The Revolutionary War in Georgia developed some very romantic figures,
which are known to us rather by tradition than by recorded history.
First among them, on the side of the patriots, was Robert Sallette.
Neither history nor tradition gives us the place of his birth or the
date of his death; yet it is known that he played a more important part
in the struggle in the Colony than any man who had no troops at his
command. He seems to have slipped mysteriously on the scene at the
beginning of the war. He fought bravely, even fiercely, to the end,
and then, having nothing else to do, slipped away as mysteriously as
he came. "In Liberty County," says history, "there lived during the
Revolution a man by the name of Robert Sallette, distinguished for
his opposition to the Tories. It is not known with certainty to what
particular command he was attached. He appears to have been a sort of
roving character, doing things in his own way." Here is the mystery of
romance to begin with. Here is the wanderer,--the character so dear to
the imagination of youth.
"The Tories," says history further, "stood very much in dread of him;
and well they might, for never had they a more, formidable foe." Here,
then, is the hero and the wanderer combined in one person, and
that person fighting for the holiest cause in which man can take up
arms,--the rights and liberties of the people. What more could be asked?
Curious as we may be to know something of the personal history of Robert
Sallette, it is not to be found chronicled in the books. The French
twist to his name makes it probable that he was a descendant of those
unfortunate Acadians who, years before, had been stripped of their lands
and possessions in Nova Scotia by the British, their houses and barns
burned, and they themselves transported away from their homes. They were
scattered at various points along the American coast. Some were landed
at Philadelphia, and some were carried to Louisiana. Four hundred were
sent to Georgia. The British had many acts of cruelty to answer for in
those days, but none more infamous than this treatment of the gentle and
helpless Acadians. It stands in history to-day a stain upon the British
name.
Another fact that leads to the belief that Robert Sallette was a
descendant of the unfortunate Acadians was the ferocity with which he
pursued the British and the Tories. The little that is told about
him makes it certain that he never gave quarter to the enemies of his
country.
His name was a terror to the Tories. One of them, a man of considerable
means, offered a reward of one hundred guineas to any person who would
bring him the head of Robert Sallette. The Tory had never seen Sallette,
but his alarm was such that he offered a reward large enough to tempt
some one to assassinate the daring partisan. When Sallette heard of the
reward, he disguised himself as a farmer, and provided himself with
a pumpkin, which he placed in a bag. With the bag swinging across his
shoulder, he made his way to the house of the Tory. He was invited in,
and deposited the bag on the floor beside him, the pumpkin striking the
boards with a thump.
[Illustration: The head of Robert Sallette 066]
"I have brought you the head of Robert Sallette," said he. "I hear that
you have offered a reward of one hundred guineas for it."
"Where is it?" asked the Tory.
"I have it with me," replied Sallette, shaking the loose end of the bag.
"Count me out the money and take the head."
The Tory, neither doubting nor suspecting, counted out the money, and
placed it on the table.
"Now show me the head," said he.
Sallette removed his hat, tapped himself on the forehead, and said,
"Here is the head of Robert Sallette!"
The Tory was so frightened that he jumped from the room, and Sallette
pocketed the money and departed.
On one occasion Robert Sallette is known to have spared the lives of two
Tories, at least for a little while. Once when he and Andrew Walthour
(for whom Walthourville in Georgia is named) and another man were riding
along a narrow trail late in the afternoon, they met three other
riders whom they suspected to be Tories. The plan that Sallette and his
companions adopted to capture the men was very simple. Andrew Walthour,
who was riding in front, was to pass the first and second men, Robert
Sallette to pass the first. As Walthour came to the third man when
Sallette had come to the second, and their companion to the first, the
Liberty Boys seized the guns of the three simultaneously. The men had no
opportunity either to fight or escape.
"Dismount, gentlemen!" said Sallette. Then he addressed himself to the
leader. "What is your name?"
In reply to this, a fictitious name was given, as Sallette and his
companions afterwards found out.
"Where is your camp?" asked Sallette.
"We are from over the river," answered the man, meaning the Altamaha.
"Where did you cross?"
"At Beards Ferry." This was where the Whigs and the Liberty Boys were
most numerous.
"That is not true!" exclaimed Sallette.
Then he turned to the second man, asked the same questions, and received
the same replies. He turned to the third man, asked the same questions,
and received the same replies.
"If you do not tell me the truth," exclaimed Sallette to this last man,
"I'll cut off your head!"
The man persisted, and Sallette was as good as his word. The others
begged for their lives, and declared that they would guide Sallette
straight to their camp. This they did; and Sallette, aided by his
prisoners, captured a large party of Tories.
