a letter at such a time. That any men on earth could have crossed those
wintry waters he could hardly believe, and it seemed to him that they
must have come on wings. But there they were, asking him to give up the
fort, a thing he had no notion of doing without a fight. If Colonel
Clark wanted the fort he must come and take it.
Colonel Clark did want it. He wanted it badly. And it was not long
before the two cannon which he had brought with him were loaded and
pouring their shot into the fort, while the riflemen kept them company
with their guns. Colonel Hamilton fired back with grape-shot and
cannon-balls, and for hour after hour the siege went on, the roar of
cannon echoing back from woodland and water. For fourteen hours the
cannonade was kept up, all day long and far into the night, the red
flashes from cannon and rifle lighting up all around. At length both
sides were worn out, and they lay down to sleep, expecting to begin
again with the morning light.
But that day's work, and the sure shooting of the Kentucky riflemen, had
made such havoc in the fort as to teach Colonel Hamilton that the bold
Kentuckians were too much for him. So when, at day dawn, another
messenger came with a summons to surrender, he accepted as gracefully as
he could. He asked to be given the honors of war, and to be allowed to
march back to Detroit, but Colonel Clark wrathfully answered, "To that I
can by no means agree. I will not again leave it in your power to spirit
up the Indian nations to scalp men, women, and children."
Soon into the fort marched the victors, with shouts of triumph, their
long rifles slanting over their shoulders. And soon the red cross flag
of England came down and the star-spangled banner of America waved in
its place. Hamilton and his men were prisoners in American hands.
There was proof enough that this English colonel had been busy in
stirring the Indians up to their dreadful work. His papers showed that.
And even while the fight was going on some of the red demons came up
with the scalps of white men and women to receive their pay. The pay
they got was in bullets when they fell into the hands of the incensed
Kentuckians. Colonel Hamilton and his officers were sent as prisoners to
Williamsburg, Virginia, and were there put in fetters for their
murderous conduct. It would have served them right to hang them, but the
laws of war forbade, and they were soon set free.
We have told this story that you may see what brave men Virginia and
Kentucky bred in the old times. In all American history there is no
exploit to surpass that of Colonel Clark and his men. And it led to
something of the greatest importance to the republic of the United
States, as you shall hear.
It was not long after that time that the war ended and the freedom of
the colonies was gained. When the treaty of peace was made the question
arose, "What territory should belong to the new republic and what should
still be held by England?" It was finally decided that the land which
each country held at the end of the war should be held still. In that
way England held Canada. And it would have held the great country north
of the Ohio, too, if it had not been for George Rogers Clark. His
capture of Kaskaskia and his splendid two weeks' march through the
"drowned lands" of the Wabash had won that country for the United
States, and when the treaty was signed all this fine country became part
of the territory of the United States. So it is to George Rogers Clark,
the Virginian and Kentuckian, that this country owes the region which in
time was divided up into the great States of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois,
and Michigan, and perhaps Kentucky also, since only for him the British
might have taken the new-settled land of Daniel Boone.
_KING'S MOUNTAIN AND THE PATRIOTS OF TENNESSEE._
Never was the South in so desperate a plight as in the autumn months of
that year of peril, 1780. The British had made themselves masters of
Georgia, and South Carolina and North Carolina were strongly threatened.
The boastful Gates had been defeated at Camden so utterly that he ran
away from his army faster than it did from the British, and in three
days and a half afterward he rode alone into Hillsborough, North
Carolina, two hundred miles away. Sumter was defeated as badly and rode
as fast to Charlotte, without hat or saddle. Marion's small band was
nearly the only American force left in South Carolina.
Cornwallis, the British commander, was in an ecstasy of delight at his
success. He felt sure that all the South was won. The harvest was ready
and needed only to be reaped. He laid his plans to march north, winning
victory after victory, till all America south of Delaware should be
conquered for the British crown. Then, if the North became free, the
South would still be under the rule of George the Third. There was only
one serious mistake in his calculations: he did not build upon the
spirit of the South.
