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.