The Life of General Francis Marion
by M. L. Weems · English · Gutenberg #846 · 481,232 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Life of General Francis Marion
Author: M. L. Weems
Release date: March 1, 1997 [eBook #846]
Most recently updated: April 2, 2015
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/846
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE OF GENERAL FRANCIS MARION ***
Ver.04.29.93*END*
Weems' Life of General Francis Marion
[Note on text: Italicized words or phrases capitalized.
Some obvious errors have been corrected.]
IMPORTANT NOTE ON THIS TEXT:
This biography, though historically based, should not be considered factual.
It is not that there was no such man -- indeed there was, and other accounts
indicate that Francis Marion is as deserving of praise as this account
would indicate -- or moreso. It is not that the events described
did not take place -- most of them, at least, did.
It is simply that Parson Weems (Mason Locke Weems, 1759-1825),
in an honest effort to teach a high patriotism, nobility, and morality,
sometimes embellished or exaggerated his stories to the point of falsehood,
as with his invention of the cherry tree anecdote in his Life of Washington.
It seems strange that such a devotion to moral teaching should use falsehoods
to reach its audience, but he apparently felt the means justified by the end.
Not everyone agreed with his methods, and Gen. Peter Horry wrote to him:
"I requested you would (if necessary) so far alter the work
as to make it read grammatically, and I gave you leave to embellish the work,
but entertained not the least idea of what has happened . . .
You have carved and mutilated it with so many erroneous statements
your embellishments, observation and remarks, must necessarily be erroneous
as proceeding from false grounds. . . . Can you suppose I can be pleased
with reading particulars (though so elevated, by you) of Marion and myself,
when I know such never existed." Though Horry did not want to be known
as the co-author of this work, I have suffered to let his name remain,
with this notice, as it has traditionally been connected with it.
For all this, the basic ideas, gleaned largely from facts
provided by Peter Horry and Robert Marion (the nephew of Francis),
remain largely unchanged. Even in this decadent state,
Weems' biography brought the nation's attention to Francis Marion,
and inspired numerous other writers to touch on the subject --
two of these works, biographies by James and Simms, are especially noteworthy.
Therefore, for the literary, rather than strictly historical, value,
the following is presented to the reader.
Alan Light, Birmingham, Alabama, 1997.
========
Weems' Life of General Francis Marion
[Mason Locke Weems, American (Maryland) author & Anglican priest. 1759-1825.]
========
The Life of General Francis Marion,
a Celebrated Partisan Officer, in the Revolutionary War,
against the British and Tories in South Carolina and Georgia
by Brig. Gen. P. Horry, of Marion's Brigade, and
M. L. Weems, formerly rector of Mount Vernon Parish.
--------
"On VERNON'S CHIEF why lavish all our lays;
Come, honest Muse, and sing great MARION'S praise."
--------
Preface.
"O that mine enemy would write a book." -- This, in former times,
passed for as sore an evil as a good man could think of wishing
to his worst enemy. -- Whether any of my enemies ever wished me
so great an evil, I know not. But certain it is, I never dreamed
of such a thing as writing a book; and least of all a `war book'.
What, I! a man here under the frozen zone and grand climacteric of my days,
with one foot in the grave and the other hard by, to quit
my prayer book and crutches, (an old man's best companion,)
and drawing my sword, flourish and fight over again the battles of my youth.
The Lord forbid me such madness! But what can one do when one's friends
are eternally teasing him, as they are me, and calling out
at every whipstitch and corner of the streets, "Well, but, sir,
where's Marion? where's the history of Marion, that we have so long
been looking for?"
'Twas in vain that I told them I was no scholar; no historian.
"God," said I, "gentlemen, has made `many men of many minds;'
one for this thing and another for that. But I am morally certain
he never made me for a writer. I did indeed once understand
something about the use of a broadsword; but as to a pen, gentlemen,
that's quite another part of speech. The difference between
a broadsword and a pen, gentlemen, is prodigious; and it is not every officer,
let me tell you, gentlemen, who can, like Caesar, fight you a great battle
with his sword to-day, and fight it over again with his pen to-morrow."
"Burn Caesar!" replied they, "and his book too. If it were written in
letters of gold, we would not read it. What have honest republicans like us
to do with such an ambitious cut-throat and robber? Besides sir,
your reasoning about scholarship, and fine style, and all that,
does not, begging your pardon, apply at all to the case in hand.
Small subjects indeed, require great writers to set them off;
but great subjects require no such artificial helps: like true beauties,
they shine most in the simplest dress. Marion is one of this sort:
great in his simplicity. Then give us Marion -- plain, brave, honest Marion;
that's all we want, sir. And you can do this better than any other man.
You have known him longest; have fought closest by his side:
and can best tell us of his noble deeds. And surely now, after all,
you can't bear to let him die, and all his great actions,
and be forgotten forever."
This, I confess, went to the quick, and roused me completely.
"What! Marion forgotten?" I exclaimed, "Marion forgotten! and by me!"
No, never! never! while memory looks back on the dreadful days
of the revolution; when a British despot, not the NATION,
(for I esteem them most generous,) but a proud, stupid, obstinate, DESPOT,
trampling the HOLY CHARTER and constitution of England's realm,
issued against us, (sons of Britons,) that most unrighteous edict,
TAXATION without REPRESENTATION! and then, because in the spirit
of our gallant fathers, we bravely opposed him, he broke up
the very fountains of his malice, and let loose upon us
every indescribable, unimaginable curse of CIVIL WAR; when British armies,
with their Hessian, and Indian, and tory allies, overran my afflicted country,
swallowing up its fruits and filling every part with consternation;
when no thing was to be seen but flying crowds, burning houses,
and young men, (alas! too often,) hanging upon the trees like dogs,
and old men wringing their withered hands over their murdered boys,
and women and children weeping and flying from their ruined plantations
into the starving woods! When I think, I say, of these things, oh my God!
how can I ever forget Marion, that vigilant, undaunted soldier,
whom thy own mercy raised up to scourge such monsters,
and avenge his country's wrongs.
The Washington of the south, he steadily pursued the warfare most safe for us,
and most fatal to our enemies. He taught us to sleep in the swamps,
to feed on roots, to drink the turbid waters of the ditch,
to prowl nightly round the encampments of the foe, like lions
round the habitations of the shepherds who had slaughtered their cubs.
Sometimes he taught us to fall upon the enemy by surprise,
distracting the midnight hour with the horrors of our battle: at other times,
when our forces were increased, he led us on boldly to the charge,
hewing the enemy to pieces, under the approving light of day.
Oh, Marion, my friend! my friend! never can I forget thee.
Although thy wars are all ended, and thyself at rest in the grave,
yet I see thee still. I see thee as thou wert wont to ride,
most terrible in battle to the enemies of thy country.
Thine eyes like balls of fire, flamed beneath thy lowering brows.
But lovely still wert thou in mercy, thou bravest among the sons of men!
For, soon as the enemy sinking under our swords, cried for quarter,
thy heart swelled with commiseration, and thy countenance was changed,
even as the countenance of a man who beheld the slaughter of his brothers.
The basest tory who could but touch the hem of thy garment was safe.
The avengers of blood stopped short in thy presence, and turned away abashed
from the lightning of thine eyes.
O that my pen were of the quill of the swan that sings for future days!
then shouldst thou, my friend, receive the fulness of thy fame.
The fathers, of the years to come, should talk of thy noble deeds;
and the youth yet unborn should rise up and call thee blessed. Fired at
the charm of thy virtues, they should follow thee in the path of thy glory,
and make themselves the future Marions of their country.
Peter Horry.
------------------------------
The Life of General Francis Marion
------------------------------
Chapter 1.
Short sketch of an extraordinary French couple, viz.,
the grandfather and mother of our hero -- their early and happy loves --
cruel persecution of the priests -- final expulsion
from their native country -- providential settlement in South Carolina --
their prosperous and exemplary lives -- singular will of old Marion --
and birth of his grandson, Francis.
Immortal may their memory be
Who fought and bled for liberty.
One thousand seven hundred and thirty-two was a glorious year for America.
It gave birth to two of the noblest thunderbolts of her wars,
George Washington and Francis Marion. The latter was born
in St. John's parish, South Carolina. His father also was a Carolinian,
but his grandfather was a Huguenot or French Protestant,
who lived near Rochelle, in the blind and bigoted days of Louis XIV.
The priests, who are the persecutors in all countries except America,
could not bear that he should worship God in his own way,
or dream of going to heaven but in their leading strings, and therefore
soon gave him to understand, that he must either "recant or trot";
that is, quit his heresy or his country.
Too brave to play the hypocrite, and too wise to hope for happiness with
a "wounded spirit", he quickly made up his mind, and, like faithful Abraham,
forsook his country, to wander an exile in lands unknown.
The angel who guides the footsteps of the virtuous, directed his course
to South Carolina; and as a reward for his piety, placed him in a land
where mighty deeds and honors were ripening for his grandson.
Nor did he wander alone. A cherub, in the form of a lovely wife,
followed his fortunes, and gave him to know, from happy experience,
that where love is, there is no exile.
Previous to his expulsion, the priests had, for some time,
suspected young Marion of what they called "heresy".
But, learning that he was enamoured of the beautiful and accomplished
Mademoiselle Louisa D'Aubrey, and like to win her affections,
they withheld for a while, their sacred thunders, hoping,
that through fear of them, and love of her, he might yet return
to the bosom of the Catholic Church, to which she belonged.
Young Marion's suit to his fair mistress, was fortunate
to the full extent of an ardent lover's wishes. The charming girl
repaid his passion with such liberal interest, that, in a short time
after the commencement of their delicious friendship, she received him
for her husband, in spite of all that wealthier wooers could promise,
or frowning friends could threaten.
The neighboring clergy now marked the conduct of Marion with a keener eye;
and discovering in him no symptoms that pointed to recantation,
they furiously pressed the bishop to enforce against him
the edict of banishment.
At this time, Marion with his lovely Louisa, were living on a small farm
in the vicinity of Rochelle. As he walked one afternoon
in the main street of that city, he was very rudely accosted
by a couple of officers of the holy inquisition, whose looks and dress
were as dark and diabolical as their employment.
"Vous etes nommes Marion?" said they; that is "your name is Marion?"
"Yes, gentlemen, that is my name."
Upon this, they rudely thrust a letter into his hand, and turned away,
but with such looks as tigers throw at a tender lambkin,
whose well-guarded fold forbids their access. On opening the letter
he found as follows:
"Your damnable heresy, well deserves, even in this life,
that purgation by fire which awfully awaits it in the next.
But, in consideration of your youth and worthy connexions,
our mercy has condescended to commute your punishment to perpetual exile. --
You will, therefore, instantly prepare to quit your country for ever.
For, if after ten days from the date hereof, you should be found
in any part of the kingdom, your miserable body shall be consumed by fire,
and your impious ashes scattered on the winds of heaven.
"Pere Rochelle."*
--
* I forewarn all my friends from thinking me capable of charging
this vile persecuting spirit on the "Old W---e of Rome" exclusively.
No, thank God, I have not so learned human nature. And they who are yet
to learn, may, by reading the "Catholic Layman", soon get satisfied,
that the PRIESTS are as apt to abuse power as the PEOPLE, and that,
when "clad with a little brief authority," protestants as well as papists,
have committed those cruelties which make milder devils blush.
[By way of a note on a note, I would observe, that the "Catholic Layman",
is a very sensible and spirited pamphlet; the production, it is said,
of Mathew Carey, Esq., of Philadelphia, who though a Roman Catholic,
has printed more protestant Bibles and Testaments
than half the preachers and printers in America put together.]
(Mathew Carey was also Weems' publisher. -- A. L., 1997.)
--
Had this dreadful letter been presented to Marion even while a bachelor,
it would have filled him with horror; for the heart naturally cleaves
to the spot where it awoke into being, and quits, with tearful eyes,
the scenes among which were spent the first and happiest days of life.
But ties stronger than those of nature bound Marion to his country.
His country was the country of his Louisa. How could he live without her?
And how could he hope that she would ever consent to leave
her parents and friends to wander and die with him in hopeless exile?
But though greatly dejected, yet he did not despair. He still trusted
in that parent-power who smiles even under frowns, and often pours
his richest showers from the blackest clouds. Cheered with this hope,
he put the letter into his pocket, and set out to seek his Louisa.
With arms fondly interlocked, she had accompanied him that morning
to the gate on the back of the garden, through which he generally passed
when he went to Rochelle. Soon as his horse was led up,
and he about to mount, she snatched the bridle, and laughing,
vowed he should not go until he had promised her one thing.
"Well, charmer, what's that?"
"Why that you will return very soon."
"Well, indeed I will; so now let me go."
"Oh no! I am afraid that when you get out of sight you will play truant.
You must give me security."
"Well, Louisa, what security shall I give you?"
"Why you must give me that thing, whatever it be, that you hold most dear
in all the world."
"Well done! and now, Louisa, I give you yourself, the dearest thing
God ever gave me in all this world."
At this her fine face was reddened all over with blushing joy,
while her love-sparkling eyes, beaming on his, awakened that transport
which those who have felt it would not exchange for worlds. Then,
after the fond, lengthened kiss, and tender sigh of happy lovers parting,
he rode off.
Soon as he was out of her sight, she turned to go to the house.
As she passed along the garden, the sudden fancy struck her
to adorn the summer house with evergreens and flowers of the liveliest tints,
and there, amidst a wilderness of sweets, to receive her returning lover.
Animated with this fond suggestion of conjugal affection, (woman's true life,)
which at every quickened pulse diffused an answering rapture
through the virtuous breast, she commenced her pleasing task;
and with her task she mingled the music of her voice, clear and strong
as the morning lark, and sweet as from a heart full of innocence and love.
The pleasant sounds reached the ear of Marion, as he drew near the garden.
Then, entering the gate without noise, he walked up, unperceived, close to her
as she sat all alone in the arbour, binding her fragrant flowers
and singing the happy hours away. She was singing her favorite hymn,
by Madam Guyon.
"That love I sing, that wondrous love,
Which wak'd my sleeping clay;
That spread the sky in azure bright
And pour'd the golden day," &c. &c.
To see youth and beauty, though in a stranger, thus pointing to heaven,
is delightful to a pious heart. Then what rapture to an enlightened soul
to see a beloved wife thus communing with God, and becoming every day
more and more angelic!
Soon as her song was finished, he called out, "Louisa!"
Startled at the sudden call, she turned around to the well-known voice,
presenting a face on which love and sweet surprise had spread
those rosy charms, which in a moment banished all his sorrows.
"My dearest Gabriel," she exclaimed, dropping her flowers, and running
and throwing herself into his arms, "here, take back your security!
take back your security! and also my thanks for being such a man of honor.
But what brought you back, love, so much earlier than you expected?"
Here the memory of that fatal letter went like a dagger to his heart,
bleaching his manly cheeks.
He would have evaded the question; but in vain, for Louisa,
startled at the sudden paleness of his looks, insisted the more earnestly
to know the cause.
He delayed a moment, but conscious that the secret must soon come out,
he took the letter from his pocket, and with a reluctant hand
put it into hers.
Scarcely had she run through it, which she did with the most devouring haste,
when she let it drop from her hands, and faintly articulating,
"Ah, cruel priest!" she fell upon his bosom, which she bathed with her tears.
After some moments of distress too big for utterance, Marion, deeply sighing,
at length broke silence.
"Ah, Louisa! and must we part so soon!"
At this, starting up with eyes suffused with tears but beaming immortal love,
she hastily replied -- "Part!"
"Yes!" continued he, "part! for ever part!"
"No, Marion, no! never! never!"
"Ah! can you, Louisa, leave father and mother, and follow
a poor banished husband like me?"
"Yes -- yes -- father, mother, and all the world will I leave
to follow thee, Marion!"
"O blessed priest, I thank you! Good bishop Rochelle, holy father in God,
I thank you -- your persecution has enriched me above princes.
It has discovered to me a mine of love in Louisa's soul,
that I never dreamed of before."
"My dearest Gabriel, did you ever doubt my love?"
"Pardon me, my love, I never doubted your love, Oh no! I knew you loved me.
The circumstances under which you married me gave me delicious proof of that.
To have preferred me to so many wealthier wooers -- to have taken me
as a husband to the paradise of your arms, when so many others
would have sent me as a heretic to the purgatory of the inquisition,
was evidence of love never to be forgotten; but that in addition to all this
you should now be so ready to leave father and mother, country and kin,
to follow me, a poor wanderer in the earth, without even a place
where to lay my head ----"
"Yes, yes," replied she, eagerly interrupting him, "that's the very reason
I would leave all to follow you. For, oh my love! how could I enjoy
father or mother, country or kin, and you a wanderer in the earth,
without a place whereon to lay your head! That single thought
would cover my days with darkness, and drive me to distraction.
But give me your company, my Gabriel, and then welcome that foreign land with
all its shady forests! Welcome the thatched cottage and the little garden
filled with the fruits of our own fondly mingled toils! Methinks, my love,
I already see that distant sun rising with gladsome beams
on our dew-spangled flowers. I hear the wild wood-birds
pouring their sprightly carols on the sweet-scented morning.
My heart leaps with joy to their songs. Then, O my husband! if we must go,
let us go without a sigh. God can order it for our good.
And, on my account, you shall cast no lingering look behind.
I am ready to follow you wherever you go. Your God shall be my God.
Where you live I will live, and where you die, there will I die,
and will be buried by your side. Nothing my beloved, but death,
shall ever part me from you."
"Angelic Louisa!" cried Marion, snatching her to his bosom in transports --
"Wondrous woman! what do I not owe to God, ever blessed, for such a comforter!
I came just now from Rochelle with the load of a mountain on my heart.
You have taken off that mountain, and substituted a joy
most lightsome and heavenly. Like a ministering angel,
you have confirmed me in duty; you have ended my struggles --
and by so cheerfully offering to forsake all and follow me,
you have displayed a love, dear Louisa, which will, I trust,
render you next to my God, the eternal complacency and delight of my soul."
In the midst of this tender scene, a servant came running to inform Louisa
that her mother, Madame D'Aubrey, had just arrived, and was coming to her
in the garden. This startled our lovers into a painful expectation
of another trial. For as Louisa was an only daughter, and her parents
dotingly fond of her, it was not to be imagined that they would give her up
without a hard struggle. Seeing the old lady coming down the walk
towards them, they endeavored to adjust their looks, and to meet her
with the wonted smile. But in vain. The tumult in their bosoms
was still too visible in their looks to escape her discernment.
She eagerly asked the cause. Their changing countenances
served but to increase her fears and the vehemence of her curiosity.
The bishop's letter was put into her hands. Its effects on the good old lady
were truly distressing. Not having, like her daughter, the vigor of youth,
nor the fervors of love to support her, she was almost overcome.
Soon as her spirits were a little recovered, she insisted
that her daughter and son-in-law should instantly step into her coach
and go home with her. "Your father, my dear," said she to Louisa,
"your father, Monsieur D'Aubrey, will, I am certain, do something for us."
But in this she was woefully mistaken, for Monsieur D'Aubrey
was one of that blind sort who place all their religion in forms and notions.
He could smile and look very fond upon a man, though not over moral,
provided that man went to his church -- praised his preacher and opinions,
and abused everybody else; but would look very sour on the best man on earth
who differed from him in those things. In short, he was destitute of love,
the sole life of religion. And though on account of his wife's importunities
and his daughter's repose, he had consented to her marriage with Marion,
yet he never liked the young `heretic', and therefore he read
the order of his banishment without any burst of grief,
and made no effort to revoke the decrees of the church against him,
but abandoned him to his fate.
Such insensibility to her husband's interest distressed
poor Louisa exceedingly. However, it had this good effect:
It contributed greatly to lessen her regret at parting with her parents.
"O had they but loved me as you do, my Marion," said she,
"could they have been so indifferent when my all was at stake?
No, indeed," continued she, "they could not," and burst into tears.
"Dearest Louisa!" replied he, tenderly embracing her,
"would not I leave father and mother and all for you?"
"Well," returned she, with eyes of love, outshining all diamonds,
"and am I not going to leave all for you? Yet a few days and I shall have
no father, no mother, no country; cut off from all the world but you, Marion!
alas! what will become of me if you should prove cruel to me?"
"Cruel! cruel to you, Louisa! O my God, can that ever be?"
"Ah Marion! but some excellent women have left father and mother, and followed
their husbands; and yet, after all have been cruelly neglected by them!"
"Yes, Louisa; and God forgive them for that horrid crime!
But to me such a deed were utterly impossible. I live for happiness, Louisa,
I live for happiness, my angel. And I find so much happiness in loving,
that I would as soon cease to live as cease to love. Some indeed,
`sordid celebutes' for example, seem to exist without love;
but it is only a seeming existence, most joyless and imperfect.