Cornwallis began by trying to crush out that spirit, and soon brought
about a reign of terror in South Carolina. He ordered that all who would
not take up arms for the king should be seized and their property
destroyed. Every man who had borne arms for the British and afterward
joined the Americans was to be hanged as soon as taken. Houses were
burned, estates ravaged, men put to death, women and children driven
from their homes with no fit clothing, thousands confined in prisons and
prison-ships in which malignant fevers raged, the whole State rent and
torn by a most cruel and merciless persecution. Such was the Lord
Cornwallis ideal of war.
Near the middle of September Cornwallis began his march northward, which
was not to end till the whole South lay prostrate under his hand. It was
his aim to fill his ranks with the loyalists of North Carolina and sweep
all before him. Major Patrick Ferguson, his ablest partisan leader, was
sent with two hundred of the best British troops to the South Carolina
uplands, and here he gathered in such Tories as he could find, and with
them a horde of wretches who cared only for the side that gave them the
best chance to plunder and ravage. The Cherokee Indians were also bribed
to attack the American settlers west of the mountains.
But while Cornwallis was thus making his march of triumph, the American
patriots were not at rest. Marion was flying about, like a wasp with a
very sharp sting. Sumter was back again, cutting off strays and
foragers. Other parties of patriots were afoot and active. And in the
new settlements west of the Alleghanies the hardy backwoodsmen, who had
been far out of the reach of war and its terrors, were growing eager to
strike a blow for the country which they loved.
Such was the state of affairs in the middle South in the month of
September, 1780. And it leads us to a tale of triumph in which the
Western woodsmen struck their blow for freedom, teaching the
over-confident Cornwallis a lesson he sadly needed. It is the tale of
how Ferguson, the Tory leader, met his fate at the hands of the
mountaineers and hunters of Tennessee and the neighboring regions.
After leaving Cornwallis, Ferguson met with a small party of North
Carolina militia under Colonel Macdowell, whom he defeated and pursued
so sharply as to drive them into the mountain wilds. Here their only
hope of safety lay in crossing the crags and ridges to the great forest
land beyond. They found a refuge at last among the bold frontiersmen of
the Watauga in Tennessee, many of whom were the Regulators of North
Carolina, the refugees from Governor Tryon's tyranny.
The arrival of these fugitives stirred up the woodsmen as they had never
been stirred before. It brought the evils of the war for the first time
to their doors. These poor fugitives had been driven from their homes
and robbed of their all, as the Regulators had been in former years. Was
it not the duty of the freemen of Tennessee to restore them and strike
one blow for the liberty of their native land?
The bold Westerners thought so, and lost no time in putting their
thoughts into effect. Men were quickly enlisted and regiments formed
under Isaac Shelby and John Sevier, two of their leaders. An express was
sent to William Campbell, who had under him four hundred of the
backwoodsmen of Southwest Virginia, asking him to join their ranks. On
the 25th of September these three regiments of riflemen, with Macdowell
and his fugitives, met on the Watauga, each man on his own horse, armed
with his own rifle, and carrying his own provisions, and each bent on
dealing a telling blow for the relief of their brethren in the East.
True patriots were they, risking their all for their duty to their
native land. Their families were left in secluded valleys, often at long
distances apart, exposed to danger alike from the Tories and the
Indians. Before them lay the highest peaks of the Alleghanies, to be
traversed only by way of lofty and difficult passes. No highway existed;
there was not even a bridle-path through the dense forest; and for forty
miles between the Watauga and the Catawba there was not a single house
or a cultivated acre. On the evening of the 30th the Westerners were
reinforced by Colonel Cleveland, with three hundred and fifty men from
North Carolina who had been notified by them of their approach.
Their foe was before them. After Ferguson had pursued Macdowell to the
foot of the mountains he shaped his course for King's Mountain, a
natural stronghold, where he established his camp in what seemed a
secure position and sent to Cornwallis for a few hundred more men,
saying that these "would finish the business. This is their last push in
this quarter." Cornwallis at once despatched Tarleton with a
considerable reinforcement. He was destined to be too late.
