FERGUSON ADVANCES SOUTH.--HE HAS REASON TO BECOME CIRCUMSPECT.--ARTHUR
BUTLER FINDS HIMSELF RETREATING FROM HIS FRIENDS.
We return for a moment to look after Butler. As near as my information
enables me to speak--for I wish to be accurate in dates--it was about
the 23d of September when our hero arrived at Gilbert-town, and found
himself committed to the custody of Ferguson. His situation, in many
respects uncomfortable, was not altogether without circumstances to
alleviate the rigor of captivity. Ferguson, though a rough soldier, and
animated by a zealous partisanship in the royal cause which imbued his
feelings with a deep hatred of the Whigs, was also a man of education,
and of a disposition to respect the claims of a gentleman fully equal to
himself in rank and consideration--even when these qualities were found
in an enemy. His intercourse, of late, had been almost entirely confined
to the wild spirits who inhabited the frontier, and who, impelled by
untamed passions, were accustomed to plunge into every excess which the
license of war enabled them to practise. He had, accordingly, adapted
his behavior to the complexion of this population, and maintained his
authority, both over his own recruits and such of the opposite party as
had fallen into his hands, by a severe, and not unfrequently by even a
cruel bearing. Following the example set him by Cornwallis himself, he
had more than once executed summary vengeance upon the Whigs whom the
chances of war had brought into his power; or, what was equally
reprehensible, had allowed the Tory bands who had enlisted under his
banner, to gratify their own thirst of blood in the most revolting
barbarities. Towards Butler, however, he demeaned himself with more
consideration--and sometimes even extended to him such little courtesies
as might be indulged without risk to the principal purpose of his safe
custody. A separate room was provided for the prisoner, and he was
allowed the occasional services of Harry Winter and the other companions
of his late misfortune. Still, the familiar scenes of suffering and
death which Butler was constrained to witness amongst his compatriots,
and the consciousness of his own inability to avert these calamities,
greatly weighed upon his spirits. His persuasion, too, that Ferguson was
now aiding, by what seemed to be a most effectual participation, in the
plan for the capture of Clarke, and his belief that this blow would
sadly afflict, if not altogether dishearten the friends of independence
in the South, added to his private grief. He knew nothing of the
mustering of the mountaineers, and saw no hope of extrication from the
difficulties that threatened to overwhelm his cause.
Such was the condition of Butler during the first four or five days of
his captivity at Gilbert-town. At the end of this period, circumstances
occurred to raise in his bosom the most lively excitement. Suddenly, an
order was issued for the immediate movement of the army southwards--and
the prisoners were directed to accompany the march. It was apparent that
information of importance had been received, and that some decisive
event was at hand. When, in pursuance of this command, the troops were
marshalled for their journey, and Butler was stationed in the column,
along with all the other prisoners of the post, he was startled to
observe the dragoon, James Curry, appear in the ranks, as one regularly
attached to the corps. Butler had seen nor heard nothing of this man
since he had parted from him at Blackstock's after the battle of
Musgrove's mill; and his conviction, that, acting under the control of
some higher authority, this individual had been the principal agent in
his present misfortunes, gave him a painful anxiety in regard to the
future. This anxiety was far from being diminished, when he now
discovered that the same person, with a party of dragoons, was specially
intrusted with his guardianship. Winter and the other troopers who had,
until this moment, been allowed to keep him company, were now directed
to take a station amongst the common prisoners, and Butler was furnished
with his horse, and commanded to submit to the particular supervision
of the dragoon. These arrangements being made, the march of Ferguson
commenced.
The army moved cautiously towards the upper sections of the district of
Ninety-Six. It was evident to Butler, from the frequent hints dropped in
conversation by the royalist officers, that Ferguson supposed himself to
be getting every moment nearer to Clarke. In this state of suspense and
weariness the first day's march was concluded.
The second was like the first. Ferguson still moved south, slowly, but
steadily. Every man that was met upon the road was questioned by the
commanding officer, to ascertain whether there was any report of troops
westward. "Had any crossed Saluda--or been heard of towards the
mountains!"--was an invariable interrogatory.
None, that the person questioned knew of--was the common reply.
"Tush! the devil's in it, that we can hear nothing of the fellow!"
exclaimed Ferguson, after the fifth or sixth wayfarer had been examined.
"Clarke and his beggars are flesh and blood--they travel by land, and
not through the air! Faith, I begin to think Cruger has saved us
trouble, and has got his hand on the runaway's croup! James Curry."
The dragoon rode to the front and bowed.
"You left Fort Ninety-Six only on Wednesday?"
"I did."
"Where was Cruger then?"
"Marching towards Saluda, with Brown--following Clarke, as it was
supposed--but on rather a cold scent as one of the couriers reported."