And they bear the dullness of apathy the better, because they have never known
the transports of affection. But with me, my charmer,
the case is happily different; for at the moment I first saw those angel eyes,
they infused a sweetness into my heart unknown before.
And those delicious sparks, fanned by your loves and graces,
have now risen to such a flame of bliss, that methinks, were it to go out,
my life would go out with it. Then, my first and last, and only sweetheart,
I pray you, do not fear that I shall ever cease to love you:
for indeed that can never be while you continue even half as lovely
as you are at present."
"Well then, Marion," replied she, fondly pressing his ruddy cheeks
to her heaving bosom, "if it depends on me, on my constant affection
and studiousness to please, you shall never love me less;
but more and more every day of your life."
The next morning, accompanied by Madame D'Aubrey, Marion and Louisa
returned home in order to make the best preparations,
which the shortness of the time would allow, to quit their country for ever.
In choosing his place of exile, it has been said that Marion's thoughts
were at first turned towards the West Indies. But it would appear
that Heaven had decreed for him a different direction. For scarcely had
he reached his home, much agitated about the means of getting off in time,
before a letter was brought him from an intimate friend in Rochelle,
informing him that a large ship, chartered for the Carolinas,
by several wealthy Huguenot families, was then lying at anchor
under the Isle de Rhee. Gratefully regarding this as a beckoning from heaven,
they at once commenced their work, and prosecuted it with such spirit,
that on the evening of the ninth day they embraced their weeping friends
and went on board the ship.
It is said that many of the most respectable families of Carolina --
the Gourdines, Hugers, Trapiers, Postells, Horrys, &c. came over
in the same ship.
The next day, the clouds began to bank the eastern sky, and the winds
to whistle from the hills. Pleased with the darkly rippling waters,
the ready ship got home her anchors and loosed her sails.
Then wheeling before the freshening gale, she bid adieu to her native shores,
and on wings of wide-spread canvas, commenced her foaming course
for the western world.
But though mutual love and confidence in heaven were strong
in the bosoms of young Marion and his Louisa, yet could they not suppress
the workings of nature, which would indulge her sorrows
when looking back on the lessening shores; they beheld
dwindled to a point and trembling in the misty sky, that glorious land,
at once their own cradle and the sepulchre of their fathers.
Some natural tears they shed, but wiped them soon, for the earth
was all before them where to choose their place of rest;
and Providence their guide.
But Marion and Louisa did not leave their country empty handed.
Her Parents, 'tis supposed, gave Louisa money, but what sum,
after this long lapse of time, is uncertain. Nor does tradition say
for how much Marion sold his little farm. But it is well known
that on their arrival in Carolina, they went up into the country,
and bought a plantation on Goose Creek, near Charleston,
where their dust now sleeps, after a long life endeared by mutual love,
and surrounded by every comfort that industry and prudence can bestow.
We have said that Marion left his country for the sake of his RELIGION:
which appears to have been of that cheerful sort for which a wise man
would make any sacrifice. It was the religion of the gospel,
that blessed philosophy which asks not a face of gloom, but a heart of joy.
And thereunto enjoin a supreme love of God, and a close walk with him
in a pure and benevolent life. From this, the genuine spring
of all the sweetest charities and joys of life, Marion derived
that cheerfulness which appears never to have failed him.
Even in his last will, where most men fancy they ought to be gloomy
as the grave whither they are going, his cheerfulness continued to shine
with undiminished lustre. It was like the setting of a cloudless sun: which,
after pouring its fattening beams on the fields of a live-long summer's day,
goes down in smiles to rise a brighter beauty on another day. This will
is certainly an amiable curiosity, and as it may be of service to the reader,
by showing him how free and easy a good life makes a man with death,
I will record it: at least the principal features of it,
as I got them from the family.
After having, in the good old way, bequeathed "his soul to God who gave it,"
and "his body to the earth out of which it was taken," he proceeds
in the manner following:
In the first place, as to debts, thank God, I owe none.
And therefore shall give my executors but little trouble on that score.
Secondly -- As to the poor, I have always treated them as my brethren.
My dear family will, I know, follow my example.
Thirdly -- As to the wealth with which God has been pleased
to bless me and my dear Louisa and children, lovingly we have
labored together for it -- lovingly we have enjoyed it --
and now, with a glad and grateful heart do I leave it among them.
He then proceeds to the distribution. Liberally to his children:
but far more so to his wife -- and at the end of each bequest
assigns his reasons, viz.,
I give my ever beloved Louisa all my ready money --
that she may never be alarmed at a sudden call.
I give her all my fat calves and lambs, my pigs and poultry --
that she may always keep a good table.
I give her my new carriage and horses -- that she may visit her friends
in comfort.
I give her my family bible -- that she may live above
the ill tempers and sorrows of life.
I give my son Peter a hornbook -- for I am afraid he will always be a dunce.
But Peter was so stung with this little squib, that he instantly quit
his raccoon hunting by nights, and betook himself to reading,
and soon became a very sensible and charming young man.
His eldest son, who, after his father, was named Gabriel,
married a Miss Charlotte Corde, by whom he had six children --
Esther, Gabriel, Isaac, Benjamin, Job, and our hero Francis,
the least as well as the last of the family. As to his sister Esther,
I have never heard what became of her; but for his four brothers,
I am happy to state, that though not formidable as soldiers,
they were very amiable as citizens. They bought farms -- proved their oxen --
married wives -- multiplied good children, and thus, very unlike
our niggardly bachelors, contributed a liberal and laudable part
to the population, strength, and glory of their country.
God, I pray heartily, take kind notice of all such; and grant,
that having thus done his will in this world, they may partake of his glory
in the next.
Chapter 2.
Marion's first appearance -- a humble cultivator of the earth --
the great Cherokee war of 1761 comes on -- volunteers his services
to his country -- is appointed a first lieutenant in the provincial line --
commands a forlorn hope -- narrowly escapes with his life --
the Anglo-American and the Indian forces engaged -- bloody battle --
the Indians defeated -- their country laid waste -- peace made --
Marion retires.
Among the Mohawks of Sparta, it was a constant practice
on the birth of a male infant, to set a military granny to examine him,
as a butcher would a veal for the market, and if he were found any ways puny,
he was presently thrown into a horse pond with as little ceremony
as a blind puppy. Had such been the order of the day in 1732,
Carolina would never have boasted a Marion; for I have it from good authority,
that this great soldier, at his birth, was not larger than
a New England lobster, and might easily enough have been put into a quart pot.
This puny appearance continued with him till the age of twelve,
when it was removed by the following extraordinary providence.
On a trip to the West Indies, which his friends put him upon
for his health's sake, the little schooner in which he was embarked
was suddenly attacked by some monstrous fish, probably a thorn-back whale,
who gave it such a terrible stroke with his tail as started a plank.
The frightened crew flew to their pumps, but in vain; for the briny flood
rushed with such fury into their vessel, that they were glad to quit her,
and tumble as fast as they could into their little jolly boat.
The event showed that this was as but a leap "out of the frying pan
into the fire"; for their schooner went down so suddenly
as not to give them time to take a mouthful of food with them,
not even so much as a brown biscuit or a pint of water.
After three wretched days of feverish hunger and thirst,
they agreed to kill a little cabin dog who had swam to them from the schooner
just before she sunk. On his raw flesh they feasted without restraint;
but the blood they preserved with more economy, to cool their parched lips.
In a few days, however, their own blood, for lack of cooling food,
became so fiery hot as to scald their brain to frenzy. About the tenth day
the captain and mate leaped overboard, raving mad; and the day following
the two remaining seamen expired in the bottom of the boat,
piteously crying to the last for WATER! WATER! God of his mercy forgive me,
who have so often drank of that sweet beverage without
grateful acknowledgments! Scarcely was this melancholy scene concluded
before a vessel hove in sight, standing directly for the boat,
as if purposely sent to save the child that was tossing in it
on the gloomy waves.
Little Marion was so weak that he could not stir hand or foot to climb up
the side of the vessel. The captain, however, soon had him on board;
and by means of chocolate and turtle broth, sparingly given him at first,
recruited him so fast, that, by the time he reached his native shores,
he was in much better health than ever. So that on his return to his friends,
it was found, as is often the case, that what was at first looked on
as a great misfortune, had proved a very noble blessing. His constitution
seemed renewed, his frame commenced a second and rapid growth;
while his cheeks, quitting their pale suet-colored cast,
assumed a bright and healthy olive. According to the best accounts
that I have been able to procure, Marion never thought of another trip to sea,
but continued in his native parish, in that most independent and happy
of all callings, a cultivator of the earth, till his twenty-seventh year.
A report then prevailing that the Cherokee Indians were murdering
the frontier settlers, Marion turned out with his rifle,
as a volunteer under governor Lyttleton. The affair, however,
proved to be a mere flash in the pan: for the Cherokees finding
that things were not exactly in the train they wished, sent on a deputation
with their wampum belts and peace-talks to bury the hatchet
and brighten the old chain of friendship with the whites;
and the good-natured governor, thinking them sincere,
concluded a treaty with them. The troops of course were dismissed,
and Marion returned to his plantation.
Scarcely, however, had two years elapsed, before the perfidious Cherokees
broke out again in a fresh place, killing and driving
the defenceless inhabitants at a most barbarous rate.
Marion instantly flew again to the governor with the tender of his services
to fight for his afflicted countrymen. His excellency was so pleased
with this second instance of Marion's patriotism, that he gave him
a first lieutenancy in the provincial line under the brave captain
William Moultrie. The reported force and fury of the Indians
struck such a terror through the colony, that colonel Grant (of the British)
with twelve hundred regulars, was ordered out on a forced march
to succor the bleeding frontiers.
On their way they were joined at Ninety-Six, May 14, 1761,
by twelve hundred provincials, all men of surest aim with the deadly rifle.
To draw off the enemy from their murderous excursions,
Col. Grant wisely determined to push the war at once into their own country;
which was no sooner discovered by them, than they instantly
collected their whole force to oppose him. The only passage
into their country was through a dark defile or gap in the mountain,
which it was resolved should be forced as rapidly as possible.
A forlorn hope of thirty brave fellows were ordered to explore
the dangerous pass: and Marion, though but a young lieutenant,
had the honor to be appointed their leader. At the head of his command
he advanced with rapidity, while the army moved on to support him.
But scarcely had they entered the gloomy defile, when,
from behind the rocks and trees, a sheet of fire suddenly blazed forth,
which killed twenty-one of his men! With the remainder, he faced about
and pushed back with all speed; whereupon great numbers of tall savages,
frightfully painted, rushed from their lurking places,
and with hideous yells and uplifted tomahawks, pursued and gained upon them
so fast, that nothing but the nearness of the advanced guard
saved them from destruction. The Anglo-American army then prepared themselves
for a serious and bloody conflict.
An enemy in such force, so well posted, and defending the only pass
into their country, would, they well knew, fight desperately.
And well aware, also what slaughter would follow upon their own defeat,
they determined to yield the victory only with their lives.
A long summer's day was before them, for the sun had just risen
above the hills, a bright spectator of the coming fight. Then,
in high spirits, with justice on their side, and an approving conscience,
they cheerfully left the event to Heaven. The British were formed
in small corps, the more promptly to support the riflemen, who led the van,
and now with wide extended wings began to move. In a little time
they came in sight of the enemy, who appeared flying backwards and forwards,
as if not well satisfied with their ground. The provincial marksmen
then rapidly advancing, flew each to his tree, and the action began.
From wing to wing, quite across the defile, the woods appeared
as if all on fire; while the incessant crash of small arms
tortured the ear like claps of sharpest thunder. The muskets of the British,
like their native bull-dogs, kept up a dreadful roar, but scarcely did more
than bark the trees, or cut off the branches above the heads of the Indians.
While, with far less noise, the fatal rifles continued to lessen
the numbers of the enemy. The action was kept up with great spirit
for nearly two hours, during which the superiority of the American riflemen
was very remarkably displayed. For in that time they lost only fifty-one --
whereas of the Indians there fell one hundred and three,
which so disheartened them that they fled and gave up their country
to the conquerors, who prepared immediately to enter it.
Colonel Grant had hoped to surprise their towns, but concluding
that their swift-footed runners had given the alarm, he moved on
in slow marches through the wilderness towards the settlements,
thinking that by the destruction of their towns and corn-fields
he should drive them into a disposition for peace.
Marion often spoke of this part of the war, as of a transaction which
he remembered with sorrow. "We arrived," said he, in a letter to a friend,
"at the Indian towns in the month of July. As the lands were rich
and the season had been favorable, the corn was bending
under the double weight of lusty roasting ears and pods of clustering beans.
The furrows seemed to rejoice under their precious loads --
the fields stood thick with bread. We encamped the first night in the woods,
near the fields, where the whole army feasted on the young corn,
which, with fat venison, made a most delicious treat.
"The next morning we proceeded by order of colonel Grant,
to burn down the Indians' cabins. Some of our men seemed to enjoy
this cruel work, laughing very heartily at the curling flames,
as they mounted loud crackling over the tops of the huts.
But to me it appeared a shocking sight. Poor creatures! thought I,
we surely need not grudge you such miserable habitations.
But when we came, according to orders, to cut down the fields of corn,
I could scarcely refrain from tears. For who could see the stalks
that stood so stately with broad green leaves and gaily tasseled shocks,
filled with sweet milky fluid and flour, the staff of life;
who, I say, without grief, could see these sacred plants
sinking under our swords with all their precious load,
to wither and rot untasted in their mourning fields?
"I saw every where around the footsteps of the little Indian children,
where they had lately played under the shade of their rustling corn.
No doubt they had often looked up with joy to the swelling shocks,
and gladdened when they thought of their abundant cakes for the coming winter.
When we are gone, thought I, they will return, and peeping through the weeds
with tearful eyes, will mark the ghastly ruin poured over their homes
and happy fields, where they had so often played.
"`Who did this?' they will ask their mothers.
"`The white people did it;' the mothers reply; `the christians did it!'
"Thus for cursed Mammon's sake, the followers of Christ have sown
the hellish tares of hatred in the bosoms even of pagan children."
The reader will, however, with pleasure remember that these
were the dark deeds chiefly of a kingly government.* A gloomy monarch,
three thousand miles distant, and rolling in all the pomps and pleasures
of three millions of dollars per annum, could hardly be supposed to know
what was passing in the American wilds; but Washington had known.
With bleeding heart he had often beheld the red and white men
mingling in bloody fight. The horrors of the cruel strife
dwelt upon his troubled thoughts; and soon as God gave him power,
(AS PRESIDENT OF INDEPENDENT AMERICA,) he immediately adopted
that better system which he had learnt from the gospel. His successors,
Adams, Jefferson, and Madison, have piously pursued his plan.
In place of the tomahawk, the plough-share is sent to the poor Indians --
goods are furnished them at first cost -- letters and morals
are taught among their tribes -- and the soul of humanity is rejoiced
to see the red and white men meet together like brothers.
--
* This generalization is doubtful for the time of which Weems speaks,
and is certainly false for some subsequent periods,
in which Great Britain had far better relations with native peoples
(as in Canada) than did the United States. -- A. L., 1997.
--
By this god-like policy, the United States have not only saved
an immensity of blood and treasure, but are rapidly adding
to the population and strength of the country.
Now to return to Marion's letter. -- "After burning twenty towns,
and destroying thousands of cornfields,* the army returned to Koewee,
where the `Little Carpenter', a Cherokee chief, met colonel Grant
and concluded a peace." The troops were then disbanded:
and Marion returned to his plantation in St. John's parish,
where, with a few well-fed slaves, he continued to till his parental acres,
occasionally amusing himself with his gun and fishing rod,
of which he was always very fond.
--
* To this day the Indians cannot bear the name of colonel Grant;
and whenever they see a drove of horses destroying a corn-field,
they call out "Grant, Grant."
--
Chapter 3.
War between England and America -- Marion appointed a captain
in the Second South Carolina regiment -- goes with the author
on the recruiting service -- curious anecdote of lieut. Charnock
and captain Johnson -- some melancholy and memorable relations.
Marion continued to tread the peaceful and pleasant walks of life, as above,
till the beginning of May, 1775, when, by a vessel direct from Boston,
news was brought of the gallant battle of Lexington.
Instantly the whole town and country were in a flame for war,
and the legislature being purposely convened, hastened to meet
the wishes of the people, who were clamorous for raising two regiments
for the service.
On balloting for officers, Marion's ticket came out for a captaincy
in the second regiment, under command of the brave William Moultrie.
In a little time my name was called out as a captain, also,
in the same regiment with Marion. This to me, was matter of great joy,
as I had long courted the friendship of Marion. For though he was
neither handsome, nor witty, nor wealthy, yet he was universally beloved.
The fairness of his character -- his fondness for his relations --
his humanity to his slaves -- and his bravery in the Indian war,
had made him the darling of the country. It is not, therefore,
to be wondered at, that I should have taken such a liking to Marion,
but why he should have conceived such a partiality for me,
that's the question. But it is no business of mine to solve it.
However, very certain it is, that on the first moment of our acquaintance,
there was something in his eyes and looks towards me which led me to think
there must be truth in the old saying of "people's falling in love
at first sight." And when it is considered, that strong attachments
generally spring from congenialities, I must confess,
that the warm and constant friendship of Marion has ever appeared to me
exceedingly flattering.
But to return to my narrative. -- Our commissions as captains,
were soon made out, and signed by the council of safety,
the 21st of June, 1775. As we were a couple of flaming patriots,
we could not bear to be idle a single moment -- marching, fighting, killing,
and taking prisoners, was all that we could think or talk of.
But as all this fine sport could not be carried on without men,
nor men to be had without recruiting; recruiting, of course,
appeared to be the first act and prologue of our play.
"But what shall we do for money, captain Marion?" said I.
"Why," replied he, "we must get it from the assembly."
The assembly was accordingly applied to, but alas! "could not help us
to a single dollar!"
I wonder whether posterity will ever muster faith to believe
that the grey heads of South Carolina, without a penny in pocket,
ventured to war with Great Britain, the nation of the longest purse in Europe?
Surely it was of him who pitted young David with his maiden sling and pebbles
against the giant Goliath.
But though the poverty of the legislature was enough to have thrown a damp
on spirits of ordinary heat, yet to a flaming zeal like ours,
it only served as water on a fiery furnace, to make it blaze the fiercer.
"Why truly, Horry!" said Marion, "this looks unpromising,
but we must not mind it my hero, I'll tell you what --
if the assembly can't help us, we must e'en help ourselves!
So come let us try what we can do on our own credit."
"With all my heart," I replied.
So away went we to borrow money of our friends in Charleston;
I mean hard money. And hard money it was indeed. The gold and silver
all appeared as if it had caught the instinct of water-witches, diving at
the first flash of the war, to the bottom of misers' trunks and strong boxes.
For two whole days, and with every effort we could make, we collected
but the pitiful sum of one hundred dollars! However, fully resolved
that nothing should stop us, we got our regimentals the next morning
from the tailor's, and having crammed our saddlebags with some clean shirts,
a stout luncheon of bread and cheese, and a bottle of brandy,
we mounted, and with hearts light as young lovers on a courting scheme,
we dashed off to recruit our companies. Our course was towards Georgetown,
Black River, and Great Pedee. Fortune seemed to smile on our enterprise;
for by the time we reached Pedee, we had enlisted thirty-seven men,
proper tall fellows, to whom we gave furloughs of two days
to settle their affairs, and meet us at the house of a Mr. Bass,
tavern-keeper, with whom we lodged. I should have told the reader,
that we had with us, a very spirited young fellow by the name of Charnock,
who was my lieutenant.
On the second day, a captain Johnson of the militia, came to Bass's,
and took lieutenant Charnock aside, and after prattling a great deal to him
about the "cursed hardship", as he was pleased to call it,
"of kidnapping poor clodhoppers at this rate," he very cavalierly
offered him a guinea for himself, and a half joe a-piece for Marion and me
to let the recruits go.
Never did a poor silly puppy more completely take the wrong sow by the ear,
than did Mr. captain Johnson, in thus tampering with lieutenant Charnock.
For Charnock, though remarkably good natured and polite among men of honor,
could not bear the least approach of any thing that looked like rascality.
Immediately, therefore, on hearing this infamous proposition,
he brought Johnson into the dining room where Marion and myself were sitting,
and, in his presence, told us the whole affair.
Oh that my young countrymen could all have been there,
that they might have seen what a pale trembling, pitiful figure
a detected rascal makes! I am sure they could never have lost
that blessed moment's impression in favor of truth and honor.
After much swallowing, Johnson, however, at last, got the better
of his conscience, and came on with a stout denial of the fact.
Whereupon Charnock, snatching a pair of pistols, ordered him
to take one and fight him on the spot. This being refused,
the furious lieutenant instantly fell upon him with a cane.
Sensible that Johnson had very richly deserved this ignominious chastisement,
we gave him up to Charnock, who thrashed him very soundly,
until, falling on his knees, he roared out for quarter.