Ferguson did not know all the peril that threatened him. On the east
Colonel James Williams was pursuing him up the Catawba with over four
hundred horsemen. A vigilant leader, he kept his scouts out on every
side, and on October 2 one of these brought him the most welcome of
news. The backwoodsmen were up, said the scout; half of the people
beyond the mountains were under arms and on the march. A few days later
they met him, thirteen hundred strong.
Not a day, not an hour, was lost. Williams told them where their foes
were encamped, and they resolved to march against them that very night
and seek to take them by surprise. It was the evening of October 6 when
the two forces joined. So prompt were they to act that at eight o' clock
that same evening nine hundred of their best horsemen had been selected
and were on the march. All night they rode, with the moon to light them
on their way. The next day they rode still onward, and in the afternoon
reached the foot of King's Mountain, on whose summit Ferguson lay
encamped.
This mountain lies just south of the North Carolina border, at the end
of a branching ridge from, the main line of the Alleghanies. The British
were posted on its summit, over eleven hundred in number, a thousand of
them being Tories, the others British regulars. They felt thoroughly
secure in their elevated fortress, the approach up the mountain-side
being almost a precipice, the slaty rock cropping out into natural
breastworks along its sides and on its heights. And, so far as they
knew, no foe was within many miles.
The Americans dismounted; that craggy hill was impassable to horsemen.
Though less in number than their foes, and with a steep mountain to
climb, they did not hesitate. The gallant nine hundred were formed into
four columns, Campbell's regiment on the right centre and Shelby's on
the left, taking the post of greatest peril. Sevier, with a part of
Cleveland's men, led the right wing, and Williams, with the remainder of
Cleveland's men, the left, their orders being to pass the position of
Ferguson to right and left and climb the ridge in his rear, while the
centre columns attacked him in front.
So well was the surprise managed that the Westerners were within a
quarter of a mile of the enemy before they were discovered. Climbing
steadily upon their front, the two centre columns quickly began the
attack. Shelby, a hardy, resolute man, "stiff as iron," brave among the
bravest, led the way straight onward and upward, with but one thought in
his mind,--to do that for which he had come. Facing Campbell were the
British regulars, who sprang to their arms and charged his men with
fixed bayonets, forcing the riflemen, who had no bayonets, to recoil.
But they were soon rallied by their gallant leader, and returned eagerly
to the attack.
For ten or fifteen minutes a fierce and bloody battle was kept up at
this point, the sharp-shooting woodsmen making havoc in the ranks of the
foe. Then the right and left wings of the Americans closed in on the
flank and rear of the British and encircled them with a hot fire. For
nearly an hour the battle continued, with a heavy fire on both sides. At
length the right wing gained the summit of the cliff and poured such a
deadly fire on the foe from their point of vantage that it was
impossible to bear it.
Ferguson had been killed, and his men began to retreat along the top of
the ridge, but here they found themselves in the face of the American
left wing, and their leader, seeing that escape was impossible and
resistance hopeless, displayed a white flag. At once the firing ceased,
the enemy throwing down their arms and surrendering themselves prisoners
of war. More than a third of the British force lay dead, or badly
wounded; the remainder were prisoners; not more than twenty of the whole
were missing. The total loss of the Americans was twenty-eight killed
and sixty wounded, Colonel Williams, a man of great valor and
discretion, being among the killed.
The battle ended, a thirst for vengeance arose. Among the Tory
prisoners were known house--burners and murderers. Among the victors
were men who had seen their cruel work, had beheld women and children,
homeless and hopeless, robbed and wronged, nestling about fires kindled
in the ground, where they mourned their slain fathers and husbands.
Under such circumstances it is not strange that they seized and hanged
nine or ten of the captives, desisting only when Campbell gave orders
that this work should cease, and threatened with severe punishment all
who engaged in it.