"Humph! I must get still nearer to the mountains," said Ferguson, as he
clenched his teeth and seemed absorbed in thought.
In a short time after this, the column diverged from their former course
by a road that led westward.
Thus ended the second day.
During the next two days, Ferguson had become manifestly more
circumspect in his movement, and spent the greater portion of this
interval upon a road which was said to extend from Ninety-Six, to the
Allegany mountain. Here he remained, with the wariness of the tiger
that prepares to spring upon his prey; and it was with a petulant temper
that, after this anxious watch for forty-eight hours, he turned upon his
heel and summoned his officers around him, and announced his
determination to penetrate still further into the forest. Like a man
perplexed and peevish with crosses, he soon changed his mind, and
ordered a lieutenant of cavalry into his presence.
"Take six of your best appointed men," he said, "and send one half of
them up this road towards the mountains--the other half southwards--and
command them not to stop until they bring me some news of this
night-hawk, Clarke. Let them be trusty men that you can depend upon. I
will wait but twenty-four hours for them. Meantime," he added, turning
to another officer present, "I will send a courier after Cruger, who
shall find him if he is above ground."
The following day--which brings us to the third of October--a decisive
change took place in the aspect of affairs. Before either of the scouts
that had been lately despatched had returned, a countryman was brought
into Ferguson's camp, who, being submitted to the usual minute
examination, informed the questioners, that some thirty miles, in the
direction of Fort Ninety-Six, he had met upon the road a large party of
cavalry under the command of Colonel Williams--and that that officer had
shown great anxiety to learn whether certain Whig troops had been seen
near Gilbert-town. The informant added, that "Williams appeared to him
to be strangely particular in his inquiries about Ferguson."
This intelligence seemed suddenly to awaken the British partisan from a
dream. He was now one hundred miles south of Cornwallis; and, both east
and west of the line of communication between them, it was apparent that
hostile parties were assembling, with a view to some united action
against him. It struck him now, for the first time, that an enemy might
be thrown between the main army at Charlotte and his detachment, and
thus cause him some embarrassment in his retreat--but it was still with
the scorn of a presumptuous soldier that he recurred to the possibility
of his being forced to fight his way.
"They are for turning the tables on me," he said, in a tone of
derision, "and hope to pounce upon my back while I am taken up with this
half-starved and long-legged fellow of the mountains, But I will show
them who is master yet!"
In this temper he commenced his retreat, which was conducted slowly and
obstinately; and it may be supposed that Butler, as he involuntarily
followed the fortunes of his enemy, contemplated these movements with an
anxious interest. The common report of the camp made him acquainted with
the circumstances which had recommended the retreat, and he, therefore,
watched the course of events in momentary expectation of some incident
of great importance to himself.
At night Ferguson arrived at the Cowpens, just twenty-four hours in
advance of his enemies. Whilst resting here he received intelligence of
the stout array that had lately assembled at Gilbert-town, and which, he
was now told, were in full pursuit of him. It was, at first, with an
incredulous ear that he heard the report of the numbers of this
suddenly-levied mountain-army. It seemed incredible that such a host
could have been convened in such brief space and with such secret
expedition; and even more unworthy of belief, that they could have been
found in the wild and thinly-peopled regions of the Allegany. His doubt,
however, yielded to his fear, and induced him to accelerate his pace.
His first care was to despatch, on that night, a courier to Cornwallis,
to inform the general of his situation and ask for reinforcements. The
letter which bore this request is still extant, and will show that even
in the difficult juncture in which we have presented the writer of it,
his boastful confidence had not abandoned him.
Before the succeeding dawn he was again in motion, directing his hasty
march towards the Cherokee Ford of Broad river. This point he reached at
sundown. His journey had been pursued, thus far, with unremitting
industry. If his motions had corresponded to his affected disesteem of
his enemy, he would here have halted for rest; but, like one who flies
with the superstitious dread of a goblin follower, the retreating
partisan looked over his shoulder with an unquiet spirit, and made a
sign to his companions still to press forward. They crossed the river at
night, and did not halt again until they had traversed some six or eight
miles beyond the further bank.
The anxiety, suspense, and eager expectation of Butler increased with
these thickening demonstrations of the approach of a period which he
foresaw must be decisive, not only of his own hopes, but, in a great
degree, of the hopes of his country. The retreat of Ferguson towards
King's Mountain, which now lay but a few miles in advance, was a visible
and most striking type of the vanishing power which for a brief
half-year had maintained its domination over the free spirits of the
south, and which had aimed, by a cruel and bloody rule, to extinguish
all that was generous and manly in these afflicted provinces.
Contenting myself with this rapid survey of events which, of themselves,
possess an interest that would, if time and space permitted me, have
justified the detail of a volume, I go back to the regular current of my
story.