Charnock then ordered him to be gone, but with the severest threats
in case the recruits were not forthcoming at the appointed time.
On the morrow they came, and "let the cat out of the bag." It appeared then,
that that most worthless fellow, Johnson, had told the poor simple recruits
such dreadful stories about the war, that in their fright they had offered him
all their cows and calves to get them off!
Our success in the recruiting business far exceeded our expectations,
for in a very short time we made up our full complement of sixty men each.
I have often lamented it as a most serious misfortune that we did not enlist
for the war. I am certain we could as easily have enlisted for the war
as for six months. We should then have had a host of veterans,
masters of their dreadful art, inured to hardships, scornful of danger,
and completely able to purge our country of her cruel invaders.
As a place of greater security from the enemy's vessels, Dorchester had
been pitched on as a deposite for ammunition and military stores,
and put under a guard of militia. But fearing that the tories
might rise upon this slender force and take away our powder,
an article, at that time, of incalculable value, the council of safety
advised to add a company of regulars, under some brave and vigilant officer.
Marion had the honor to be nominated to the command,
and, on the 19th of November, 1775, marched to the post, where he continued,
undisturbed by the tories, until Christmas, when he was ordered
down to Charleston to put fort Johnson in a state of defence.
About this time an affair happened in Charleston, which filled with horror
all who witnessed it. Captain Fuller, of the second regiment,
a gentleman in other respects very amiable and exemplary,
gave himself up to hard drinking, and to such an excess as brought on
an inflammation in the brain. In this frantic state, with wild rolling eyes,
and a face shockingly bloated and red, he would behave for all the world
as if he were leading his men into action. "Come on, my brave fellows,"
he would cry, "now be cool and steady -- reserve your fire till I say the word
-- now give it to them, my heroes -- hurra, they run, they run.
I thank you, my lads, for your gallantry in your country's cause."
All this time the sweat would roll in torrents down his cheeks.
Then, quite exhausted, he would fall on his knees, and with clasped hands,
and eyes lifted to heaven, would pronounce the Lord's Prayer and the creed
in the most moving manner. For several days the soldiers gathered around him
while thus employed: and often with tears in their eyes,
would observe the total ruin which intemperance had brought upon
this once elegant young gentleman. -- His friends in the country,
hearing of his deplorable condition, came and took him home,
where death soon put an end to all his miseries.
In a short time after this, our regiment was deprived of another
very genteel young officer, lieutenant Perrineau; who also fell
an early sacrifice to that most shameful and detestable practice
of morning slings and mid-day draughts of strong grog.
After these two tragedies, the reader will not, I hope, be displeased
with the following farce, which was acted in fort Johnson,
while Marion was repairing it, in January, 1776. The principal actors in it,
were captain Marion, and a young lieutenant, whose name, delicacy,
yet a while, bids me suppress. This officer, though in his person
as handsome as Absalom, or the blooming Adonis, was as destitute of soul
as a monkey. He appeared to have no idea above that of dress and diversion:
and provided he could but compass his own little pitiful ends,
which were always of the sensual sort, he cared not how shamefully
he prevaricated and lied, but would wink, and grin, and chuckle,
as if he had done some great thing. He had served under a score of captains,
who had all spoken of him as a slippery, worthless fellow,
whom they knew not what to do with. But though most heartily despised,
the fool had the vanity to think himself amazingly clever;
and actually boasted to me one day, that he would soon let me see
how far he was over my famous captain Marion's speed. Presently he hears
that there is to be, next week, a great cock-fight at Dorchester.
Instantly his childish spirits are all on a fever to see the cock-fight.
"Oh heavens! he would not miss the cock-fight for the world!"
But how to obtain leave of absence from the fort at this busy time,
was the rub; however, for such means as he was capable of using,
an invention like his could not long be at a loss. In short,
he went to Marion, with a doleful face, and in piteous accents,
stated that his father, an excellent old man as ever son was blessed with,
was at his last gasp, and only wanted to see him before he died.
The generous Marion, not suspecting that so goodly an outside
could cover such falsehood, did not wait to hear the coming petition,
but instantly granted his wish, unheard -- "To be sure, lieutenant, go,
by all means, go and wait upon your father; but return as soon as possible,
for you see how much we have to do."
The lieutenant affected to be quite overcome with Marion's generosity,
and swore he would be back in two days, or at farthest in three.
As he stepped along by me, he thrust his tongue into his cheek,
and looked prodigiously arch, as if he had achieved a grand exploit.
As soon as he was gone, I told Marion I suspected it was all a trick.
And so it turned out; for instead of hurrying off, as he had pretended,
to see his dying father, he slipt over to Charleston, where,
for fear of being seen by any of our officers, he skulked about
in the lower lanes and alleys until it was time to go up to the cock-fight
at Dorchester.
At length after a fortnight's absence, he came over to the fort,
and entering the marquee, where Marion was sitting with his officers,
he began to bow and scrape. As if not perceiving him,
Marion turned his head another way. The lieutenant then,
exceedingly embarrassed, came out with his apology, -- "I am sorry, sir,
to have outstayed my time so long; but -- but I could not help it --
but now I am returned to do my duty."
Marion turned very quickly upon him, and with a most mortifying neglect,
said, "Aye, lieutenant, is that you? Well, never mind it --
there is no harm done -- I never missed you."
The poor lieutenant was so completely cut up, that he could not say a word,
but sneaked off, hanging down his head, and looked much more
like a detected swindler than a gentleman soldier.
The officers, who were all prodigiously pleased with his confusion,
presently went out and began to rally him -- "Ah, ha, lieutenant,
and so the captain has given you a set down."
"A set down," replied he, very angrily, "a set down, do you call it!
I had rather a thousand times he had knocked me down --
an ugly, cross, knock-kneed, hook-nosed son of a b-t-h!"
The officers almost split their sides with laughing.
The story soon took wind; and the poor lieutenant did not hear the last of it
for many a day. I have often heard him say, that nothing ever
so completely confounded him, as did that dry, cutting speech of Marion.
"I was never at a loss before," said he, "to manage all other officers
that were ever set over me. As for our colonel, (meaning Moultrie)
he is a fine, honest, good-natured old buck. But I can wind him
round my finger like a pack thread. But as for the stern, keen-eyed Marion,
I dread him."
The truth is, Marion wished his officers to be gentlemen.
And whenever he saw one of them acting below that character,
he would generously attempt his reformation. And few men, perhaps,
ever knew better how to manage truants from duty.
To a coarse, conceited chap, like our lieutenant, Marion gave no quarter,
but checked him at once, but still in a way that was quite gentlemanly,
and calculated to overawe. He kept him at arms' length --
took no freedoms with him -- nor allowed any -- and when visited on business,
he would receive and treat him with a formality sufficient to let him see
that all was not right.
The effect of such management evinced the correctness of Marion's judgment.
The young lieutenant became remarkably polite, and also attentive to duty.
In short, no subaltern behaved better. And this very happy change
in his manners, was soon succeeded by as pleasing a change in the sentiments
of all around him. The officers of the regiment grew fond of him --
Marion spoke of him with pleasure, as an excellent soldier --
and he of Marion, as his best friend.
This is sufficient to show the truth of the remark made by Aristotle --
"that there is no art so difficult and godlike as that of managing men
to their own happiness and glory."
Chapter 4.
The clouds of danger darker and darker -- two additional regiments raised --
Marion promoted to a majority -- fort Moultrie built --
A British fleet and army invade Carolina -- grand preparations
to receive them -- admirable patriotism of the Charleston ladies --
heavy attack on fort Moultrie -- glorious defence of the garrison.
The cloud of war growing still darker and darker every day,
the council of safety determined to raise a regiment of artillery,
and another of infantry. In consequence of this, several of the officers
of the former regiments were promoted. Among these was my friend Marion,
who from the rank of captain, was raised to a majority.
His field of duties became, of course, much more wide and difficult,
but he seemed to come forward to the discharge of them
with the familiarity and alertness of one who, as general Moultrie
used to say, was born a soldier. In fact, he appeared never so happy,
never so completely in his element, as when he had his officers and men
out on parade at close training. And for cleanliness of person,
neatness of dress, and gentlemanly manners, with celerity and exactness
in performing their evolutions, they soon became the admiration and praise
both of citizens and soldiers. And indeed I am not afraid to say
that Marion was the `architect' of the second regiment, and laid
the foundation of that excellent discipline and confidence in themselves,
which gained them such reputation whenever they were brought
to face their enemies.
In March, 1776, I was sent over with my company, to Sullivan's island,
to prevent the landing of the British from the men-of-war,
the Cherokee and Tamar, then lying in Rebellion road. I had not been long
on that station, before Col. Moultrie came over with his whole regiment
to erect a fort on the island.
The truth is, the governor had of late become confoundedly afraid of a visit
from the British. The great wealth in Charleston must, he thought,
by this time, have set their honest fingers to itching --
and we also suspected that they could hardly be ignorant
what a number of poor deluded gentlemen, called tories, we had among us.
The arrival of colonel Moultrie, with the second regiment, afforded me
infinite satisfaction. It brought me once more to act in concert with Marion.
'Tis true, he had got one grade above me in the line of preferment;
but, thank God, I never minded that. I loved Marion, and "love,"
as every body knows, "envieth not." We met like brothers.
I read in his looks the smiling evidence of his love towards me:
and I felt the strongest wish to perpetuate his partiality.
Friendship was gay within my heart, and thenceforth all nature WITHOUT
put on her loveliest aspects. The island of sand no longer seemed
a dreary waste. Brighter rolled the blue waves of ocean beneath
the golden beam; and sweeter murmured the billows on their sandy beach.
My heart rejoiced with the playful fishes, as they leaped high
wantoning in the air, or, with sudden flounce, returned again,
wild darting through their lucid element. Our work went on in joy.
The palmetto trees were brought to us by the blacks, in large rafts,
of which we constructed, for our fort, an immense pen, two hundred feet long,
and sixteen feet wide, filled with sand to stop the shot.
For our platforms, we had two-inch oak planks, nailed down with iron spikes.
With glad hearts we then got up our carriages and mounted our guns,
of which twelve were 18 pounders -- twelve 24's, and twelve French 36's,
equal to English 42's.
A general joy was spread over the faces of our regiment,
as we looked along our battery of thunderers.
But our glorifying, under God, was chiefly in our two and forty pounders.
And indeed their appearance was terrible, where they lay
with wide Cerberean mouths, hideously gaping over the roaring waves,
and threatening destruction to the foes of liberty.
They were soon called to a trial of their metal. -- For on the 31st of May,
while we were all busily driving on with our fort, suddenly a cry was heard,
"a fleet! a fleet, ho!" Looking out to sea, we all at once beheld,
as it were, a wilderness of ships, hanging, like snow-white clouds
from the north-east sky. It was the sirs Parker and Clinton,
hastening on with nine ships of war and thirty transports,
bearing three thousand land forces, to attack Charleston.
Such an armament was an awful novelty, that produced on us all
a momentary flutter; but, thank God, no serious fear. On the contrary,
it was very visible in every glowing cheek and sparkling eye, as we looked,
LAUGHING, on one another, that we considered the approaching conflict
as a grand trial of courage, which we rather desired than dreaded.
And to their equal praise, our gallant countrymen in Charleston,
as we learned daily, by the boats, were all in fine spirits,
and constantly making their best preparations to receive the enemy.
And still my pen trembles in my hand; even after this long lapse of time,
it trembles with wonder and delight, to tell of that immortal fire,
which in those perilous days, glowed in the bosoms of the Charleston FAIR.
Instead of gloomy sadness and tears, for the dark cloud
that threatened their city, they wore the most enlivening looks --
constantly talked the boldest language of patriotism --
animated their husbands, brothers, and lovers to fight bravely --
and, for themselves, they vowed they would "never live the slaves of Britain."
Some people in our days, may not believe me, when I add of these
NOBLE ladies, that they actually begged leave of their commandant,
to let them "fight by the sides of their relatives and friends."
This, though a glorious request, was absolutely refused them.
For who could bear to see the sweet face of beauty roughened over
with the hard frowns of war; or, the warrior's musket, on those tender bosoms,
formed of heaven only to pillow up the cheeks of happy husbands,
and of smiling babes?
But though the SPIRITS of the ladies were willing, their NERVES were weak;
for when the British ships of war hove in sight, opposite to the town,
they all went down to the shore to view them. And then strong fear,
like the cold wind of autumn, struck their tender frames with trembling,
and bleached their rosy cheeks. Some, indeed, of the younger sort,
affected to laugh and boast; but the generality returned silent and pensive,
as from a funeral, hanging their lovely heads, like rows of sickly jonquils,
when the sun has forsaken the garden, and faded nature
mourns his departed beams. Sisters were often seen to turn pale and sigh,
when they looked on their youthful brothers, while tender mothers,
looking down on their infant cherubs at the breast, let drop
their pearly sorrows, and exclaimed, "happy the wombs that bear not,
and the paps that give no suck."
In consequence of a most extraordinary continuation of calms,
baffling winds, and neap tides, the enemy's ships never got within our bar
till the 27th of June, and on the following morn, the memorable 28th,
they weighed anchor on the young flood, and before a fine breeze,
with top gallant sails, royals, and sky scrapers all drawing,
came bearing up for the fort like floating mountains.
The anxious reader must not suppose that we were standing all this while,
with finger in mouth, idly gaping like children on a raree show.
No, by the Living! but, fast as they neared us, we still kept our thunders
close bearing upon them, like infernal pointers at a dead set;
and as soon as they were come within point blank shot, we clapped our matches
and gave them a tornado of round and double-headed bullets,
which made many a poor Englishman's head ache. Nor were they long
in our debt, but letting go their anchors and clewing up their sails,
which they did in a trice, they opened all their batteries,
and broke loose upon us with a roar as if heaven and earth
had been coming together.
Such a sudden burst of flame and thunder, could not but make us
feel very queer at first, especially as we were young hands,
and had never been engaged in such an awful scene before.
But a few rounds presently brought us all to rights again,
and then, with heads bound up, and stripped to the buff,
we plied our bull-dogs like heroes.
The British outnumbered us in men and guns, at least three to one,
but then our guns, some of them at least, were much the heaviest,
carrying balls of two and forty pounds weight! and when the monsters,
crammed to the throat with chained shot and infernal fire, let out,
it was with such hideous peals as made both earth and ocean tremble.
At one time it appeared as though, by a strange kind of accident,
all their broad-sides had struck us at once, which made the fort
tremble again. But our palmettoes stood the fire to a miracle,
closed up without sign of splinter, on their shot, which was stopped
by the intermediate sand; while, on the other hand, every bullet
that we fired, went through and through their ships, smashing alike
sailors, timber heads, and iron anchors, in their furious course.
And thus was the order of our battle -- there, a line of seven tall ships;
and here, one little, solitary fort -- there, British discipline;
and here, American enthusiasm -- there, brave men fighting for a tyrant;
and here, heroes contending for liberty. I am old now, and have forgotten
many things, but never shall I forget the heart-burnings of that day,
when I heard the blast of those rude cannon, that bade me be a slave;
and still my aged bosom swells with the big joy when I hear,
which I often do in fancy's ear, the answer of our faithful bull-dogs,
as with deafening roar, lurid flame and smoke, they hurled back
their iron curses on the wicked claim. But alas! for lack of ammunition,
our opening victory was soon nipped like a luckless flower, in the bud:
for the contest had hardly lasted an hour, before our powder was so expended
that we were obliged, in a great measure, to silence our guns,
which was matter of infinite mortification to us, both because of the grief
it gave our friends, and the high triumph it afforded our enemies.
"Powder! Powder! millions for powder!" was our constant cry.
Oh! had we but had plenty of that `noisy kill-seed', as the Scotchmen call it,
not one of those tall ships would ever have revisited Neptune's
green dominion. They must inevitably have struck, or laid their vast hulks
along-side the fort, as hurdles for the snail-loving `sheep's heads'.
Indeed, small as our stock of ammunition was, we made several of their ships
look like sieves, and smell like slaughter pens. The commodore's ship,
the Bristol, had fifty men killed, and upwards of one hundred wounded!
The laurels of the second regiment can never fade -- the destructive effect
of their fire gave glorious proof, that they loaded and levelled their pieces
like men who wished every shot to tell. They all fought like veterans;
but the behavior of some was gallant beyond compare; and the humble names
of Jasper and M'Donald shall be remembered, when those of proud kings
shall be forgotten.
A ball from the enemy's ships carried away our flag-staff.
Scarcely had the stars of liberty touched the sand,
before Jasper flew and snatched them up and kissed them with great enthusiasm.
Then having fixed them to the point of his spontoon,
he leaped up on the breast-work amidst the storm and fury of the battle,
and restored them to their daring station -- waving his hat at the same time
and huzzaing, "God save liberty and my country for ever!"
As to sergeant M'Donald, while fighting like a hero, at his gun,
a cannon ball came in at the port hole, and mangled him miserably.
As he was borne off, he lifted his dying eyes, and said to his comrades,
"Huzza, my brave fellows, I die, but don't let the cause of liberty
die with me."
The effect of our last gun, and which happened to be fired by Marion,
is too remarkable to be lost. It was his lot that day to command
the left wing of the fort, where many of our heaviest cannon were planted.
As from lack of powder, we were obliged to fire very slow,
Marion would often level the guns himself. And now comes my story. --
Just after sunset the enemy's ships ceased firing, and slipping their cables,
began to move off. Pleased with the event, an officer on
the quarter deck of the Bristol man-of-war, called out to his comrade,
"Well, d--n my eyes, Frank, the play is over! so let's go below and hob nob
to a glass of wine, for I am devilish dry!"
"With all my heart, Jack;" replied the other; so down they whipped
into the cabin, where the wine and glasses had been standing all day
on the table. At that moment, one of our two and forty pounders
being just loaded, Marion called to colonel Moultrie, and asked him
if it would not be well enough to give them the last blow.
"Yes," replied Moultrie, "give them the parting kick."
Marion clapped the match, and away, in thunder and lightning went the ball,
which, entering the cabin windows, shattered the two young friends:
thence raging through the bulk-heads and steerage, it shivered three sailors
on the main deck, and, after all, bursting through the forecastle
into the sea, sunk with sullen joy to the bottom.
We got this story from five British seamen, who ran off
with the Bristol's long boat, and came and joined us that very night.
The next day, that noble whig, Mr. William Logan, sent us
a couple of fat beeves and a hogshead of rum, "to refresh us,"
as he was pleased to say, "after our hard day's work."
And on the second day after the action, the governor and council,
with numbers of the great ladies and gentlemen of Charleston,
came over to the fort to visit us. We all put on our "best bibs and tuckers,"
and paraded at the water's edge to receive them, which we did
with a spanking `feu de joie'*, and were not a little gratified
with their attentions and handsome compliments paid us,
for what they politely termed "our gallant defence of our country."
--
* Bonfire. -- A. L., 1997.
--
And indeed to see the looks of our poor soldiers, when those great ladies,
all glittering in silks and jewels, and powdered and perfumed so nice,
would come up to them, with faces like angels, sparkling and smiling so sweet,
as if they would kiss them; I say, to see the looks of our poor fellows,
their awkward bows and broad grins, and other droll capers they cut,
no human being could have refrained from laughing.
Presently that excellent lady, Mrs. Colonel Elliot (of the artillery,)
came forward and presented us with a most superb pair of colors,
embroidered with gold and silver by her own lily-white hands.
They were delivered, if I mistake not, to the brave sergeant Jasper,
who smiled when he took them, and vowed he "would never give them up
but with his life."
Poor fellow! he too soon made good his promise, near the fatal
walls of Savannah.
But it was not the ladies alone that were attentive to us,
for that great man, governor Rutledge, in presence of the regiment,
took the sword from his side, and with his own noble hand presented it
to sergeant Jasper. He also offered him a commission on the spot;
but this, Jasper absolutely refused. "I am greatly obliged to you, governor,"
said he, "but I had rather not have a commission. As I am,
I pass very well with such company as a poor sergeant has any right to keep.
If I were to get a commission, I should be forced to keep higher company:
and then, as I don't know how to read, I should only be throwing myself
in a way to be laughed at!" Parents, who can waste on grog and tobacco,
that precious money you ought to educate your children with, think of this!
Chapter 5.
Governor Rutledge harangues the Troops -- shows Britain's injustice
to have been the cause of the American war -- independence declared --
great joy on that account.
On the 20th of September, 1776, all the troops in Charleston were ordered
to rendezvous without the gates of the city, to hear, as we were told,
"Some great news." Soon as we were paraded, governor Rutledge
ascended a stage, and in the forcible manner of a Demosthenes,
informed, that Congress had dissolved all relation with England,
by an open Declaration of Independence.
"You are, no doubt, gentlemen," said he, "surprised, and perhaps shocked
at this intelligence. But however painful this measure may be
to our feelings, it is absolutely necessary to our safety.