Once when Robert Sallette and Andrew Walthour were marching with the
advance guard of the American troops, they suddenly met the advance
guard of the British. A short but sharp skirmish followed, during which
a very large man of the British guard was killed. Observing that the
dead man wore a pair of good boots, Sallette determined to get them.
While he was pulling them off in the midst of a furious fire from the
enemy, his companions called out to him to come away or he would surely
be killed. "I must have the boots!" cried Sallette to his companions. "I
want them for little John Way!"
Here was fun in the midst of tragedy; for it is said that little John
Way could have put both his feet and his fists into one of the boots.
One day Sallette dressed himself up as a British officer and accepted
an invitation to dine with a party of the enemy. Suddenly, in the midst
of the toasting and drinking, Sallette drew his sword, killed the men
who sat to the right and left of him, sprang on his horse, and rode off
unhurt, though he was in such a hurry that he had no time to throw the
bridle reins over the horse's head.
At the White House, near Sunbury, Major Baker, of the patriot army, with
thirty men, attacked and defeated a party of Tories under command of
Captain Goldsmith.
Among the slain was Lieutenant Gray, whose head was almost severed from
his body by a stroke of Robert Sallette's sword.
On many occasions, when a battle was in progress, Sallette would detach
himself from the American army, gain the rear of the enemy, and kill
many men before he was discovered. If this brave man was indeed a
descendant of the Acadians, he avenged the wrongs of many of his
countrymen.
Another character who attracted attention during the War of the
Revolution was Patrick Carr, whose hatred of the Tories made his name
celebrated among the Liberty Boys of Georgia. Paddy Carr, as he was
called, lived and died in Jefferson County. He was born in Ireland, but
came to Georgia before the Revolution. When the independence movement
began, he threw himself into it with all the ardor of his race. Owing to
the cruelty of the Tories, he conceived a special hatred against them.
He showed them no quarter. History gives but a word or two to his
achievements, but tradition still keeps his name alive in the region
where he operated. Like Sallette, he was an independent partisan; but,
unlike Sallette, his operations were among those who could remember well
enough, but who would not take the trouble to preserve the particulars
of even the least of his exploits. We know that Patrick Carr lived. We
know that he became famous where recklessness and daring were common.
But that is nearly all we know. It is said of him that during the war he
killed one hundred Tories with his own hands. Once, when praised for his
bravery, he smiled and shook his head, saying that he would have made
a very good soldier, but the Lord had given him a heart that was too
merciful. He no doubt remembered the atrocities of the Tories in the
section that is now Jefferson, Columbia, Burke, and Wilkes counties. The
cruelties they committed in that region during the Revolution have no
parallel in civilized warfare.
Among the adventurous characters of that time, on the side of the
British, Daniel McGirth stands easily first. The history of his career
during the war is a strange one. He was born in South Carolina,
and entered into the struggle against the British with the utmost
enthusiasm. He was a brave man, a hard fighter, and one of the most
active of those who took up arms against the King. He was an expert
woodsman, and was at home in the saddle. He was assigned to duty as a
scout, and was better equipped for that service, perhaps, than any man
in the American army. The ease with which he secured information of the
enemy's movements and plans, and the energy that marked his movements,
made his services of great value to the patriot cause. This was not
thoroughly appreciated by some of the officers under whom McGirth acted.
He brought with him into the army a mare which he called "The Gray
Goose." She is said to have been an elegant animal, and McGirth was
very proud of her. With this mare under him, he always felt safe
from pursuit. One of the American officers, who was a good judge of
horseflesh, and who probably wanted to "cut a dash," as the saying is,
saw this beautiful mare, and coveted her. Finding that McGirth scorned
all offers to sell her, the officer adopted various means to obtain her.
These efforts were resisted by McGirth, mainly on the ground that the
mare was his own private property, and that she was essential to the
duties he was called on to perform. Failing to gain his ends in this
way, the officer continued to worry McGirth in other ways. He no doubt
did something to rouse the ire of the scout, who was an irritable man,
and who felt the importance of the service he was rendering to the
cause. It is not now known how McGirth insulted the officer,--whether
in a moment of passion he struck him, or whether he merely used rough
language to him.
Whatever the offense, McGirth was placed under arrest, tried by a
court-martial, found guilty of violating the articles of war, and
sentenced to be whipped. He received this punishment, and was placed
in confinement again, where he was to remain until he received another
whipping. While thus held, he saw his mare picketed near the camp, and
he immediately resolved to escape. He was successful in this. Once free,
he secured The Gray Goose, leaped into the saddle, turned around, and,
in the face of his pursuers, pronounced threats of vengeance against all
the Americans for his ill treatment.