The victory of the men of the backwoods at King's Mountain was like the
former one of Washington at Trenton. It inspired with hope the
despairing people and changed the whole aspect of the war. It filled the
Tories of North Carolina with such wholesome dread that they no longer
dared to join the foe or molest their patriot neighbors. The patriots of
both the Carolinas were stirred to new zeal. The broken and dispirited
fragments of Gates's army took courage again and once more came together
and organized, soon afterward coming under the skilled command of
General Greene.
Tarleton had reached the forks of the Catawba when news of Ferguson's
signal defeat reached him and caused him to return in all haste to join
Cornwallis. The latter, utterly surprised to find an enemy falling on
his flank from the far wilderness beyond the mountains, whence he had
not dreamed of a foe, halted in alarm. He dared not leave an enemy like
this in his rear, and found himself obliged to retreat, giving up his
grand plan of sweeping the two Carolinas and Virginia into his
victorious net. Such was the work done by the valiant men of the
Watauga. They saved the South from loss until Morgan and Greene could
come to finish the work they had so well begun.
_GENERAL GREENE'S FAMOUS RETREAT._
The rain was pouring pitilessly from the skies. The wind blew chill from
the north. The country was soaked with the falling flood, dark
rain-clouds swept across the heavens, and a dreary mist shut out all the
distant view. In the midst of this cheerless scene a solitary horseman
stood on a lonely roadside, with his military cape drawn closely up, and
his horse's head drooping as if the poor beast was utterly weary of the
situation. In truth, they had kept watch and ward there for hours, and
night was near at hand, the weary watcher still looking southward with
an anxiety that seemed fast growing into hopeless despondency.
At times, as he waited, a faint, far-off, booming sound was heard, which
caused the lonely cavalier to lift his head and listen intently. It
might have been the sound of cannon, it might have been distant thunder,
but whatever it was, his anxiety seemed steadily to increase.
The day darkened into night, and hour by hour night crept on until
midnight came and passed, yet the lone watcher waited still, his horse
beside him, the gloom around him, the rain still plashing on the sodden
road. It was a wearing vigil, and only a critical need could have kept
him there through those slow and dreary hours of gloom.
At length he sharply lifted his head and listened more intently than
before. It was not the dull and distant boom this time, but a nearer
sound that grew momentarily more distinct, the thud, it seemed, of a
horse's hoofs. In a few minutes more a horseman rode into the narrow
circle of view.
"Is that you, sergeant?" asked the watcher.
"Yes, sir," answered the other, with an instinctive military salute.
"What news? I have been waiting here for hours for the militia, and not
a man has come. I trust there is nothing wrong."
"Everything is wrong," answered the new-comer. "Davidson is dead and the
militia are scattered to the winds. Cornwallis is over the Catawba and
is in camp five miles this side of the river."
"You bring bad news," said the listener, with a look of agitation.
"Davidson dead and his men dispersed! That is bad enough. And Morgan?"
"I know nothing about him."
Sad of heart, the questioner mounted his impatient steed and rode
disconsolately away along the muddy road. He was no less a person than
General Greene, the newly-appointed commander of the American forces in
the South, and the tidings he had just heard had disarranged all his
plans. With the militia on whose aid he had depended scattered in
flight, and no sign of others coming, his hope of facing Cornwallis in
the field was gone, and he was a heavy-hearted man when he rode at
length into the North Carolina town of Salisbury and dismounted at the
door of Steele's tavern, the house of entertainment in that place. As he
entered the reception-room of the hotel, stiff and weary from his long
vigil, he was met by Dr. Read, a friend.
"What! alone, General?" exclaimed Read.
"Yes; tired, hungry, alone, and penniless."
The fate of the patriot cause in the South seemed to lie in those
hopeless words. Mrs. Steele, the landlady, heard them, and made all
haste to prepare a bountiful supper for her late guest, who sat seeking
to dry himself before the blazing fire. As quickly as possible a smoking
hot supper was on the table before him, and as he sat enjoying it with a
craving appetite, Mrs. Steele again entered the room.