"Under the sacred name of `mother country', England has long been
working our ruin. I need not tell you that our fathers were Britons,
who for liberty's sake, came and settled in this country,
then a howling wilderness. For a long time they ate their bread,
not only embittered with sweat, but often stained with blood --
their own and the blood of their children, fighting the savages
for a dwelling place. At length they prevailed and found a rest.
But still their hearts were towards the place of their nativity;
and often with tears, did they think and talk of the white-clifted island
where their fathers dwelt. Dying, they bequeathed to us
the same tender sentiments, which we cherished with a pious care.
The name of England was a pleasant sound in our ears --
the sight of their ships was always wont to fill our hearts with joy.
We hasted to greet the beloved strangers; and hurrying them
to our habitations, spread for them our feast, and rejoiced as men do
in the society of their dearest friends.
"Oh! had our mother country but treated us with equal affection --
as a tender parent, had she but smiled on our valor --
encouraged our industry -- and thus exalted the horn of our glory,
our union and brotherly love would have been eternal;
and the impious name of INDEPENDENCE had never been heard!
But, alas! instead of treating us in this endearing spirit,
she cruelly limited our commerce -- compelled us to buy and sell
to her alone, and at her own prices -- and not content
with the enormous profits of such a shameful traffic, she has come, at length,
to claim A RIGHT TO TAX US AT PLEASURE.
"But, my countrymen, will you suffer thus rudely to be wrested from you,
that goodly inheritance of LIBERTY, which was bequeathed to you
by your gallant fathers? Will you thus tamely suffer to be frustrated
all the glorious designs of God towards you and your children?
For look but around on this great land, which he has given you,
and yon bright heavens, which he has spread over your favored heads,
and say whether he ever intended those mighty scenes to be
the prison-house of slaves? -- the trembling slaves of a small island
beyond the sea? -- hewers of wood and drawers of water,
planters of rice and pickers of cotton, for a foreign tyrant and his minions?
No, my friends, God never intended you for such dishonor --
and can you be so wicked as to bring it on yourselves?
I trust you will not. Nay, the voices of your brave countrymen in Congress,
have said YOU WILL NOT, and anticipating your heroic sentiments,
have already declared you a "FREE AND INDEPENDENT PEOPLE!"
"And now my gallant friends, are you willing to confirm their glorious deed?
Are you willing this day, in the sight of heaven, to swear allegiance
to the sovereignty of your country, and to place her
in the highest rank of nations, by proclaiming her INDEPENDENT?"
In a moment the air resounded with "Yes! yes! independence!
independence for ever! God save the independent states of America!"
The oath of allegiance was then tendered to the troops.
The officers with great alacrity took it first, which highly pleased
the common soldiers, who readily followed their patriotic example.
Soon as the solemn rite was performed, the governor ordered a `feu de joie'.
Instantly at the welcome word, "handle arms", the eager warriors
struck their fire-locks, loud ringing through all their ranks;
and presenting their pieces, rent the air with fierce platoons;
while the deep-throated cannon like surly bull-dogs,
rolled their louder thunders along the field; then madly bounding back
on their rattling wheels, they told to fancy's ear, "Freedom's sons are we,
and d--n the villains that would make us slaves!"
Chapter 6.
Times growing squally -- the author sets out a vagrant hunting --
gets into hot water -- narrowly escapes with his life --
catches a host of vagabonds, but learns from experience,
that, though a rascal may do to stop a bullet, 'tis only the man of honor
that can make a good soldier.
"The devil," said George Whitefield, "is fond of fishing in muddy waters" --
hence it is, I suppose, that that grand demagogue has always been
so fond of war -- that sunshine and basking time of rogues,
which calls them out, thick as May-day sun calls out the rattle-snakes
from their stony crannies.
In times of peace, the waters are clear, so that if the smallest Jack
(villain) but makes his appearance, eagle-eyed justice, with her iron talons,
is down upon him in a moment. But let war but stir up the mud of confusion,
and straightway the eyes of justice are blinded -- thieves turn out in shoals:
and devils, like hungry fishing-hawks, are seen by the eye of faith,
hovering over the wretched fry, screaming for their prey.
This was exactly the case in South Carolina. The war had hardly raged there
above a twelvemonth and a day, before the state of society
seemed turned upside down. The sacred plough was every where seen
rusting in the weedy furrows -- Grog shops and Nanny houses
were springing up as thick as hops -- at the house of God you saw nobody --
but if there was a devil's house (a dram shop) hard by,
you might be sure to see THAT crowded with poor Lazarites,
with red noses and black eyes, and the fences all strung along
with starved tackies, in grape-vine bridles and sheep-skin saddles.
In short, the whole country was fast overrunning with vagabonds,
like ravening locusts, seeking where they might light,
and whom they should devour.
"Good heavens!" said Marion to me one day, and with great alarm in his looks,
"what's to be done with these wretches, these vagrants? I am actually afraid
we shall be ruined by them presently. For you know, sir, that a vagrant
is but the chrysalis or fly state of the gambler, the horse-thief,
the money-coiner, and indeed of every other worthless creature
that disturbs and endangers society."
"Why colonel," replied I, "there's a conceit in my head,
which, if it could but be brought to bear, would, I think,
soon settle the hash with these rascals."
"Aye," replied he, "well, pray give it to us, for I should be very fond
to hear it."
"Why sir," said I, "give me but a lieutenant, sergeant, and corporal,
with a dozen privates, all of my own choosing, do you see,
and if I don't soon give you a good account of those villains,
you may, with all my heart, give me a good suit of tar and feathers."
My demand was instantly complied with. Then taking with me such men
as I knew I could depend on, among whom was the brave lieutenant Jossilin,
I set out from the Long Bluff, towards Sandhills. The reader will please
to take notice, that in our hurry we had not forgot to take with us
a constable with a proper warrant.
We had gone but a few miles, before we fell in with a squad of as choice game
as heart could have wished, three proper tall young vagabonds!
profoundly engaged at all fours, in a log tippling shop,
with cards as black as their own dirty hands, and a tickler of brandy
before them! and so intent were the thieves on fleecing each other,
that they took no manner of notice of us, but continued their scoundrel work,
eagerly stretched over the table, thwacking down their cards
with filthy knuckles, and at every stroke bawling out, "there's a good trick!"
"That's as good as he."
"And there's the best of the three -- huzza, d--n me,
at him again my hearties."
"Lieutenant Jossilin," said I, "grab them fellows."
You never saw poor devils in such a fright. But soon as they had recovered
the use of their tongues, they swore like troopers that they were
the "most honestest gentlemen in all Carolina."
"Aye! well, I am very glad to hear that, gentlemen," said I,
"for I love honest men prodigiously, and hope the magistrate will confirm
the handsome report you have made of yourselves."
So off we set all together for the magistrate. About dinner time
I ordered a halt at the house of one Johnson, a militia captain,
who appeared quite overwhelmed with joy to see me.
"Heaven bless us!" said he, "and now who could have believed all this?
And have I, at last, to my heart's desire, the great honor of seeing
under my humble roof the noble major Horry?"
I told him I was much obliged to him, for his politeness --
but, for the present, was rather too hungry to relish compliments.
"Like sweetmeats, captain," said I, "a little of them may do pretty well
after a good dinner."
"Oh, my dear major!" quoth he, "and how sorry I am now that I have nothing fit
for dinner for you, my noble son of thunder -- a saddle of fat venison, major;
or a brace of young ducks; or, a green goose with currant jelly,
and a bottle of old Madeira to wash it down, do you see, major!
something NICE for you, do you see, major!"
"NICE," said I, "captain Johnson! We soldiers of liberty
don't stand upon the NICE -- the SUBSTANTIAL is that we care for --
a rasher of fat bacon from the coals, with a good stout lump of an ash cake,
is NICE enough for us."
"Oh, my dear sir!" replied he, "now DON'T, DON'T be angry with me;
for I was only sorry that I have nothing half so good for you as I could wish,
but such as it is, thank God, we have plenty; and you shall have a bite
in a trice." So off he went, as he pretended, to hurry dinner.
Now can any honest man believe that this same man, captain Johnson,
who had been, as Paddy says, "sticking the blarney into me at that rate,"
could have been such a scoundrel as to turn about the very next minute,
and try all in his power to trick me out of my vagrants. It is, however,
too true to be doubted; for having purposely delayed dinner till it was late,
he then insisted that I must not deny him the "very great honor of my company
that night." Soon as my consent was obtained, he despatched
a parcel of riders, to order in, with their guns, as many of his gang
as he thought would do. In the course of the night, snug as master Johnson
thought himself, I got a hint of his capers, and told my men
to see that their guns were in prime order.
While breakfast was getting ready, (for Johnson swore I should not leave him
"on an empty stomach",) lieutenant Jossilin came and told me
he did not understand the meaning of so many ill-looking fellows
coming about the house with their guns in their hands.
I replied that we should SEE PRESENTLY.
Breakfast then making its appearance, we sat down, and while we were eating,
(our men all on parade at the door) Johnson's men kept dropping in
one after another, till there were, I dare say, as many as thirty of them
in the room, ALL ARMED.
When breakfast was over, I turned to the constable, and desired him
to look to his charge, meaning the three vagrants, for that we would start
as soon as our men were all refreshed. Upon this captain Johnson said
he believed he should not let the prisoners go.
"Not let them go, sir," said I, "what do you mean by that, sir?"
"I mean, sir," replied he, "that the law is an oppressive one."
I asked him, still keeping myself perfectly cool, if he was not
an American soldier?
"Yes, sir," he answered, "I am an American soldier; and as good a one,
perhaps, as yourself, or any other man."
"Well, sir, and is this the way you show your soldiership,
by insulting the law?"
"I am not bound," continued he, "to obey a bad law."
"But, sir, who gave YOU a right to JUDGE the law?"
"I don't mind that," quoth he, "but d--n me, sir, if I'll let
the prisoners go."
"Very well, captain Johnson," said I, "we shall soon try THAT;
and if you and your people here, choose to go to the devil
for resisting the law, on your own heads be the bloody consequences."
With this I gave the floor a thundering stamp, and in a moment, as by magic,
in bursted my brave sergeant and men, with fixed bayonets,
ready for slaughter, while Jossilin and myself, whipping out our swords,
rushed on as to the charge.
A troop of red foxes dashing into a poultry yard, never produced such
squalling and flying as now took place among these poor guilty wretches --
"Lord have mercy upon us," they cried -- down fell their guns --
smack went the doors and windows -- and out of both, heels over head
they tumbled, as expecting every moment the points of our bayonets.
The house was quickly cleared of every soul except Johnson and his lieutenant,
one Lunda, who both trembled like aspen leaves, expecting a severe drubbing.
"Captain Johnson," said I, "don't tremble; you have nothing to fear from me.
A man who can act as you have done, is not an object of anger, but CONTEMPT.
Go! and learn the spirit that becomes a gentleman and an American soldier."
I should have observed, that as we advanced to charge Johnson's poltroons,
one of the party, a resolute fellow, presented his gun to my breast
and drew the trigger. Happily, in the very instant of its firing,
lieutenant Jossilin knocked it up with his sword; and the ball
grazing my shoulder, bursted through the side of the house.
As we rode off, some of Johnson's fugitives had the audacity to bawl out,
though from a very prudent distance, threatening us that
they would yet rescue the prisoners before we got to the bluff.
But they wisely took care not to make good their word, for they were only
a pack of poor ignorant tories, who did nothing on principle,
and were therefore ready to quit their purpose the moment they saw danger
in the way.
Our success at vagrant hunting was marvellous. I hardly think we could,
in the same time, have caught as many raccoons in any swamp on Pedee.
On counting noses, we found, that in our three week's course,
we had seized and sent off to Charleston, upwards of fifty.
With the last haul, I returned myself to the city, where I received
the thanks of general Howe, for "the handsome addition,"
as he was pleased to term it, "which I had made to the regiment."
But on trial, it was found that such vermin were not worthy of thanks,
nor were any addition to the regiment, except as disgust to the men
and vexation to the officers. Destitute of honor, they performed their duty,
not like soldiers, but slaves; and, on every opportunity,
would run off into the woods like wild beasts.
Chapter 7.
The brave sergeant Jasper again on the carpet -- in disguise
visits a British post at Ebenezer -- in company of sergeant Newton,
makes a second trip thither -- affecting view of an American lady
and her child, with other whig prisoners at Ebenezer --
desperate resolve of Jasper and Newton, to rescue them --
their bloody conflict and glorious triumph.
In the spring of 1779, Marion and myself were sent with our commands,
to Purysburgh, to reinforce general Lincoln, who was there on his way
to attack the British in Savannah, which a few months before
had fallen into their hands. As the count D'Estang, who was expected
to cooperate in this affair, had not yet arrived, general Lincoln
thought it advisable to entrench and wait for him.
While we were lying at Purysburgh, a couple of young men of our regiment
achieved an act of generosity and courage, which, in former days,
would have laid the ground-work of a heroic romance. One of the actors
in this extraordinary play was the brave sergeant Jasper,
whose name will for ever be dear to the friends of American liberty.
Jasper had a brother who had joined the British, and held the rank of sergeant
in their garrison at Ebenezer. Never man was truer to his country
than Jasper, yet was his heart so warm that he loved his brother,
though a tory, and actually went over to see him. His brother
was exceedingly alarmed at sight of him, lest he should be seized
and hung up at once as a spy, for his name was well known
to many of the British officers. But Jasper begged him
not to give himself much trouble on that head, for, said he,
"I am no longer an American soldier."
"Well, thank God for that, William," replied his brother,
giving him a hearty shake by the hand -- "And now only say the word, my boy,
and here is a commission for you, with regimentals and gold to boot,
to fight for his majesty."
Jasper shook his head and observed, that though there was
but little encouragement to fight FOR his country, yet he could not find
in his heart to fight AGAINST her. And there the conversation ended.
After staying with his brother some two or three days, inspecting and hearing
all that he could, he took his leave, and by a round about, returned to camp,
and told general Lincoln all that he had seen.
Having wasted several weeks longer of tiresome idleness,
and no news of the French fleet, Jasper took it into his head
to make another trip to Ebenezer.
On this occasion he did not, as before, go alone, but took with him
his particular friend, sergeant Newton, son of an old Baptist preacher,
and a young fellow, for strength and courage, just about a good match
for Jasper himself.
He was received as usual, with great cordiality by his brother,
to whom he introduced his friend Newton, and spent several days
in the British fort, without giving the least alarm.
On the morning of the third day his brother had some bad news to tell him.
"Aye! what is it?" he asked, "what is it?"
"Why," replied his brother, "here are some ten or a dozen American prisoners,
brought in this morning, as deserters from Savannah, whither they are
to be sent immediately. And from what I can learn, it will be apt
to go hard with them, for it seems they have all taken the king's bounty."
"Let's see 'em," said Jasper, "let's see 'em."
So his brother took him and Newton to see them. And indeed it was
a mournful sight to behold them, where they sat, poor fellows!
all hand-cuffed, on the ground. But all pity of them was forgot,
soon as the eye was turned to a far more doleful sight hard by,
which was a young woman, wife of one of the prisoners, with her child,
a sweet little boy of about five years old. The name of this lady was Jones.
Her humble garb showed her to be poor, but her deep distress,
and sympathy with her unfortunate husband, showed that she was rich
in that pure conjugal love, that is more precious than all gold.
She generally sat on the ground opposite to her husband,
with her little boy leaning on her lap, and her coal black hair
spreading in long neglected tresses on her neck and bosom.
And thus in silence she sat, a statue of grief, sometimes with
her eyes hard fixed upon the earth, like one lost in thought,
sighing and groaning the while as if her heart would burst --
then starting, as from a reverie, she would dart her eager eyes,
red with weeping, on her husband's face, and there would gaze,
with looks so piercing sad, as though she saw him struggling in the halter,
herself a widow, and her son an orphan. Straight her frame would begin
to shake with the rising agony, and her face to change and swell;
then with eyes swimming in tears, she would look around upon us all,
for pity and for help, with cries sufficient to melt the heart of a demon.
While the child seeing his father's hands fast bound, and his mother weeping,
added to the distressing scene, by his artless cries and tears.
The brave are always tender-hearted. It was so with Jasper and Newton,
two of the most undaunted spirits that ever lived. They walked out
in the neighboring wood. The tear was in the eye of both.
Jasper first broke silence. "Newton," said he, "my days have been but few;
but I believe their course is nearly done."
"Why so, Jasper?"
"Why, I feel," said he, "that I must rescue these poor prisoners,
or die with them; otherwise that woman and her child will haunt me
to my grave."
"Well, that is exactly what I feel too," replied Newton --
"and here is my hand and heart to stand by you, my brave friend,
to the last drop. Thank God, a man can die but once,
and there is not so much in this life that a man need be afraid to leave it,
especially when he is in the way of his duty."
The two friends then embraced with great cordiality, while each read
in the other's countenance, that immortal fire which beams
from the eyes of the brave, when resolved to die or conquer
in some glorious cause.
Immediately after breakfast, the prisoners were sent on for Savannah,
under a guard of a sergeant and corporal with eight men.
They had not been gone long, before Jasper, accompanied by his friend Newton,
took leave of his brother, and set out on some errand to the upper country.
They had scarcely, however, got out of sight of Ebenezer, before they struck
into the piny woods, and pushed hard after the prisoners and their guard,
whom they closely dogged for several miles, anxiously watching an opportunity
to make a blow. But alas! all hopes of that sort seemed utterly extravagant;
for what could give two men a chance to contend against ten,
especially when there was found no weapon in the hands of the two,
while the ten, each man was armed with his loaded musket and bayonet.
But unable to give up their countrymen, our heroes still followed on.
About two miles from Savannah there is a famous spring,
generally called the `Spa', well known to travellers, who often turn in hither
to quench their thirst. "Perhaps," said Jasper, "the guard may stop there."
Then hastening on by a near cut through the woods, they gained the Spa,
as their last hope, and there concealed themselves among the bushes
that grew abundantly around the spring.
Presently the mournful procession came in sight, headed by the sergeant,
who, on coming opposite to the spring, ordered a halt. Hope sprung afresh
in our heroes' bosoms, strong throbbing too, no doubt, with great alarms,
for "it was a fearful odds." The corporal with his guard of four men,
conducted the prisoners to the spring, while the sergeant with the other four,
having grounded their arms near the road, brought up the rear. The prisoners,
wearied with their long walk, were permitted to rest themselves on the earth.
Poor Mrs. Jones, as usual, took her seat opposite to her husband,
and her little boy, overcome with fatigue, fell asleep in her lap.
Two of the corporal's men were ordered to keep guard,
and the other two to give the prisoners drink out of their canteens.
These last approached the spring where our heroes lay concealed,
and resting their muskets against a pine tree, dipped up water:
and having drank themselves, turned away, with replenished canteens,
to give the prisoners also. "Now! Newton, is our time!" said Jasper.
Then bursting, like two lions, from their concealment, they snatched up
the two muskets that were rested against the pine, and in an instant
shot down the two soldiers that kept guard. And now the question was,
who should first get the two loaded muskets that had just fallen
from the hands of the slain. For by this time the sergeant and corporal,
a couple of brave Englishmen, recovering from their momentary panic,
had sprung and seized upon the muskets; but before they could use them,
the strong swift-handed Americans, with clubbed guns,
levelled each at the head of his brave antagonist, the final blow.
The tender bones of the skull gave way beneath the furious strokes,
and with wide scattered blood and brains down they sunk,
pale and quivering to the earth without a groan. Then snatching up the guns
which had thus, a second time, fallen from the hands of the slain,
they flew between the surviving enemy, and ordered them to surrender,
which they instantly did.
Having called the prisoners to them, they quickly with
the point of their bayonets, broke off their handcuffs,
and gave each of them a musket.
At the commencement of the fray, poor Mrs. Jones, half frightened to death,
had fallen to the ground in a swoon, with her little son
piteously screaming over her. But when she came to herself,
and saw her husband and friends around her, all freed from their fetters
and well armed, she looked and behaved like one frantic with joy.
She sprung to her husband's bosom, and with her arms around his neck,
sobbed out, "Oh bless God! bless God! my husband is safe;
my husband is not hung yet;" then snatching up her child, and straining him
to her soul, as if she would have pressed him to death, she cried out --
"O praise! praise! praise God for ever! my son has a father yet!"
Then wildly darting round her eyes in quest of her deliverers, she exclaimed,
"Where! where are those blessed angels that God sent to save my husband?"
Directing her eyes to Jasper and Newton, where they stood
like two youthful Samsons, in the full flowing of their locks,
she ran and fell on her knees before them, and seizing their hands,
kissed and pressed them to her bosom, crying out vehemently,
"Dear angels! dear angels! God bless you! God Almighty bless you for ever!"
