. By rapid riding he reached there in
the morning twilight.

"Is there no hope?" he said to Dr. Craik, who met him at the door.

The doctor shook his head. Bursting into tears, Washington stepped into
an adjoining room to indulge his grief, requesting to be left alone.
While bowed in sorrow there, Custis expired.

On entering the chamber of death, Washington lovingly embraced the
weeping wife and mother, now a widow, tears responding to tears, his
deep sorrow showing how dearly he loved the departed one.

When he was able to control his grief, he turned to the group of
sorrowing friends, and said:

"From this moment I adopt his two youngest children as my own."

His presence being demanded at Yorktown, without rest or refreshment he
mounted a fresh horse, and returned thither before his absence