food for their subsistence.  South of the Mason and Dixon line, however, slave labor prevailed and the three great staples—­tobacco, indigo, and rice—­were the principal crops.  Where these did not grow, the natives got along as best they could on scanty common crops, and by raising a few sheep and hogs.  As the war proceeded, it taught with more and more force the inherent wastefulness of slave labor in the South.  It was inefficient, costly, and unreliable.

The Battle of Bunker Hill was at once hailed as a Patriot victory, but the rejoicing was premature, for the Americans had been forced to retreat, giving up the position they had bravely defended.  Nevertheless, the opinion prevailed that they had won a real victory by withstanding through many hours of a bloody fight some of the best of the British regiments.

Washington took command of the American army at Cambridge, he was faced with the great task of organizing it and of forming a plan of campaign.  The Congress had taken over the charge of the army at Boston, and the events had so shaped themselves that the first thing for Washington to do was to drive out the British troops.  To accomplish this he planned to seal up all the entrances into the town by land so that food could not be smuggled in.  The British had a considerable fleet in Boston Harbor, and they had to rely upon it to bring provisions and to keep in touch with the world outside.

Washington had his headquarters at the Craigie House in Cambridge, some half a mile from Harvard Square and the College.  He was now forty-three years old, a man of commanding presence, six feet three inches tall, broad-shouldered but slender, without any signs of the stoutness of middle age.  His hands and feet were large.  His head was somewhat small.  The blue-gray eyes, set rather far apart, looked out from heavy eyebrows with an expression of attentiveness.  The most marked feature was the nose, which was fairly large and straight and vigorous.  The mouth shut firmly, as it usually does where decision is the dominant trait.  The lips were flat.  His color was pale but healthy, and rarely flushed, even under great provocation.

All that had gone before seemed to be strangely blended in his appearance.  The surveyor lad; the Indian fighter and officer; the planter; the foxhunter; the Burgess; you could detect them all.  But underlying them all was the permanent Washington, deferent, plain of speech, direct, yet slow in forming or expressing an opinion.  Most men, after they had been with him awhile, felt a sense of his majesty grow upon them, a sense that he was made of common flesh like them, but of something uncommon besides, something very high and very precious.