Then instantly, for fear of being overtaken by the enemy,
our heroes snatched the arms and regimentals of the slain,
and with their friends and captive foes, recrossed the Savannah,
and in safety rejoined our army at Purysburgh, to the inexpressible
astonishment and joy of us all.
Chapter 8.
The count D'Estang, with the French fleet, arrives to attack Savannah --
our army marches and joins him -- fatal effects of D'Estang's politeness --
biographical dash of young colonel Laurens -- curious dialogue
betwixt him and the French general -- unsuccessful attack on Savannah --
the brave Jasper mortally wounded -- is visited by the author
in his last moments -- interesting conversation --
dies like a Christian soldier.
Could the wishes of our army have availed, those gallant soldiers,
(Jasper and Newton) would long have lived to enjoy their past,
and to win fresh laurels. But alas! the former of them,
the heroic Jasper, was soon led, like a young lion, to an evil net.
The mournful story of his death, with heavy heart I now relate.
Scarcely had he returned from Georgia, laden, as aforesaid, with glory,
when an express came into camp, and informed that the count D'Estang
was arrived off Tybee. Instantly we struck our tents and marched
for the siege of Savannah. On arriving near that fatal place, we found
that the French troops, with their cannon and mortars, had just come up.
Oh! had we but advanced at once to the attack, as became skilful soldiers,
we should have carried every thing before us. The frighted garrison
would have hauled down their colors without firing a shot.
This I am warranted to say by the declaration of numbers of their officers,
who afterwards fell into our hands. But in place of an immediate
`coup de main', the courtly D'Estang sent a flag, very politely
inviting the town to do him the extreme honor of receiving their surrender.
The British commander was not much behindhand with the count
in the article of politeness, for he also returned a flag
with his compliments, and requested to be permitted four and twenty hours
to think of the matter.
If the ASKING such a favor was extraordinary, what must the GRANTING of it
have been? But the accomplished D'Estang was fully equal to such douceurs
for he actually allowed the enemy four and twenty hours
to think of surrendering!
But instead of THINKING, like simpletons, they fell to ENTRENCHING,
like brave soldiers. And being joined that very day by colonel Maitland
from Beaufort, with a regiment of Highlanders, and assisted by
swarms of negroes, decoyed from their masters under promise of freedom,
they pushed on their works with great rapidity. According to
the report of our troops who were encamped nearest to them,
nothing was heard all that night, but the huzzas of the soldiers,
the lashes of cow-hides, and the cries of negroes.
I never beheld Marion in so great a passion. I was actually afraid
he would have broke out on general Lincoln. "My God!" he exclaimed,
"who ever heard of any thing like this before! -- first allow an enemy
to entrench, and then fight him!! See the destruction brought upon
the British at Bunker's Hill! and yet our troops there were only militia!
raw, half-armed clodhoppers! and not a mortar, nor carronade,
nor even a swivel -- but only their ducking guns!
"What then are we to expect from regulars -- completely armed
with a choice train of artillery, and covered by a breast-work!
For my own part, when I look upon my brave fellows around me,
it wrings me to the heart, to think how near most of them are
to their bloody graves."
In fact, Marion was so outrageous, as indeed were all of us,
that we at length begged colonel Laurens to speak to the count D'Estang.
And here I must beg the reader's pardon a moment, while I inform him
that this colonel Laurens (son of President Laurens) was a very extraordinary
young Carolinian.
On a trip to London, he fell in love with, and married
a celebrated belle of that city. It would seem that he was very much taken
with his English relations, and they with him, for after his marriage,
they would not suffer him to revisit his parents, who doted on him,
being their only son, but detained him with them in London,
as gay as a young man well could be, in the gayest city in the world,
moving every day in the highest circles of society, and every night
encircled in the fond arms of a beauteous wife.
But soon as the war against America broke out, his gaiety all forsook him.
The idea of a ruffian soldiery overrunning his native land,
preyed incessantly on his spirits, and threw him into those brown studies
which cost his lady full many a tear. Unable to bear his disquietude,
he fled at length from his wife and infant family, to fight for his country.
He presented himself before the great Washington, who was so struck
with the fire that beamed from his eyes, that he made him
handsome offers of rank in the army. But his favorite service
was to lead `forlorn hopes', and the daring bands that are destined
to carry the enemy's works by storm. Washington often gave him
letters to this effect to his generals. And this was his object at Savannah,
where a regiment of choice infantry was immediately put under his command.
But instead of being permitted his favorite pleasure of seeing
his ardent warriors mounting the enemy's works, and rushing
down streams of fire, followed by the bayonet, he was doomed
to fret and pine in the humble office of interpreter
between count D'Estang and general Lincoln.
"But, Monsieur le count," said Laurens to D'Estang, "the American officers
say they are afraid you have given the English too long time to think."
At this, as Laurens told us afterwards, the count put on a most comic stare,
and breaking into a hearty laugh, replied, "De Engleesh think! ha, ha, ha!
By gar dat one ver good parole! De Engleesh tink, heh, Monsieur le colonel!
By gar, de Engleesh never tink but for deir bellie.
Give de Jack Engleeshman plenty beef -- plenty pudding -- plenty porter,
by gar he never tink any more, he lay down, he go a sleep like vun hog."
"But, Monsieur le count," continued Laurens, "the English are doing
worse for us than thinking. They are working away like horses,
and will soon get their defences too high for us to scale."
"Eh, heh, Monsieur le colonel! you think-a so? Well den, by gar
you no need for tink-a so -- by gar my French-a-mans run over de fence
just like vun tief horse run over de cornfield fence --
mind now I tell-a you dat, Monsieur le colonel."
"Well, but Monsieur le count, the British sometimes fight like the d---l."
"Sacre Dieu!" replied the nettled count, starting and gaping
as though he would have swallowed a young alligator --
"de Briteesh fight like de diable! Jaun foutre de Briteesh!
when they been known for fight like de diable? Ess, ess, dat true enough;
dey fight de Americans like de diable -- but by gar dey no fight
de French-a-mans so -- no no, by gar dey no make one mouthful
for my French-a-mans -- Morbleu! my French-a-mans eat dem up
like vun leetle grenoulle."
"Green Owl!" exclaimed one of general Lincoln's aids --
"Oh my God! who ever heard of a `green owl' before?"
Here Laurens, smiling at the officer's mistake, replied,
"not `green owl', sir, but `grenouille', grenouille, sir,
is the French for frog."
"Aye, sure enough, sure enough, frog," continued the count,
"frog; grenouille is frog. By gar, Monsieur le colonel,
you be vun dam good interpret, I set dat well enough. Well den, now,
Monsieur le colonel, you hear-a me speak -- my French-a-mans
eat dem Jack Engleesh all same like vun leetle frog."
"Oh to be sure! -- no doubt of all that, Monsieur le count --
but before we eat them up, they may kill a great many of our soldiers."
"Dey kill-a de soldier!" replied the passionate count -- "well what den
if dey do kill-a de soldier! Jaun foutre de soldier! what dey good for
but for be kill? dat deir trade. You give-a vun poor dog soldier,
two, three, four penny a day, he go fight -- he get kill. Well den, what dat?
By gar he only get what he HIRE for."
"But pardon me, Monsieur le count, we can't spare them."
"Vat! no spare de soldier! de GRAND MONARQUE no spare de soldier?
O mon Dieu! Vy, Monsieur le colonel -- for why you talk-a so? Well den,
hear-a me speak now, Monsieur le colonel -- you see de star in de sky;
de leaf on de tree; de sand on de shore -- you no see all dat, heh?
Well den, by gar, Monsieur le colonel, de GRAND MONARQUE got soldier
more an-a all dat -- ess, sacra Dieu! more an-a all dat, by gar."
"Well but, Monsieur le count, is it not CRUEL to kill
the poor fellows notwithstanding?"
"Pooh!" replied the count, throwing back his head, and puffing out his cheeks
as when a cigar sucker explodes a cataract of smoke from
the crater of his throat; "cruel! vat cruel for kill-a de soldier!
by gar, Monsieur le colonel, you make-a de king of France laugh
he hear-a you talk after dat fashong. Let-a me tell you, Monsieur le colonel,
de king of France no like general Washington -- by gar,
general Washington talk wi' de soldier -- he shake hand wi' de soldier --
he give de soldier dram -- By gar, de GRAND MONARQUE no do so --
no, sacra Dieu! he no LOOK AT de soldier. When de king of France
ride out in de coach royale wid de supeerb horses, and harness shining
so bright all vun like gold, if he run over one soldier,
you tink he going stop for dat? No, sacra foutre! he ride on so,
all one like if nothing at all been happen. Jaun foutre de soldier!
let him prenez garde for himself; by gar the grand Monarque no mind dat.
De grand Monarque only tink of de soldier `commes des chiens',
like de poor dam dog for fight for him."
Thus ended the dialogue between colonel Laurens and the count D'Estang.
The next day, the memorable twenty-four hours being expired,
a flag was sent into town to know the determination of the British officer,
who very politely replied, that having consulted his pillow, he had
made up his mind to defend the place. A regular siege was then commenced,
and continued for three weeks: at the end of which an attack was made,
and with the success which Marion had all along predicted. After a full
hour's exposure to the destructive rage of grape shot and musketry,
we were obliged to make a precipitate retreat; leaving the ground covered
with the mingled carcasses of 400 Americans and 800 Frenchmen.
Marion's corps fighting with their usual confidence, suffered great loss;
himself did not receive a scratch. Colonel Laurens raged like a wounded lion.
Soon as the retreat was ordered he paused, and looking round
on his fallen men, cried out, "Poor fellows, I envy you!"
then hurling his sword in wrath against the ground, he retired.
Presently, after we had reached our encampment, he came to my marquee,
and like one greatly disordered, said, "Horry, my life is a burden to me;
I would to God I was lying on yonder field at rest with my poor men!"
"No! no! none of that, colonel," said I, "none of that;
I trust we shall live to pay them yet for all this."
And so it turned out. And though for humanity's sake, I ought not
to BOAST of it, yet we did live to pay them for it, and often too:
and in the same bloody coin which they gave us that day. And although
in that fiery season of my days, and when my dear country was in danger,
it was but natural for me to rejoice in the downfall of my enemies,
yet I was often witness to scenes, which to this day I can never think of
but with sorrow -- as when, for example, after dashing upon an enemy
by surprise, and cutting one half of them to pieces and chasing the rest,
we returned to collect the horses and arms of the slain. Who, I say,
without grief could behold those sad sights which then offered themselves,
of human beings lying mangled over the crimson ground --
some stone dead, some still alive and struggling, with brains oozing
from their cloven skulls -- and others sitting up, or leaning on their elbows,
but pale with loss of blood, running in streams from their mortal wounds,
and they themselves looking down, the while, sadly thinking of home
and of distant wives and children, whom they shall never see again.
Such thoughts, if often cherished, would much abate the rancor of malice
in the hearts of those whose sad destiny it is to kill one another;
especially if it were known how short sometimes are the triumphs
of the victor. It was remarkably so in the present case:
for colonel Maitland, of the Highlanders, who had contributed
a large part to this very unexpected victory, was so elated by it,
that he took to hard drinking, and killed himself in a single week,
and the sickly season coming on, the greater part of the garrison
perished of the yellow or bilious fever!!
Thus friends and foes the same sad fortune shar'd,
And sickness swallowed whom the sword had spar'd.
Many gallant men were the victims of count D'Estang's folly in this affair;
among the number was that impetuous Polander, the count Polaski.
But none fell more universally lamented than the heroic Jasper.
Every reader must wish to hear the last of this brave and generous soldier.
And they shall have it faithfully, for I happened to be close by him
when he received his death's wound; and I was with him
when he breathed his last.
Early in the action, the elegant colors presented by Mrs. Elliot,
had been planted on the enemy's works; and the fury of the battle
raged near the spot where they waved. During the whole of the bloody fray,
Jasper had remained unhurt. But on hearing the retreat sounded,
he rushed up to bear off his colors, and in that desperate act,
was mortally wounded. As he passed by me, with the colors in his hands,
I observed he had a bad limp in his walk.
"You are not much hurt, I hope, Jasper," said I.
"Yes, major," he replied, "I believe I have got my furlough."
"Pshaw," quoth I, "furlough indeed, for what?"
"Why to go home," he answered, "to go to Heaven, I hope."
"Pooh!" said I, and having, as the reader must suppose, a good deal
to attend to, I turned off and left him. However, his words made
such an impression on me, that soon as duty permitted, I went to see him,
and found too true what he had predicted; the ball had opened
a blood vessel in the lungs which no art could stop, and he was bleeding
to slow but certain death.
As I entered the tent, he lifted his eyes to me, but their fire
was almost quenched; and stretching his feeble hand, he said,
with perfect tranquillity, "Well, major, I told you I had got my furlough."
"I hope not," I replied.
"O yes!" said he, "I am going -- and very fast too; but, thank God,
I am not afraid to go."
I told him I knew he was too brave to fear death, and too honest
to be alarmed about its consequences.
"Why, as to that matter, sir," said he, "I won't brag: but I have my hopes,
notwithstanding I may be wrong, for I know I am but a poor ignorant body,
but somehow or other, I have always built my hopes of what God may do
for me hereafter, on what he has done for me here!"
I told him I thought he was very correct in that.
"Do you, indeed?" said he. "Well, I am mighty glad of that --
and now major, here's the way I always comfort myself:
Fifty years ago, (I say to myself,) I was nothing, and had no thought
that there was any such grand and beautiful world as this.
But still there was such a world notwithstanding; and here God
has brought me into it. Now, can't he, in fifty years more,
or indeed in fifty minutes more, bring me into another world,
as much above this as this is above that state of nothing,
wherein I was fifty years ago?"
I told him that this was, to my mind, a very happy way of reasoning;
and such, no doubt, as suited the greatness and goodness of God.
"I think so, major," said he, "and I trust I shall find it so;
for though I've been a man of blood, yet, thank God, I've always lived
with an eye to that great hope. My mother, major, was a good woman;
when I was but a child, and sat on her lap, she used to talk to me of God,
and tell how it was he who built this great world, with all its riches
and good things: and not for himself, but for ME! and also,
that if I would but do his will in that only acceptable way, a good life,
he would do still greater and better things for me hereafter.
"Well, major, from the mouth of a dear mother, like her,
these things went so deep into my heart, that they could never
be taken away from me. I have hardly ever gone to bed, or got up again,
without saying my prayers. I have honored my father and mother;
and, thank God, been strictly HONEST. And since you have known me, major,
I believe you can bear witness, that though a strong man,
I never was quarrelsome."
I told him, nothing afforded me more satisfaction, than to remember that,
since he was now going to die, he had always led so good a life.
He answered, with tears in his eyes, that he had a good hope he was going
where he should not do what he had been obliged to do in this world.
"I've killed men in my time, major, but not in malice, but in what I thought
a just war in defence of my country. And as I bore no malice against
those I killed, neither do I bear any against those who have killed me.
And I heartily trust in God for Christ's sake, that we shall yet, one day,
meet together, where we shall forgive and love one another like brothers.
I own, indeed, major, that had it so pleased God, I should have been glad
to stay a little longer with you to fight for my country. But however,
I humbly hope that my death is of God; which makes it welcome to me,
and so I bow me to his blessed will. And now, my good friend, as I feel
I have but a little time to live, I beg you will do a few things for me
when I am dead and gone."
I could not speak; but gathering my answer from my tears, and the close press
I gave his hand, he thus went on, but it was in a low voice and laborious.
"You see that sword? -- It is the one which governor Rutledge presented to me
for my services at Fort Moultrie -- give that sword to my father,
and tell him I never dishonored it. If he should weep for me,
tell him his son died in hope of a better life. If you should see
that great gentlewoman, Mrs. Elliot, tell her I lost my life
in saving the colors she gave to our regiment. And if ever
you should come across poor Jones and his wife, and little boy,
tell them Jasper is gone; but that the remembrance of the hard battle
which he once fought for their sakes brought a secret joy to his heart
just as it was about to stop its motion for ever."
He spoke these last words in a livelier tone than usual,
but it was like the last kindling of the taper in its oil-less socket --
for instantly the paleness of death overspread his face,
and after a feeble effort to vomit, with convulsions,
the natural effect of great loss of blood, he sunk back and expired.
From this victim of D'Estang's madness, I went with a heavy heart on parade,
to take a review of the sad remains of the battle. The call of the roll
completed the depression of my spirits. To every fourth or fifth name
there was no answer -- the gloomy silence which ensued, told us
where they were. About twelve o'clock we sent in a flag to the garrison
for permission to bury our dead. Curiosity led me to accompany the party
destined to this mournful duty. I had prepared myself for a sorrowful sight;
but ah! what words can express what I then saw and suffered!
A scattered few lay here and there on the utmost verge of the field,
killed by cannon shot, and so mangled, that in some instances, it was hard
to tell who they were. As we advanced, they lay thicker and thicker.
Some, not quite dead, were constantly crying, "Water! water! --
Oh! for God's sake, a little water!" -- Others lay quite dead,
but still their lifeless visages retained the dark frowns of war.
There, on the side of the enemy's breast-work, lay the brave ensign Boushe,
covering with his dead body, the very spot where he had fixed
the American standard. His face was pale and cold as the earth he pressed,
but still it spoke the fierce determined air of one whose last sentiment
towards those degenerate Britons was, "There d--n you!
look at the stripes of liberty."
Close by ensign Boushe, lay that elegant young man, Alexander Hume, Esq.
with his sword still grasped in his stiffened fingers.
My heart bled within me, when I looked on young Hume, where he lay
in all the pale beauties of death. He was to have been married
the week following, to a charming woman; but such was his zeal
to serve his country, that he came a volunteer to our camp,
and met his death the next morning after he joined us.
Gifted with a pretty taste for painting, he had tried his skill,
and very successfully too, in sketching the likeness of his lovely mistress.
For on opening his bosom, was found, suspended by a blue ribband,
(the happy lover's color) a fine likeness of the beautiful Miss ----:
the back of the portrait was stained with his blood;
but unconscious of her lover's fate, she still wore the enchanting smile
with which yielding beauty views the youth she loves.
We then proceeded to bury our dead; which was done by digging large pits,
sufficient to contain about a hundred corpses. Then taking off their clothes,
with heavy hearts, we threw them into the pits, with very little
regard to order, and covered them over with earth.
"Poor brothers, farewell! the storm of your last battle has long ago ceased
on the field, and no trace now remains on earth that you ever lived.
The worms have devoured your flesh; and the mounds raised over your dust,
are sunk back to the common level with the plain. But ah!
could your mournful story be read, the youth of America would listen
to the last words of Washington, and `study the art of war,'
that their countrymen might no more be murdered by military quacks.
As a hint to American officers, I think it my duty to state
the following fact: -- Our fatal attack on Savannah was made
very early in the morning. A few hours previous thereto,
a council of war was held; and while it was deliberating, a deserter and spy
had the address to bear a musket, as sentinel at the door of the marquee!!
On hearing where the attack was to be made, he ran off in the dark,
and gave such intelligence to the enemy, as enabled them very completely
to defeat us. The fellow was afterwards taken at the battle of Hobkirk Hill,
near Camden, and hung.
Scarcely had we finished burying the dead, before the count D'Estang
hurried on board his ships with his troops and artillery, while we,
passing on in silence by the way of Zubley's ferry, returned to Carolina,
and pitched our tents at Sheldon, the country seat of general Bull.
The theatre of war being, from this period, and for some time at least,
removed to the northern states, the governor and council were pleased
to reduce the regiments, and dismiss the supernumerary officers.
To some of my brethren in arms, this was matter of serious alarm.
But for myself, possessing, thank God, a liberal fortune in the country,
and feeling no ATTRACTION to the camp, except when drawn thither
by public danger, I was quite happy to hear of this new arrangement,
and waited on his excellency to return my commission.
Perhaps some may say it was pride in me, and that I did not like
the idea of being `unfrocked'. Why, as to that matter,
it is not for me to boast of my standing among my superiors in those days.
But this I must needs say, that it is joy enough, and glory enough too,
for me to know, that I was always the favorite of the great Marion;
and that he seldom ever asked the lightning of any other sword than mine,
to lead his squadron to the charge. However, the moment I heard, as above,
that it was in agitation to reduce the regiments, I waited on the governor,
and begged that, as there was nothing doing, he would allow me
to return to my plantation. To my plantation I DID return,
and there continued till spring, 1780, when Charleston was taken
by the British; at which time, and for some weeks before,
I was grievously afflicted with the rheumatism. Thus by a providence,
which, I confess, I did not at that time altogether like,
I was kindly saved from being kidnapped by the enemy, and also introduced
into a field of some little service, I hope, to my country,
and of no great dishonor to myself. However, be this as it may,
the reader shall soon see, and then let him judge for himself.
Chapter 9.