There is no doubt that he was illtreated; but if he had not been an
ignorant man, he would not have pronounced against the cause of liberty
on account of the treatment he received at the hands of individuals.
But the savage in his nature was aroused, and he carried out his fierce
threats to the fullest extent. For the time being, he attached himself
to another American command; but at the first opportunity he deserted
to the enemy, and became the scourge and terror of those who opposed the
British cause. He spared none. His field extended from the Florida line
to the Savannah River, in what is now Elbert County, and far into South
Carolina. He appeared when least expected, and carried destruction with
him. His mare became as noted as her master. In what was then Upper
Georgia, she was known as "The Bald-faced Pony." On many an occasion
he owed his life to the fleetness of his mare. But his vengeance was
never satisfied: it was always active, and thirsting for the blood of
the American patriot. The whim of the officer to possess McGirth's mare
was a foolish one at best. It was the cause of great public and private
suffering.
[Illustration: McGirth and his mare 072]
When South Carolina was rescued from the British, McGirth retreated
into Georgia, and finally into Florida. When the Spaniards regained
possession of that territory, he became subject to their laws. For some
reason or other he was thrown into one of the dungeons of the old fort
at St. Augustine, where he was confined for five years. When released,
his health was broken, and it was with great difficulty that he managed
to return to Sumter District, in South Carolina, where his wife lived.
A very queer and eccentric character in the Revolution was Captain Rory
Mcintosh, of Mallow. Though Rory was a kinsman of General Lachlan and
Colonel John Mcintosh, who were among the most active Liberty Boys in
Georgia, he took up arms for the King, and a very devoted Tory he was.
His eccentricities would have been called whims if he had not stuck
to them with such constancy. He was a Highlander and a follower of the
Stuarts. How and why he became loyal to the new line of British kings,
history does not state; but his clan had a chief, and he no doubt
thought that every government ought to have a monarch. When the
Revolution began, he was over sixty years of age, and was living
comfortably on his plantation at Mallow; but he volunteered, and fought
through the war.
A story is told of Rory Mcintosh that once when the Spaniards held
East Florida, he carried to St Augustine a drove of cattle. He received
payment in dollars, which he placed in a canvas bag behind him on his
horse. When near his home, the bag gave way, and a part of the money
fell out. He secured what was left and rode on, paying no attention to
that which had fallen from the bag. When in need of money some years
after, he returned to the place where the dollars had spilled, picked
up as many as he wanted, and went back home. Whenever he could, he went
about accompanied by a piper. Rory was a tall, finely formed man,'with
bristling whiskers and a ruddy complexion: consequently when he appeared
on parade, he attracted great attention.
[Illustration: Captain Rory McIntosh 074]
In 1778 two expeditions were sent from St. Augustine for the purpose
of attacking Savannah,--one by sea, and one by land under command of
Lieutenant Colonel Prevost. This land expedition had been joined by
Captain Roderick Mcintosh, in the capacity of a volunteer. He attached
himself particularly to the infantry company commanded by Captain
Murray. When the British laid siege to Sunbury and the fort, Captain
Murray's company was in the line near the fort. One morning when Captain
Rory had had a dram too much, he determined to sally out and summon
the fort to surrender. His comrades tried to restrain him, but he was
determined. Finally he strutted out, a drawn claymore in his hand, with
his trusty slave Jim. He approached the fort and cried out,--
"Surrender, you miscreants! How dare you presume to resist his Majesty's
arms?"
Colonel Mcintosh, who commanded the fort, saw at once the condition of
Captain Rory, and forbade the men to fire. Then he threw open the gate,
and said,--
"Walk in, Mr. Mcintosh, and take possession."
"No," cried Rory, "I'll not trust myself among such vermin. I order you
to surrender!"
At that moment a rifle was fired by some one in the fort, and the ball
passed through Captain Rory's face from side to side under the eyes.
He fell backwards, but immediately recovered, and stood on his feet
flourishing his claymore. Then he began to walk backward, his face to
the fort. Several shots were fired at him, and Jim called out,--
"Run, massa, run! dey kill you!"
"Run!" cried Rory scornfully. "You may run, but I belong to a race that
never runs!"
It was at the siege of Sunbury that Colonel Mcintosh, when summoned by
Colonel Prevost to surrender the fort, sent back the reply, "Come and
take it!"