Providential escape of Marion out of Charleston --
the British fleet and army invest and take that place --
Tarleton and the British officers begin to let out -- young Scotch Macdonald
comes upon the turf -- extraordinary anecdote of him --
plays a very curious trick on a rich old tory.
How happy it is for man, that the author of his being loves him
so much better than he loves himself; and has established so close a connexion
between his duty and his advantage. This delightful truth
was remarkably exemplified in an event that befell Marion about this time,
March, 1780. Dining with a squad of choice whigs, in Charleston,
in the house of Mr. Alexander M'Queen, Tradd street, he was so frequently
pressed to bumpers of old wine, that he found himself in a fair way
to get drunk. 'Twas in vain he attempted to beat a retreat.
The company swore, that that would never do for general Marion.
Finding, at last, that there was no other way of escaping a debauch,
but by leaping out of one of the windows of the dining-room,
which was on the second story, he bravely undertook it. It cost him,
however, a broken ankle. When the story got about in Charleston,
most people said he was a great fool for his pains; but the event soon proved
that Marion was in the right, and that there is no policy
like sticking to a man's duty. For, behold! presently Charleston was invested
by a large British army, and the American general (Lincoln)
finding Marion was utterly unfit for duty, advised him
to push off in a litter to his seat in St. John's parish.
Thus providentially was Marion preserved to his country
when Charleston fell, as it soon did, with all our troops.
The spirits of the British were so raised by the capture of our metropolis
with all the southern army, that they presently began to scour
the neighboring country. And never victors, perhaps, had a country
more completely in their power. Their troops were of the choicest kind;
excellently equipped, and commanded by active, ambitious young fellows,
who looked on themselves as on the high road to fortune
among the conquered rebels. They all carried with them
pocket maps of South Carolina, on which they were constantly poring
like young spendthrifts on their fathers' last testaments. They would also
ask a world of questions, such as, "where lay the richest lands? --
and the finest situations? -- and who were the warmest old fellows,
and had the finest girls?" and when answered to their humor,
they would break out into hearty laughs; and flourish their swords,
and `whoop' and `hoic' it away like young fox hunters,
just striking on a fresh trail.
Some of them had Dr. Madan's famous book called "Thylipthora,
or a Defence of Polygamy", with which they were prodigiously taken,
and talked very freely of reducing the system to practice. Cornwallis,
it seems, was to be a bashaw of three tails -- Rawdon and Tarleton,
of two each -- and as a natural appendage of such high rank,
they were to have their seraglios and harems filled
with the greatest beauties of the country.
"Huzza, my brave fellows!" -- they would say to each other;
"one more campaign and the `hash' will be settled with the d----d rebels,
and then stand by the girls! -- stand by the Miss Pinckneys! and Elliots!
and Rutledges! and all your bright-eyed, soft bosomed, lovely dames,
look sharp! Egad! your charms shall reward our valor! like the grand Turk,
we'll have regiments of our own raising! Charleston shall be
our Constantinople! and our Circassia, this sweet Carolina famed for beauties!
Prepare the baths, the perfumes, and spices! bring forth
the violins and the rose buds! and tap the old Madeira,
that our souls may all be joy!"
'Twas in this way they would rant; and then, brightened up to the pitch,
they would look and grin on each other as sweetly as young foxes,
who, prowling round a farm yard, had suddenly heard
the cackling of the rooster pullets. The reader shall presently see
the violent and bloody course of these ruffians, who did such dishonor
to the glorious island they came from. But before I begin my tragedy,
I beg leave, by way of prologue, to entertain him a moment
with a very curious farce that was acted on a wealthy old tory,
near Monk's Corner, while colonel Tarleton with the British advance,
lay there.
The hero of the play was a remarkably stout, red-haired young Scotsman,
named Macdonald, son of the Macdonald of famous defeat at Morris Creek Bridge,
North Carolina. Soon after the defeat of his father
he came and joined our troops. Led by curiosity, I could not help, one day,
asking him the reason: to which he made, in substance, the following reply.
"Immediately on the misfortune of my father and his friends
at the Great Bridge, I fell to thinking what could be the cause;
and then it struck me that it must have been owing to
their own monstrous ingratitude. "Here now," said I to myself,
"is a parcel of people, meaning my poor father and his friends, who fled
from the murderous swords of the English after the massacre at Culloden.
Well, they came to America, with hardly any thing but their poverty
and mournful looks. But among this friendly people that was enough. --
Every eye that saw us, had pity; and every hand was reached out to assist.
They received us in their houses as though we had been their own
unfortunate brothers. They kindled high their hospitable fires for us,
and spread their feasts, and bid us eat and drink and banish our sorrows,
for that we were in a land of friends. And so indeed we found it;
for, whenever we told of the woeful battle of Culloden, and how the English
gave no quarter to our unfortunate countrymen, but butchered
all they could overtake, these generous people often gave us their tears,
and said, "O! that we had been there to aid with our rifles,
then should many of these monsters have bit the ground."
They received us into the bosoms of their peaceful forests,
and gave us their lands and their beauteous daughters in marriage,
and we became rich. And yet, after all, soon as the English came to America,
to murder this innocent people, merely for refusing to be their slaves,
then my father and friends, forgetting all that the Americans
had done for them, went and joined the British, to assist them
to cut the throats of their `best friends'!
"Now," said I to myself, "if ever there was a time for God to stand up
to punish ingratitude, this was the time." And God did stand up:
for he enabled the Americans to defeat my father and his friends
most completely. But, instead of murdering the prisoners, as the English
had done at Culloden, they treated us with their usual generosity.
And now these are, "the people I love and will fight for as long as I live."
And so he did fight for us, and as undauntedly too as George Washington
ever did.
This was young Scotch Macdonald. Now the curious trick which he played,
is as follows.
Soon as he heard that colonel Tarleton was encamped at Monk's Corner,
he went the next morning to a wealthy old tory of that neighborhood,
and passing himself for a sergeant of Colonel Tarleton's corps,
presented that officer's compliments, adding that colonel Tarleton
was just come to drive the rebels out of the country, and knowing him to be
a good friend of the king, begged he would send him one of his best horses
for a charger, and that he should be no loser by it.
"Send him one of my finest horses!" cried the old traitor,
with eyes sparkling with joy; "Yes, Mr. Sergeant, that I will, by gad!
and would send him one of my finest daughters too, had he but said the word.
A good friend of the king, did he call me, Mr. Sergeant?
yes, God save his sacred majesty, a good friend I am indeed, and a true.
And, faith! I am glad too, Mr. Sergeant, that colonel knows it.
Send him a charger to drive the rebels, heh? Yes, egad will I send him one,
and as proper a one too, as ever a soldier straddled. Dick! Dick!
I say you Dick!"
"Here, massa, here! here Dick!"
"Oh, you plaguy dog! so I must always split my throat with bawling,
before I can get you to answer heh?"
"High, massa! sure Dick always answer when he hear massa hallo!"
"You do, you villain, do you? -- Well then, run! jump! fly, you rascal,
fly to the stable, and bring me out Selim, my young Selim! do you hear?
you villain, do you hear?"
"Yes, massa, be sure!"
Then turning to Macdonald, he went on: "Well, Mr. Sergeant,
you have made me confounded glad this morning, you may depend.
And now suppose you take a glass of peach; of good old peach, Mr. Sergeant?
do you think it would do you any harm?"
"Why, they say it is good of a rainy morning, sir," replied Macdonald.
"O yes, famous of a rainy morning, Mr. Sergeant! a mighty antifogmatic.
It prevents you the ague, Mr. Sergeant; and clears a man's throat
of the cobwebs, sir."
"God bless your honor!" said Macdonald, as he turned off
a bumper of the high-beaded cordial.
But scarcely had he smacked his lips, before Dick paraded Selim;
a proud, full-blooded, stately steed, that stepped as though
he disdained the earth he walked upon.
Here the old fellow brightening up, broke out again: "Aye! there,
Mr. Sergeant, there is a horse for you! isn't he, my boy?"
"Faith, a noble animal, sir," replied Macdonald.
"Yes, egad! a noble animal indeed! -- a charger for a king, Mr. Sergeant! --
Well, my compliments to colonel Tarleton: tell him I've sent him a horse,
my young Selim, my grand Turk, do you hear, my son of thunder?
And say to the colonel that I don't grudge him neither, for egad!
he's too noble for me, Mr. Sergeant. I've no work that's fit for him, sir;
no! damme, sir, if there's any work in all this country
that's good enough for him, but just that which he is now going on;
the driving the d----d rebels out of the land."
And in order to send Selim off in high style, he ordered Dick to bring down
his elegant new saddle and holsters, with his silver-mounted pistols.
Then giving Macdonald a hot breakfast, and lending him his great coat,
as it was raining, he let him go, with a promise that he would
come next morning and see how colonel Tarleton liked young Selim.
Accordingly next morning he waited on colonel Tarleton, and told his name,
with the smiling countenance of one who expected to be eaten up with fondness.
But alas! to his infinite mortification, Tarleton heard his name
without the least change of feature.
After recovering a little from his embarrassment, he asked colonel Tarleton
how he liked his charger.
"Charger, sir!" replied Tarleton.
"Yes, sir, the elegant horse I sent you yesterday."
"The elegant horse you sent me, sir!"
"Yes, sir, and by your sergeant, sir, as he called himself."
"An elegant horse! and by my sergeant! Why really, sir,
I-I-I don't understand all this!"
The looks and voice of colonel Tarleton too sadly convinced the old traitor
that he had been `bit'; and that young Selim was gone!
then trembling and pale, cried out, "Why, my dear good sir,
did you not send a sergeant yesterday with your compliments to me,
and a request that I would send you my very best horse for a charger,
which I did?"
"No, sir, never!" replied Tarleton: "I never sent a sergeant
on any such errand. Nor till this moment did I ever know
that there existed on earth such a being as you."
To have been outwitted in this manner by a rebel sergeant --
to have lost his peach brandy -- his hot breakfast -- his great coat --
his new saddle -- his silver mounted pistols -- and worse than all,
his darling horse, his young, full-blooded, bounding Selim --
all these keen reflections, like so many forked lightnings,
falling at once on the train and tinder of his passions, blew them up
to such a diabolical rage that the old sinner had like to have been suffocated
on the spot. He turned black in the face; he shook throughout;
and as soon as he could recover breath and power of speech,
he broke out into a torrent of curses, enough to raise the hair
on any Christian man's head.
Nor was colonel Tarleton much behind him, when he came to learn
what a noble horse had slipped through his hands. And a noble horse
he was indeed! Full sixteen hands high; the eye of a hawk,
the spirit of the king eagle; a chest like a lion; swifter than a roebuck,
and strong as a buffalo.
I asked Macdonald, how he could reconcile it to himself
to take the old poltroon's horse in that way?
"Why, sir," replied he, "as to that matter, people will think differently;
but for my part I hold that all is fair in war: and, besides, sir,
if I had not taken him colonel Tarleton, no doubt, would have got him.
And then, with such a swift strong charger as this, he might do us
as much harm as I hope to do to them."
And he did do them harm with a vengeance; for he had no more sense of fear
than a hungry tiger. And, as to his strength, it was such,
that with one of Potter's blades he would make no more
to drive through cap and skull of a British dragoon, than a boy would,
with a case-knife, to chip off the head of a carrot. And then,
he always kept Selim up so lustily to the top of his metal.
He was so fond of him, that I verily believe he would at any time
have sold the shirt off his back to get corn for him. And truly Selim
was not much his debtor; for, at the first flash and glimpse of a red coat,
he would paw and champ his iron bit with rage; and the moment
he heard the word "go", off he was among them like a thunderbolt.
And to see how Macdonald would charge, you would swear the fear of death
was never before his eyes. Whether it was one or ten against him,
it made no odds to this gallant Scotsman. He never stopped
to count noses, but would dash in upon the thickest of them,
and fall to hewing and cutting down like a very fury incarnate.
Poor Macdonald! the arm of his strength is now in dust;
and his large red cheeks have, long ago been food for worms:
but never shall I forget when first I saw him fight. 'Twas in the days
when the British held Georgetown; and Marion had said to me,
"Go and reconnoitre." I took only Macdonald with me. Before day
we reached our place of concealment, a thick clump of pines near the road,
and in full view of the enemy's lines. Soon as the bonny grey-eyed morning
began to peep, we heard the town all alive, as it were, with drums and fifes;
and about sunrise, beheld five dragoons turn out, and with prancing steeds
dash up the road towards us. I turned my eye on Macdonald,
and saw his face all kindled up with the joy of battle.
It was like that terrible joy which flashes from the eyes of an ambushed lion,
when he beholds the coming forth of the buffaloes towards his gloomy cave.
"Zounds, Macdonald," said I, "here's an odds against us, five to two."
"By my soul now captain," he replied, "and let 'em come on.
Three are welcome to the sword of Macdonald."
Soon as they were come fairly opposite to us, we gave them a blast
from our bugles, and with drawn sabres broke in upon them like a tornado.
Their panic was complete; two we stopped, overthrown and weltering
in the road. The remaining three wheeled about, and taking to their heels,
went off as if old Nick had been bringing up the rear.
Then you might have heard the roar, and seen the dust,
which dragoons can raise, when, with whip and spur and wildly rolling eyes,
they bend forward from the pursuit of death. My charger being
but a heavy brute, was soon distanced. But they could not distance
the swift-footed Selim. Rapid as the deadly blast of the desert,
he pursued their dusty course, still gathering upon them at every jump.
And before they could reach the town, though so near,
he brought his furious rider alongside of two of them, whom he cut down.
One hundred yards further, and the third also would have been slain;
for Macdonald, with his crimson claymore, was within a few steps of him,
when the guns of the fort compelled him to retire. However,
though quickly pursued by the enemy, he had the address to bring off
an elegant horse of one of the dragoons whom he had killed.
Chapter 10.
The abomination and desolation set up in South Carolina --
the author, with sorrowful heart, quits his native land,
and flies to the north in quest of warlike friends --
fortunate rencontre with his gallant friend colonel Marion --
curious adventures.
After the capture of Charleston, with all our troops, the British,
as aforesaid, began to spread themselves over the country.
Then was exhibited a spectacle, which for sadness and alarm,
ought never to be forgotten by the people of America.
I mean how easy a thing it is for a small body of soldiers
to overrun a populous and powerful country. The British did not,
after Sir Henry Clinton's return to New York, exceed THREE THOUSAND MEN;
and South Carolina alone, at the lowest computation, must have contained
FIFTY THOUSAND! and yet this host of poor honest men were made to tremble
before that handful of ruffians, as a flock of sheep before the wolf,
or a household of little children before a dark frowning pedagogue.
The reason is immensely plain. The British were all embodied and firm
as a rock of granite; the Carolinians were scattered over the country
loose as a rope of sand: the British all well armed and disciplined,
moved in dreadful harmony, giving their fire like a volcano; the Carolinians,
with no other than birding pieces, and strangers to the art of war,
were comparatively feeble, as a forest of glow-worms:
the British, though but units in number, were so artfully arranged
that they told for myriads; while, for lack of unity, the Carolinians,
though numerous as myriads, passed only for ciphers. In short,
the British were a handful of hawks; the poor Carolinians
a swarm of rice-birds, and rather than be plucked to the pin feather,
or picked to the bone, they and their little ones, they were fain
to flatter those furious falcons, and oft times to chirp and sing
when they were much in the humor to hate and curse.
Oh! blind indeed, and doubly blind is that people, and well worthy
of iron yokes, who, enjoying all the sweets of liberty,
in a land of milk and honey, can expose to foreign Philistines,
that blessed Canaan, unguarded by Military science. Surely those
who thus throw "their pearl before swine", richly deserve that the beast
should turn again and trample THEM, and their treasures too, into the mire.
Yes, and had it not been for a better watch than our own,
at this day, like the wretched Irish, we should have been trampled
into the mire of slavery; groaning under heavy burdens
to enrich our task-masters; and doomed on every fruitless attempt at freedom,
to fatten the buzzards with our gibbeted carcasses.
For lack of this habitual military preparation on our part,
in a few days after the fall of Charleston, Col. Tarleton,
with only one hundred and fifty horse, galloped up to Georgetown,
through the most populous part of the state, with as much hauteur
as an overseer and his boys would gallop through a negro plantation!
To me this was the signal for clearing out. Accordingly,
though still in much pain from the rheumatism, I mounted my horse,
and with sword and pistol by my side, set out for the northward,
in quest of friendly powers to aid our fallen cause.
In passing through Georgetown, I saw a distant group of people,
to whom I rode up, and with great civility, as I thought,
asked the news. To which a young fellow very scornfully replied,
that "Colonel Tarleton was coming, and that the country, thank God,
would soon be cleared of the continental colonels."
I was within an ace of drawing a pistol and shooting the young slave dead
upon the spot. But God was pleased to give me patience to bear up
under that heavy cross; for which I have since very heartily thanked him
a thousand times and more. And indeed, on thinking over the matter,
it has often struck me, that the man who could speak in that way
to one who had on, as he saw, the American uniform, must be a savage,
and therefore not an object of anger, but of pity. But though my anger
was soon over, nothing could cure the melancholy into which this affair
threw me. To see my native country thus prostrate under foreign usurpers,
the generality quite disheartened, and the few, who dared to take her part,
thus publicly insulted, was a shock I was not prepared for,
and which, therefore, sunk my spirits to the lowest ebb of despondence.
Such was the frame of mind wherein I left my native state, and set out,
sick and alone, for the northward, with scarce a hope of ever seeing
better days. About the middle of the second day, as I beat my solitary road,
slowly winding through the silent, gloomy woods of North Carolina,
I discovered, just before me, a stranger and his servant.
Instantly my heart sprang afresh for the pleasures of society,
and quickening my pace, I soon overtook the gentleman, when lo!
who should it be but the man first of all in my wishes,
though the last in my expectations; who, I say, should it be but Marion!
Our mutual surprise was great. "Good heavens!" we both exclaimed
in the same moment, "Is that colonel Marion?" "Is that Horry?"
After the first transports of that joy, which those who have been long absent
from dear friends, can better conceive than I describe, we began to inquire
into each other's destinations, which was found to be the same;
both flying to the north for troops to fight the British.
We had not rode far when Marion, after looking up to the sun,
who was now past his half-way house, came suddenly to a halt, and said,
"Well, come Horry, I feel both peckish and weary, and here is a fine shade,
so let us go down and rest, and refresh ourselves a while."
Whereupon I dismounted; and with the help of his servant,
for his ankle was yet very crazy, got him down too.
Then, sitting side by side, on the trunk of a fallen pine,
we talked over the mournful state of our country; and came at last,
as we had always done, to this solemn conclusion, that we would stand by her
like true children, and either conquer or die with her.
After this, a piece of dried beef was paraded, from Marion's saddle-bags,
with a loaf of Indian bread and a bottle of brandy. The wealthy reader
may smile at this bill of fare; but to me it was a feast indeed. For joy,
like a cordial, had so raised my spirits, and reinvigorated my system,
that I fed like a thresher.
I shall never forget an expression which Marion let fall during our repast,
and which, as things have turned out, clearly shows
what an intimate acquaintance he had with human nature.
I happened to say that I was afraid "our happy days were all gone."
"Pshaw, Horry," he replied, "don't give way to such idle fears.
Our happy days are not all gone. On the contrary, the victory is still sure.
The enemy, it is true, have all the trumps in their hands,
and if they had but the spirit to play a generous game,
would certainly ruin us. But they have no idea of that game;
but will treat the people cruelly. And that one thing will ruin them,
and save America."
"I pray God," said I, "it may be so."
"Well, don't be afraid," replied he, "you will assuredly see it."
Having despatched our simple dinner, we mounted again and pursued our journey,
but with feelings so different from what I had before this meeting,
as made me more sensible than ever what a divine thing friendship is.
And well indeed it was for us that our hearts were so rich in friendship,
for our pockets were as bare of gold and silver as if there were
no such metals on earth. And but for carrying a knife, or a horse-fleam,
or a gun-flint, we had no more use for a pocket than a Highlander has
for a knee-buckle. As to hard money, we had not seen a dollar for years;
and of old continental, bad as it was, we had received but little,
and that little was gone away like a flash; as the reader may well suppose,
when he comes to learn, that a bottle of rum would sweep fifty dollars.
And so here were two continental colonels of us, just started
on a journey of several hundred miles, without a cent in pocket!
But though poor in gold, we were rich in faith. Burning patriots ourselves,
we had counted on it as a certainty, that every body we met,
out of reach of the British, were as fiery as we, and that
the first sight of our uniforms would command smiling countenances,
and hot suppers, and downy beds, and mint slings; and in short,
everything that our hearts could wish. But, alas and alack the mistake!
For instead of being smiled on every where along the road as the champions
of liberty, we were often grinned at as if we had been horse thieves.
In place of being hailed with benedictions, we were frequently
in danger from the brick bats; and in lieu of hot dinners and suppers,
we were actually on the point of starving, both we and our horses!
For in consequence of candidly telling the publicans that, "we had nothing
to pay," they as candidly declared, "they had nothing to give,"
and that "those that had no money had no business to travel."
At length we came to the resolution to say nothing about our poverty,
but, after getting such things as we wanted, to give our `due bills'.
In this we felt ourselves perfectly warranted; for we had, both of us,
thank God, very sufficient estates; and besides, turning out, as we did,
to fight for our country, we thought we had, even by sacred precept,
a very fair claim on that country for a little food.
I remember, one evening, after dark, we reached a tavern, the owner of which
at first seemed very fond of accommodating us. But as soon as
a lighted wood torch had given him a glimpse of our regimentals,
the rogue began to hem and ha, to tell us of a `mighty fine tavern'
about five miles further on.
We begged him to recollect that it was night, and also very rainy,
and as dark as pitch.
"Oh!" quoth he, "the road is mighty plain; you can't miss your way."
"But consider, sir, we are strangers."
"Oh! I never liked strangers in all my life."
"But, sir, we are your countrymen, American officers, going to the north
for men to fight your battles."
"Oh! I wants nobody to fight my battles; king George is good enough for me."
"But, sir, we have travelled all day long without a mouthful
for ourselves or horses."
To this also the brute was preparing some fit answer, when his wife,
who appeared to be a very genteel woman, with a couple of charming girls,
her daughters, ran out and declared that "take us in he could, and should,
that he should; and that he might as well consent at first,
for they would not be said nay."
Even against all this, he stood out for some time; till at length his wife
reminded him, that though the British were carrying every thing before them
in South Carolina, yet that Washington was still in the field,
and the issue of the war unknown; and that at any rate it was good
to have a friend at court.
On this he came to a pause; and at length reluctantly drawled out,
"Well -- I suppose -- you must -- come -- in."
I have related this story, partly to show what a savage man would be
without that softening, polishing friend, a good wife.
Observing that we were wet and cold, this amiable woman and her daughters
soon had kindled up for us a fine sparkling fire, to which
their own sweetly smiling looks gave tenfold cheerfulness and comfort.
And while the husband went poking about the house, silent and surly
as an ill-natured slave, the ladies displayed towards us
the most endearing attentions. The mother brought out from her closet
a bottle of nice family cordial, to warm and cheer us;
while the girls presented basins of water and towels,
that we might wash and refresh ourselves after our fatigue.
And all these seasonable hospitalities they did, not with that ungracious
silence and reserve, which so often depress the traveller's spirits,
but with the charming alacrity of daughters or sisters,
so sweetening every thing with smiles and sprightly chat
as almost made us feel ourselves at home.
As with deep struck thought, I compared our present happy condition
with that a few minutes before, benighted, wet and weary,
I could not help exclaiming, "O my God! what pity it is
that among so many labors which poor mortals take under the sun,
they do not labor more for that which alone deserves their care.
I mean that LOVE, which at once diffuses and enjoys all the happiness
both of earth and heaven."
At supper, the poor creature of a husband strove very hard to draw Marion
into a dispute, about what he was pleased to call our "REBELLION".
I expected to have heard him lashed very severely for such brutality;
for few men ever excelled Marion in the `retort abrupt'. But every time
the subject was introduced, he contrived very handsomely to waive it,
by some pretty turn to the ladies, which happily relieved their terrors,
and gave a fresh spring to general and sprightly conversation.
As our excellent hostess and her fair daughters were about to retire,
we bade them good night, and also adieu, telling them that we meant to ride
very early in the morning. To this they stoutly objected, urging that,
from our fatigue and fasting, we ought to pass a day or two with them,
and refresh ourselves. But if we could not do this, we must at any rate
stay and give them the pleasure of our company at breakfast.
When we retired to our chamber, I asked Marion why he had not given
that brute, our landlord, a proper set down.
"I am surprised at you, Horry," he replied; "when you see
that your fellow man is wretched, can't you give him quarter?
You must have observed, ever since we darkened his door,
that with spleen and toryism, this poor gentleman is in the condition of him
in the parable, who was possessed of seven devils. Since we have not
the power to cast them out, let us not torment him before his time.
Besides, this excellent woman his wife; these charming girls his daughters.
They love him, no doubt, and therefore, to us, at least,
he ought to be sacred, because surrounded by their affections."
The next morning while breakfast was preparing, the churl renewed
his hostilities, by telling us, with a malignant pleasure in his face,
that he and his neighbors were making ready to go to South Carolina
for negroes.
"For negroes!" replied Marion; "pray sir, what do you mean by that?"
"Why, sir," returned he, "South Carolina is now all one as conquered
by the British, and why may we not go and pick up what negroes we can?
They would help me in my corn-field yonder."
Marion asked him whether, if he were to find HIS negroes,
he would think it right to take them?
"To be sure I would," answered he. "You great men who choose to fight
against your king, are all now running away. And why may I not go
and catch your negroes as well as any body else?"
"My God!" replied Marion, with a deep sigh, "what will this world come to?"
and turned the conversation.
Soon as breakfast was over, we took leave of this most unequally yoked couple
and their lovely daughters, and continued our journey. We had not got far
from the house when Marion's servant rode up, and, with a very smirking face,
told his master that he believed the gentlewoman where we stayed last night
must be a monstrous fine lady! Marion asked him why he thought so.
"Why, sir," replied he, "she not only made me almost burst myself
with eating and drinking, and all of the very best, but she has gone
and filled my portmanteau too, filled it up chock full, sir!
A fine ham of bacon, sir, and a pair of roasted fowls,
with two bottles of brandy, and a matter of a peck of biscuit."
"God bless the dear lady!" we both exclaimed at the same moment.
And I trust God did bless her. For indeed to us she was a kind angel,
who not only refreshed our bodies, but still more, feasted our souls.
And though eight and twenty long years have rolled away since that time,
I can still see that angel smile which brightened on her face towards us,
and the memory of which springs a joy in my heart beyond what
the memory of his money bags ever gave to the miser.
On the evening of the same day that we left this charming family,
(I mean the FAIRER PART of it) we reached the house of colonel Thatcher,
one of the noblest whigs in North Carolina. His eyes seemed
as though they would never tire in gazing on our regimentals.
We soon gave him the history of our travels through his native state,
and of the very uncivil manner in which his countrymen had treated us.
He smiled, and bid us be thankful, for that it was entirely of God's mercy
that we had come off so well. "Those people," continued he,
"are mere Hottentots; a set of unenlightened miserable tories, who know
nothing of the grounds of the war; nothing of the rights and blessings
we are contending for; nor of the corruptions and cruelties
of the British ministry; and are therefore just as ready
to fall into their destructive jaws, as young cat-birds are
to run into the mouth of a rattle-snake."
Chapter 11.
Glorious news -- a brave army of continentals coming up --
Marion and the author hasten to meet them at Roanoke --
fortunately get introduced to the baron de Kalb -- polite reception
by that amiable officer -- curious and interesting conversation.
After spending two days of very welcome repose with the elegant
colonel Thatcher, we took leave and set out for Hillsborough,
where we met general Huger and colonel W. White, of the horse,
who told us the glorious news, that "Washington had sent on
a gallant detachment of continentals, who were now in full march
to aid South Carolina."
Our hearts leaped for joy at the news. So great was our impatience
to see what our hearts had so long and so fondly dwelt on, an army of friends,
that we could not wait until they came up, but hurried off instantly
to meet them at Roanoke, where it was said they were crossing.
On reaching the river, we found that they had all got over, and had just
formed their line of march. Oh! how lovely is the sight of friends
in the day of our danger! We have had many military corps, but none
had ever interested us like this. In shining regimentals and glittering arms,
they moved before the eye of the glowing fancy like a host of heroes.
Thrice happy for man, that a veil, dark as the grave, is thrown
over future events! For how could we, who had seen one fine army
butchered at Savannah, and another captured at Charleston,
have borne up under the dreadful prospect of having this gallant armament
also destroyed in a few days!
Soon as our first paroxysm of joy had a little subsided,
we moved toward head quarters, where we had the good fortune
to fall in with our old friend Col. Semp, who appeared overjoyed to see us,
and immediately offered to introduce us to the general. His excellency
Horatio Gates was the commander in chief, but as he had not yet arrived,
the command rested on that brave old German general, the baron de Kalb.
It was to this officer that colonel Semp introduced us, and, as was usual
with him, in very flattering terms; styling us "continental colonels,
and two of the wealthiest and most distinguished patriots of South Carolina!"
I shall never forget what I felt when introduced to this gentleman.
He appeared to be rather elderly. But though the snow of winter was on
his locks, his cheeks were still reddened over with the bloom of spring.
His person was large and manly, above the common size,
with great nerve and activity; while his fine blue eyes
expressed the mild radiance of intelligence and goodness.
He received us very politely, saying he was glad to see us,
"especially as we were the first Carolinians that he had seen;
which had not a little surprised him."
Observing, I suppose, that we labored under rather too much
of our national weakness, I mean modesty, he kindly redoubled
his attentions to us, and soon succeeded in curing us of our reserve.
"I thought," said he, "that British tyranny would have sent
great numbers of the South Carolinians to join our arms. But, so far from it,
they are all, as we have been told, running to take British protections.
Surely they are not tired already of fighting for liberty."
We told him the reason was very plain to us, who were inhabitants
of that country, and knew very well the state of things there.
"Aye," replied he, "well, what can the reason be?"
"Why, sir," answered Marion, "the people of Carolina form but two classes,
the rich and the poor. The poor are generally very poor, because,
not being necessary to the rich, who have slaves to do all their work,
they get no employment from them. Being thus unsupported by the rich,
they continue poor and low spirited. They seldom get money; and indeed,
what little they do get, is laid out in brandy to raise their spirits,
and not on books and newspapers to get information. Hence they know
nothing of the comparative blessings of their own country,
nor of the great dangers which threaten it, and therefore care nothing
about it. As to the other class, the rich, they are generally very rich,
and consequently afraid to stir, unless a fair chance offer,
lest the British should burn their houses and furniture,
and carry off their negroes and stock. But permit me to assure you, sir,
that though thus kept under by fear, they still mortally hate the British,
and will, I am confident, the moment they see an army of friends
at their door, fly to their standard, like a generous pack
to the sound of the horn that calls them to the chase of a hated wolf."
The baron de Kalb smiled, and said he hoped it would be found so.
"No doubt of it at all sir," replied Marion.
The baron then invited us to dine with him, but added, smiling, that he hoped
we had good military stomachs that could relish and digest plain fare,
which was all he could promise us, and perhaps hardly enough of that.
On sitting down to table, we found that his prediction about the bill of fare,
was most unwelcomely true. Our dinner was just half a side
of a miserably poor hog, as miserably cooked; and in such small quantity,
that before we were done there was nothing of it left but a rasher,
for good manners' sake. And as to bread, there was not even a hoe-cake!
It is true, that, by way of substitute, we had a trencher or two
of sweet potatoes paraded. Our drink was admirably suited to the dinner;
apple brandy with river water.
God forbid that I should be unmindful of his favors! For well do I know
that the least of them is much better than the best of us deserve.
On the contrary, I mention it rather as a compliment to his heavenly bounty,
which is wont to spread our tables with so many dainties,
as to cause even roast pigs and sweet potatoes to pass for a sorry meal.
Soon as dinner was over, all of us who could parade a cigar or a pipe,
began to comfort our olfactories with a puff, not forgetting our brandy
the while, so that by the time we had got well entrenched
in clouds of fragrant kite-foot, we were in admirable cue for a dish of chat.
De Kalb led the way; and, as nearly as I can recollect,
in the following words.
"Colonel Marion," said he, pressing the tobacco in his pipe at the same time,
"can you answer me ONE question?"
"Most gladly, general, and a THOUSAND if I can!"
"Thank you, colonel, but ONE will do."
"Be pleased then, sir, to say on."
"Well, colonel, can you tell me how old I am?"
"That's a tough question, general."
"TOUGH, colonel! pray how do you make that out?"
"Why, sir, there is a strange January and May sort of contrast
between your locks and your looks that quite confuses me.
By your locks you seem to be in the winter, by your looks
in the summer of your days."
"Well but, colonel, striking the balance between the two,
whereabouts do you take me to be?"
"Why, sir, in the spring and prime of life; about forty."
"Good heavens, forty!"
"Yes, sir, that's the mark; there or thereabouts."
"What! no more?"
"No, sir, not a day more; not an hour."
"Upon honor?"
"Yes, sir, upon honor; upon a soldier's honor."
"Ha! -- ha! -- ha! -- Well, colonel, I would not for a thousand guineas
that your riflemen shot as wide off the mark as you guess.
The British would not dread them as they do. Forty years old, indeed!
why what will you say, colonel, when I tell you that I have been
two and forty years a soldier."
Here we all exclaimed, "Impossible, general! impossible."
"I ask your pardon, gentlemen," replied he, "it is not at all impossible,
but very certain. Very certain that I have been two and forty years
a soldier in the service of the king of France!"
"O wonderful! two and forty years! Well then, at that rate,
and pray how old, general, may you take yourself to be?"
"Why, gentlemen," replied he, "man and boy, I am now about sixty-three."
"Good heaven! sixty-three! and yet such bloom, such flesh and blood!"
"If you are so surprised, gentlemen, at my looks at sixty-three,
what would you have thought had you seen my father at eighty-seven."
"Your father, general! he cannot be alive yet, sure."
"Alive! yes, thank God, and alive like to be, I hope, for many a good year
to come yet. Now, gentlemen, let me tell you a little story of my father.
The very Christmas before I sailed for America, I went to see him.
It was three hundred miles, at least, from Paris. On arriving at the house
I found my dear old mother at her wheel, in her eighty-third year,
mind gentlemen!! spinning very gaily, while one of her great-granddaughters
carded the wool and sung a hymn for her. Soon as the first transport
of meeting was over, I eagerly asked for my father. `Do not be uneasy,
my son,' said she, `your father is only gone to the woods
with his three little great-grandchildren, to cut some fuel for the fire,
and they will all be here presently, I'll be bound!' And so it proved;
for in a very short time I heard them coming along. My father
was the foremost, with his axe under his arm, and a stout billet
on his shoulder; and the children, each with his little load,
staggering along, and prattling to my father with all their might.
Be assured, gentlemen, that this was a most delicious moment to me.
Thus after a long absence, to meet a beloved father, not only alive,
but in health and dear domestic happiness above the lot of kings:
also to see the two extremes of human life, youth and age,
thus sweetly meeting and mingling in that cordial love,
which turns the cottage into a paradise."
In telling this little story of his aged father and his young relatives,
the general's fine countenance caught an animation which perfectly
charmed us all.
The eyes of Marion sparkled with pleasure. "General," said he,
"the picture which you have given us of your father,
and his little great-grandchildren, though short, is extremely
interesting and delightful. It confirms me in an opinion
which I have long entertained, which is, that there is more happiness
in low life than in high life; in a cottage than in a castle.
Pray give us, general, your opinion of that matter."
"Why," replied De Kalb, "this opinion of yours, colonel, is not a novel one
by any means. It was the opinion of Rousseau, Fenelon, and of many other
great men, and elegant writers. But notwithstanding such high authority,
I must still beg leave to be a dissenter. I have seen so many people happy
and also unhappy, both in cottages and castles, that I cannot but conclude,
that happiness does not belong, peculiarly, to either condition, but depends
on something very different from, and infinitely superior to both."
We eagerly asked what he alluded to.
"Why, gentlemen," replied he, "since you have been so polite
as to ask my opinion, I will as frankly give it, though I am afraid
it will seem very odd, especially coming from a soldier. However,
be that as it may, my opinion you have asked, and my opinion you shall have;
which is, that religion is the only thing to make a man happy
in cottages or courts."
The young officers began to stare.
Gathering from their looks, that some of the company did not relish
this kind of philosophy, he quickly thus resumed his speech.
"Pardon! gentlemen, I beg pardon! I must not be misunderstood.
By `religion', I don't mean `priest-craft'. I don't mean
that superstitious grimace; that rolling up of white eyes,
and spreading of sanctified palms; with `disfigured faces and long prayers,'
and all the rest of that holy trumpery, which, so far from
making people cheerful, tends but to throw them into the dumps.
But I mean, by `religion', that divine effort of the soul,
which rises and embraces the great author of its being with filial ardor,
and walks and converses with him, as a dutiful child with his revered father.
Now gentlemen, I would ask, all prejudice apart, what is there
can so exalt the mind and gladden the heart, as this high friendship
with heaven, and those immortal hopes that spring from religion?"
Here one of the company, half blushing, as palpably convicted
by the truth of the general's argument smartly called out --
"Well but, general, don't you think we can do pretty well here in camp,
without religion?"
"What!" replied De Kalb, "would you give it all up to the priests?"
"Yes, to be sure I would," said the young officer, "for I am for every man's
following his own trade, general. They are priests, and we are soldiers.
So let them do all the praying, and we will do all the fighting."
"Why, as to the fighting part," rejoined De Kalb, "I have no objection
to doing all that for the priests, especially as their profession
does not allow them to fight for themselves. But as to giving them up
all the devotion, I confess I am not so liberal. No! no! gentlemen,
charity begins at home; and I am not for parting with pleasure so easily."
"PLEASURE!" replied the young officer with a sneer.
"Yes, sir, PLEASURE," returned De Kalb. "According to my creed, sir,
piety and pleasure are synonymous terms; and I should just as soon
think of living physically, without bread, as of living pleasantly,
without religion. For what is religion, as I said before, but HABITUAL
FRIENDSHIP WITH GOD? And what can the heart conceive so delightful?
Or what can so gratify it in all its best and strongest desires.
For example, gentlemen, we are all fond of honor. I, for my part,
am fond of the friendship of the king of France. You glory in
the friendship of the great Washington. Then what must be the glory of him
who is in friendship with God? Again, gentlemen, we are all born to love,
to admire, to adore. If a man have no love, he is gloomy.
If he love a worthless object, he is mortified. But if he love
a truly worthy object, his face shines, his eyes sparkle,
his voice becomes sweet, and his whole air expressive of cheerfulness.
And as this happy feeling must, in the nature of things,
keep pace with the excellence of the object that is beloved,
then what must be the cheerfulness of him who loves the greatest, best,
and loveliest of all beings, whose eternal perfections and goodness
can for ever make him happier than heart can ask or think?
"In a word, gentlemen, though I am a soldier, and soldiers you know
are seldom enthusiasts in this way, yet I verily believe, as I said before,
that a man of enlightened and fervent piety must be infinitely happier
in a cottage, than an irreligious emperor in his palace."
In the height of this extraordinary conversation, an officer stepped in
and announced the arrival of general Gates.
And here, as I have in this chapter given the reader what the jockies call
a `pretty long heat', I beg leave to order a halt and allow him
a little time to breathe.
Chapter 12.
Gen. Gates -- bon mot of British general Lee -- how an army
ought not to march -- De Kalb prophecies -- chickens counted
before they are hatched, alias, Marion and the author sent by Gen. Gates
to prevent the escape of Cornwallis, before he had run --
the British and American armies meet -- Gates and his militia-men
leave De Kalb in the lurch -- his gallant behavior, and glorious death.
When a poor fellow is going down hill, it is but too common, they say,
for every body to give him a kick.
"Let dogs delight to bark and bite,
For heaven hath made them so."
But, if I know myself aright, I can truly say, that nothing
of this vile spirit suggests a syllable of what I now write
of the unfortunate general Gates. On the contrary, I feel an ardent wish
to speak handsomely of him; and in one view of him I can so speak.
As a gentleman, few camps or courts ever produced his superior.
But though a perfect Chesterfield at court, in camp he was certainly
but a Paris. 'Tis true, at Saratoga he got his temples stuck round
with laurels as thick as a May-day queen with gaudy flowers.
And though the greater part of this was certainly the gallant workmanship
of Arnold and Morgan, yet did it so hoist general Gates
in the opinion of the nation, that many of his dear friends,
with a prudent regard, no doubt, to their own dearer selves,
had the courage to bring him forward on the military turf
and run him for the generalissimoship against the great Washington.
But though they were not able to prosper him in this mad attempt,
yet they so far succeeded as to get him the command of the army of Carolina,
where his short and calamitous career soon caused every good patriot
to thank God for continuing to his servant Washington,
the command of the American armies.
On his way from the northern states, general Gates passed
through Fredericksburg, where he fell in with general Charles Lee,
who, in his frank manner, asked him where he was going.
"Why, to take Cornwallis."
"I am afraid," quoth Lee, "you will find him a tough piece of English beef."
"Tough, sir," replied Gates; "tough! then begad I'll tender him.
I'll make `piloo' of him, sir, in three hours after I set eyes upon him."
"Aye! will you indeed?" returned Lee. "Well then send for me,
and I will go and help you to eat him."
Gates smiled; and bidding him adieu, rode off. Lee bawled after him,
"Take care, Gates! take care! or your northern laurels will degenerate
into southern willows."
The truth is, though general Lee was extremely splenetic, other than which,
such a miserable old bachelor and infidel could hardly be,
yet he certainly had a knack of telling people's fortunes.
By virtue of this faculty he presently discovered that general Gates
was no Fabius; but on the contrary, too much inclined
to the fatal rashness of his unfortunate colleague.
And so it turned out. For, from the moment he joined the army, he appeared
to act like one who thought of nothing but to have it proclaimed of him
in all the newspapers on the continent, that in so many days, hours,
minutes, and seconds, he flew from Philadelphia to South Carolina,
`saw, fought, and conquered' Cornwallis; and flew back again
with the trophies of a second British army vanquished.
Instead of moving on as old De Kalb had done, with a prudent regard
to the health and refreshment of the troops, he, Jehu like,
drove them on without regard to either. He would not take the lower road,
as De Kalb earnestly advised, through a rich and plentiful country.
Oh no; that was too round about; would too long have delayed
his promised glory.
Like an eagle shaking his bold pinions in the clouds of his pride,
he must dash down at once upon his prey; and so, for a near cut,
take us through a pine barren, sufficient to have starved
a forlorn hope of caterpillars. I shall make no attempt to describe
the sufferings of the army. For, admitting that I should not lack words,
my reader would, I am sure, lack faith. Indeed, at this season,
when the old crop was gone and the new not quite come in,
what had we to expect, especially in such a miserable country,
where many a family goes without dinner, unless the father can knock down
a squirrel in the woods, or his pale sickly boy pick up a terrapin
in the swamps? We did, indeed, sometimes fall in with a little corn;
but then, the poor, skinny, sun-burnt women, with long uncombed tresses,
and shrivelled breasts hanging down, would run screaming to us,
with tears in their eyes, declaring that if we took away their corn,
they and their children must perish. Such times I never saw,
and I pray God, I may never see nor hear of again; for, to this day,
the bare thought of it depresses my spirits. But perhaps I ought
to think of it, and often too, that I may be the more thankful to him
who never, but in that one instance, permitted me to suffer,
except in thinking of it.
There was one case in particular which I shall never forget.
Almost spent with fatigue and fasting, we halted one evening
near the house of a man, whose plantation bespoke him a tolerably good liver.
He met us with a countenance strongly marked with terror,
and begged for God's sake we would not ruin him, for that he had
a large family of children to maintain. We told him that we were soldiers
fighting for the country, and that it would never do for us to starve.
Understanding from this that we meant to forage upon him that night,
he heaved a deep sigh, and turning about, went off without saying
another word. I must confess I could not help feeling very sensibly for him,
especially when we saw his little white-headed children, in melancholy groups,
peeping at us around the corners of the house.
His young corn, which seemed to cover about fifty acres,
was just in the prime, roasting ear state, and he had also
a couple of beautiful orchards of peach and apple trees,
loaded with young fruit. Scarcely were our tents pitched,
before the whole army, foot and horse, turned in to destroy.
The trees were all threshed in a trice; after which the soldiers fell,
like a herd of wild boars, upon the roasting ears, and the horses
upon the blades and stalks, so that by morning light
there was no sign or symptom left that corn had ever grown there
since the creation of the world. What became of the poor man and his children
God only knows, for by sunrise we were all under marching orders again,
bending for the south. I said ALL, but I only meant all that were ABLE.
For numbers were knocked up every night by agues, fluxes, and other maladies,
brought on by excessive fatigue and lack of food.
I once before observed how highly the baron de Kalb had been pleased
to think of Marion and myself travelling so far to meet him.
His liking for us grew so fast, that we had not been with him
more than two days, before he appointed us his supernumerary aids.
We were, of course, much in his company, and entrusted, I believe,
with every thought of his bosom that related to the good of the army.
He made no scruple to tell us how utterly unmilitary those proceedings were;
and frequently foretold the ruin that would ensue.
"Here," said he, "we are hurrying to attack an enemy, who,
if they but knew our condition, would long for nothing so much
as our arrival. We, two-thirds at least, raw militia; they, all regulars.
We, fatigued; they, fresh. We, feeble and faint through long fasting;
they, from high keeping, as strong and fierce as game cocks or butchers'
bull dogs. It does not signify, gentlemen; it is all over with us;
our army is lost as sure as ever it comes into contact with the British.
I have hinted these things more than once to general Gates,
but he is an officer who will take no counsel but his own."
The truth is, general Gates was one of that crazy-brained quality,
to whom it is a misfortune to be fortunate. The least dram of success
would intoxicate and make him fool hardy. He could never bring himself
to believe, as he used to say, that "lord Cornwallis would dare to look him
in the face."
So confident, indeed, was he of victory, that on the morning before
the fatal action, he ordered Marion and myself to hasten on to Santee river,
and destroy every scow, boat or canoe, that could assist an Englishman
in his flight to Charleston!
Immediately on receiving orders, we waited on the good old De Kalb
to take leave; and also to assure him of our deep regret at parting with him.
"It is with equal regret, my dear sirs," said he, "that I part with you,
because I feel a presentiment that we part to meet no more."
We told him we hoped better things.
"Oh no!" replied he, "it is impossible. War is a kind of game,
and has its fixed rules, whereby, when we are well acquainted with them,
we can pretty correctly tell how the trial will go. To-morrow, it seems,
the die is to be cast, and in my judgment, without the least chance
on our side. The militia will, I suppose, as usual, play the back-game,
that is, get out of the scrape as fast as their legs can carry them.
But that, you know, won't do for me. I am an old soldier, and cannot run:
and I believe I have with me some brave fellows that will stand by me
to the last. So that, when you hear of our battle, you will probably hear
that your old friend De Kalb is at rest."
I do not know that I was ever more affected in my life.
I looked at Marion and saw that his eyes were watery. De Kalb saw it too,
and taking us by the hand, with a firm tone, and animated look,
said, "No! no! gentlemen; no emotions for me but those of congratulation.
I am happy. To die is the irreversible decree of him who made us.
Then what joy to be able to meet his decree without dismay!
This, thank God, is my case. The happiness of man is my wish, that happiness
I deem inconsistent with slavery. -- And to avert so great an evil
from an innocent people, I will gladly meet the British to-morrow,
at any odds whatever."
As he spoke this, I saw a something in his eyes which at once demonstrated
the divinity of virtue and the immortality of the soul.
With sorrowful hearts we then left him, and with feelings which
I shall never forget, while memory maintains her place in this my aged brain.
"Oh my God!" said Marion, as we rode off, "what a difference
does education make between man and man! Enlightened by her sacred ray,
see here is the native of a distant country, come to fight
for our liberty and happiness, while many of our own people,
for lack of education, are actually aiding the British
to heap chains and curses upon themselves and children."
It was on the morning of August the 15th, 1780, that we left the army
in a good position near Rugeley's mills, twelve miles from Camden,
where the enemy lay. About ten o'clock that night orders were given to march
to surprise the enemy, who had at the same time commenced their march,
to surprise the Americans. To their mutual astonishment,
the advance of the two armies met about two o'clock, and began to fire
on each other. The firing, however, was soon discontinued by both parties,
who appeared very willing to leave the matter to be decided by daylight.
A council of war was called: in which De Kalb advised that the army
should fall back to Rugeley's mills, and there, in a good position,
wait to be attacked. --
But Gates not only rejected this excellent counsel, but threw out suspicions
that it originated from fear. Upon this, the brave old De Kalb
called to his servant to take his horse, and leaping on the ground,
placed himself at the head of his command, on foot. To this indecent
expression of general Gates, he also retorted with considerable warmth,
"Well, sir, a few hours perhaps will let us see who are the brave."
It should be recorded for the benefit of our officers,
many of whose laurels have been blasted by the fumes of brandy,
that general Gates was rather too fond of his nocturnal glass.
"I wonder where we shall dine to-morrow?" said one of his officers,
as, in the dark, they sat on their sleepy horses waiting for the day.
"Dine, sir!" replied the confident Gates, "why at Camden, sir, to be sure.
Begad! I would not give a pinch of snuff, sir, to be insured a beef-steak
to-morrow in Camden, and lord Cornwallis at my table."
Presently day appeared; and, as the dawning light increased,
the frighted militia began to discover the woods reddening over like crimson
with the long extended lines of the British army, which soon,
with rattling drums and thundering cannon, came rushing on to the charge.
The militia, scarcely waiting to give them a distant fire, broke and fled
in the utmost precipitation. Whereupon Gates clapped spurs to his horse,
and pushed hard after them, as he said, "to bring the rascals back."
But he took care never to bring himself back, nor indeed to stop
until he had fairly reached Charlotte, eighty miles from the field of battle.
I remember it was common to talk in those days, that he killed three horses
in his flight.
Gates and the militia, composing two-thirds of the army,
having thus shamefully taken themselves off, the brave old De Kalb,
and his handful of continentals were left alone to try the fortune of the day.
And never did men display a more determined valor! For though outnumbered
more than two to one, they sustained the shock of the enemy's whole force,
for upwards of an hour. With equal fury the ranks-sweeping cannon and muskets
were employed by both sides, until the contending legions were nearly mixed.
Then quitting this slower mode of slaughter, with rage-blackened faces
and fiery eyeballs, they plunge forward on each other,
to the swifter vengeance of the bayonet. Far and wide the woods resound
with the clang of steel, while the red reeking weapons, like stings
of infernal serpents, are seen piercing the bodies of the combatants.
Some, on receiving the fatal stab, let drop their useless arms,
and with dying fingers clasped the hostile steel that's cold in their bowels.
Others, faintly crying out, "O God I am slain!" sank pale,
quivering to the ground, while the vital current gushed in hissing streams
from their bursted bosoms. Officers, as well as men, now mingle
in the uproaring strife, and snatching the weapons of the slain,
swell the horrid carnage. Glorying in his continentals,
the brave De Kalb towers before them, like a pillar of fire.
His burning face is like a red star, guiding their destructive course;
his voice, as the horn that kindles the young pack in the chase of blood.
A British grenadier, of giant size, rushes on him with a fixed bayonet.
De Kalb parries the furious blow, and plunges his sword
in the Briton's breast; then, seizing his falling arms, he deals death
around him on the crowding foe. Loud rise the shouts of the Americans;
but louder still the shouts of the more numerous enemy.
The battle burns anew along all the fierce conflicting line.
There, the distant Cornwallis pushes on his fresh regiments,
like red clouds, bursting in thunder on the Americans; and here,
condensing his diminished legions, the brave De Kalb still maintains
the unequal contest. But, alas! what can valor do against equal valor,
aided by such fearful odds? The sons of freedom bleed on every side.
With grief their gallant leader marks the fall of his heroes;
soon himself to fall. For, as with a face all inflamed in the fight,
he bends forward animating his men, he receives ELEVEN WOUNDS!
Fainting with loss of blood, he falls to the ground. Several brave men,
Britons and Americans, were killed over him, as they furiously strove
to destroy or to defend. In the midst of the clashing bayonets,
his only surviving aid, Monsieur du Buyson, ran to him, and stretching
his arms over the fallen hero, called out, "Save the baron de Kalb!
Save the baron de Kalb!" The British officers interposed,
and prevented his immediate destruction.
It has been said that lord Cornwallis was so struck with
the bravery of De Kalb, that he generously superintended
while his wounds were dressed, by his own surgeons. It has also been said,
that he appointed him to be buried with the honors of war.
British officers have been often known to do such noble deeds,
but that lord Cornwallis was capable of acting so honorably, is doubtful.
De Kalb died as he had lived, the unconquered friend of liberty.
For, being kindly condoled with by a British officer for his misfortune,
he replied, "I thank you, sir, for your generous sympathy;
but I die the death I always prayed for; the death of a soldier
fighting for the rights of man."
His last moments were spent in dictating a letter to a friend
concerning his continentals, of whom he said, he "had no words
that could sufficiently express his love, and his admiration of their valor."
He survived the action but a few hours, and was buried
in the plains of Camden, near which his last battle was fought.
When the great Washington, many years afterwards, came on a visit to Camden
he eagerly inquired for the grave of De Kalb. It was shown to him.
After looking on it a while, with a countenance marked with thought,
he breathed a deep sigh, and exclaimed -- "So, there lies the brave De Kalb;
the generous stranger, who came from a distant land, to fight our battles,
and to water, with his blood, the tree of our liberty.
Would to God he had lived to share with us its fruits!"
Congress ordered him a monument. But the friend of St. Tammany
still sleeps "without his fame". I have seen the place of his rest.
It was the lowest spot of the plain. No sculptured warrior
mourned at his low-laid head; no cypress decked his heel.
But the tall corn stood in darkening ranks around him,
and seemed to shake their green leaves with joy over his narrow dwelling.
But the roar of his battle is not yet quite passed away,
nor his ghastly wounds forgotten. The citizens of Camden
have lately enclosed his grave, and placed on it handsome marble,
with an epitaph gratefully descriptive of his VIRTUES and SERVICES,
that the people of future days may, like Washington, heave the sigh
when they read of "the generous stranger who came from a distant land
to fight their battles, and to water, with his blood,
the tree of their liberties."
Fair Camden's plains his glorious dust inhume,
Where annual Ceres shades her hero's tomb.
Chapter 13.
Marion and the author very busy in destroying the rice-makers' boats
on Santee -- first got the news of the defeat of our army,
and death of the brave De Kalb -- Marion addresses his followers --
their gallant reply.
Marion and myself, as yet ignorant of the fate of the army, were on
the waters of the Santee, very busily executing our boat-burning orders.
Not content with destroying the common scows and flats of the ferries,
we went on to sweep the river of every skiff and canoe
that we could lay hands on; nay, had the harmless wonkopkins been able
to ferry an Englishman over the river, we should certainly have declared war
and hurled our firebrands among them.
The reader may be sure we gained no good will by our zeal in this affair;
for it was a serious thing to the planters: and their wrath
waxed exceedingly hot against us. Among that fleet of boats and flats
that perished by our firebrands or hatchets, there were two that belonged
to my excellent old uncle, colonel E. Horry. The old gentleman
could hardly believe his negroes, when they told him
that we were destroying his boats. However, to be satisfied of the matter,
he mounted his horse, and galloped down to the river to see.
We had completely done for his scow, and were just giving
the finishing blows to his boat as he hove in sight; whereupon,
clapping whip and spur to his horse, he came on as hard as he could drive.
Soon as he was within hailing distance of an ordinary speaking trumpet,
he began to bawl -- "Hold! hold! for God's sake hold!"
Then dashing up, with cheeks red as fire coals, and his mouth all in a lather,
he roared out, "Why, what? what? what are you about here?"
"We are only trying to kidnap the British, uncle," said I.
"Kidnap the d---l," he replied.
Then looking around, and seeing how completely we had shivered
his fine new boat and scow, he ripped out again -- "Well! here is a pretty
spot of work! a pretty spot of work! A brand new scow and boat,
that cost me, only last spring, three hundred dollars! every farthing of it!
and here now all cut to smash! ruined! not worth a chew of tobacco!
why! did mortal flesh ever see the like of this? Breaking up our boats!
why, how are we to harvest our rice?"
"Uncle," said I, "you had better think less of harvesting your rice,
and more of catching the muskrats," meaning the British.
Here, darting at me an eye of inexpressible astonishment and rage,
he exclaimed -- "Why, certainly the d---l is in the young man!
catch the British? Why, have you not heard that the British are carrying
every thing before them; have broke up our army; cut the regulars to pieces;
scattered the militia; and chased general Gates to Jericho,
and to the d---l for what I care?"
"God forbid!" said Marion.
"Nay, that is past praying for," replied my uncle, "and if you had
any interest in heaven, you ought to have made it sooner.
It is too late now."
"Great God!" returned Marion; "and so our army is lost!"
"Yes," continued my uncle; "lost, as sure as a gun: and that is not all;
for De Kalb is killed; Sumter surprised and cut to pieces;
and Charleston illuminated every night for joy."
We could neither of us utter a word.
Presently my uncle, casting a searching eye around on our men,
about thirty in number, asked where our troops were.
I told him those were all the troops we had.
I thought the good old gentleman would have gone into fits.
He rolled up his eyes to heaven; smacked his hands together, and bringing them
by a sudden jerk to his breast, with a shrill whistle exclaimed,
"Mad! -- mad! -- the young fellow is as mad as a March hare --
Well, I'll tell you what, nephew of mine, you may go about on the river,
chopping the planters' boats at this rate, but I would not be in your coat,
my lad, for your jacket, though it was stiff with gold."
I asked him what he meant by that?
"Why, I mean," replied he, "that if you are not, all of you,
knocked on the head in three hours, it will be a wonder."
"Aye! what makes you think so, uncle," said I.
He answered: "You know my old waiting man, Tom, don't you?"
"To be sure I do," said I; "I have known Tom ever since I was a boy,
and should be confounded sorry to hear Tom prophesy any harm of me;
for I have always taken him to be a very true man of his word."
"Yes, I'll warrant him," said my uncle; "for though Tom is a negro,
and as black as old Nick, yet I would as soon take Tom's word
as that of any white man in Carolina. Well, Tom, you know,
has a wife at Mr. ----'s, as rank a tory as we have hereabouts.
On coming home this morning, he shook his head and said he was mighty 'fraid
you and Col. Marion were in a bad box; for, that he got it from
one of the black waiters in the house, who overheard the talk,
that there are THREE companies of tories now moulding their bullets,
and making ready to cut you off."
I looked at Marion and saw battle in his face.
My uncle was about to invite us to the house; but Marion interrupted him
by saying, "This is no time to think of visiting;" and turning
to his trumpeter, ordered him to wind his horn, which was instantly done.
Then placing himself at our head, he dashed off at a charging lope;
with equal speed we followed and soon lost sight of my uncle Horry.
On reaching the woods, Marion ordered the troop to halt and form;
when, with his usual modesty, he thus addressed us:
"Well, gentlemen, you see our situation! widely different
from what it once was. Yes, once we were a happy people!
Liberty shone upon our land, bright as the sun that gilds yon fields;
while we and our fathers rejoiced in its lovely beams, gay as the birds
that enliven our forests. But, alas! those golden days are gone,
and the cloud of war now hangs dark and lowering over our heads.
Our once peaceful land is now filled with uproar and death.
Foreign ruffians, braving us up to our very firesides and altars,
leave us no alternative but slavery or death. Two gallant armies
have been marched to our assistance; but, for lack of competent commanders,
both have been lost. That under general Lincoln, after having been
duped and butchered at Savannah, was at last completely trapped at Charleston.
And that under general Gates, after having been imprudently overmarched,
is now cut up at Camden. Thus are all our hopes from the north
entirely at an end; and poor Carolina is left to shift for herself.
A sad shift indeed, when not one in a thousand of her own children will rise
to take her part; but, on the contrary, are madly taking part with the enemy
against her. And now, my countrymen, I want to know your minds.
As to my own, that has long been made up. I consider my life as but a moment.
But I also consider, that to fill that moment with duty, is my all.
To guard my innocent country against the evils of slavery, seems now
my greatest duty; and, therefore, I am determined, that while I live,
she shall never be enslaved. She may come to that wretched state
for what I know, but MY eyes shall never behold it. Never shall she clank
her chains in my ears, and pointing to the ignominious badge, exclaim,
"IT WAS YOUR COWARDICE THAT BROUGHT ME TO THIS."
In answer to this, we unanimously assured him, that those sentiments
and resolutions were exactly our own: and that we were steadfastly determined
to die with him, or conquer for our country.
"Well then, my brave friends," said he, "draw your swords! Now for a circle,
emblematical of our eternal union! and pointing your blades to heaven,
the bright throne of Him who made us free, swear you will never be
slaves of Britain."
Which was all most devoutly done.
Soon as this patriotic rite was performed, we all dismounted,
and taking our seats on the trunks of two fallen pines
that lay conveniently parallel, we made our simple dinner of cold roots;
and for our beverage drank of the lucid stream that softly murmured by.
The reader will please to keep in mind, that our troops consisted of
but thirty mounted militia; chiefly gentlemen volunteers,
armed with muskets and swords, but almost without powder and ball.
How Marion came to be at the head of this little party,
it may be amusing to the reader to hear.
Some short time before this date, 1779-80, when the war began to rage
in South Carolina, a British captain by the name of Ardeisoff
came up to Georgetown in an armed vessel, and filled the country
with printed proclamations from lord Cornwallis, calling on
the GOOD PEOPLE of South Carolina to submit and take royal protections!!
Numbers of the ignorant and pusillanimous sort closed with the offer.
But the nobler ones of the district, (Williamsburgh,)
having no notion of selling their liberties for a `pig in a poke',
called a caucus of their own, from whom they selected captain John James,
and sent him down to master capt
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