Closing the door carefully behind her, she advanced with a look of
sympathy on her face, and drew her hands from under her apron, each of
them holding a small bag of silver coin.
"Take these, general," she said. "You need them, and I can do without
them."
A look of hope beamed on Greene's face as he heard these words. With a
spirit like this in the women of the country, he felt that no man should
despair. Rising with a sudden impulse, he walked to where a portrait of
George III. hung over the fireplace, remaining from the old ante-war
time. He turned the face of this to the wall and wrote these words on
the back: "Hide thy face, George, and blush."
It is said that this portrait was still hanging in the same place not
many years ago, with Greene's writing yet legible upon it, and possibly
it may be there still. As for Mrs. Steele, she had proved herself a
patriot woman, of the type of Mrs. Motte, who furnished Marion with
arrows for the burning of her own house when it was occupied by a party
of British soldiers whom he could not dislodge. And they two were far
from alone in the list of patriot women in the South.
The incident in General Greene's career above given has become famous.
And connected with it is the skilful military movement by which he
restored the American cause in the South, which had been nearly lost by
the disastrous defeat of General Gates. This celebrated example of
strategy has often been described, but is worth telling again.
Lord Cornwallis, the most active of the British commanders in the war of
American Independence, had brought South Carolina and Georgia under his
control, and was marching north with the expectation of soon bringing
North Carolina into subjection, and following up his success with the
conquest of Virginia. This accomplished, he would have the whole South
subdued. But in some respects he reckoned without his host. He had now
such men as Greene and Morgan in his front, Marion and Sumter in his
rear, and his task was not likely to prove an easy one.
As for Morgan, he sent the rough-rider Tarleton to deal with him,
fancying that the noted rifleman, who had won undying fame in the
North, would now meet fate in the face, and perhaps be captured, with
all his men. But Morgan had a word to say about that, as was proved on
the 17th of January, 1781, when he met Tarleton at the Cowpens, a place
about five miles south of the North Carolina line.
Tarleton had the strongest and best appointed force, and Morgan, many of
whose men were untried militia, seemed in imminent danger, especially
when the men of the Maryland line began to retreat, and the British,
thinking the day their own, pressed upon them with exultant shouts. But
to their surprise the bold Marylanders suddenly halted, turned, and
greeted their pursuers with a destructive volley. At the same time the
Virginia riflemen, who had been posted on the wings, closed in on both
flanks of the British and poured a shower of bullets into their ranks.
The British were stunned by this abrupt change in the situation, and
when the Maryland line charged upon them with levelled bayonets they
broke and fled in dismay.
Colonel Washington commanded the small cavalry force, so far held in
reserve and unseen. This compact body of troopers now charged on the
British cavalry, more than three times their numbers, and quickly put
them to flight. Tarleton himself made a narrow escape, for he received a
wound from Washington's sword in the hot pursuit. So utter was the rout
of the British that they were pursued for twenty miles, and lost more
than three hundred of their number in killed and wounded and six
hundred in prisoners, with many horses, wagons, muskets, and cannon.
Tarleton's abundant baggage was burned by his own order to save it from
capture. In this signal victory Morgan lost only ten men killed and
sixty wounded.
And now began that famous retreat, which was of more advantage to the
Americans than a victory. Morgan, knowing well that Cornwallis would
soon be after him to retrieve the disaster at the Cowpens, hastened with
his prisoners and spoils across the Catawba. Cornwallis, furious at his
defeat and eager to move rapidly in pursuit, set fire to all his baggage
and wagons except those absolutely needed, thus turning his army into
light troops at the expense of the greater part of its food-supply and
munitions.
But when he reached the Catawba, he found it so swollen with the rains
that he was forced to halt on its banks while Morgan continued his
march. Meanwhile, General Greene was making earnest efforts to collect a
force of militia, directing all those who came in to meet at a certain
point. Such was the situation on the 1st of February when Greene waited
for weary hours at the place fixed upon for the militia to assemble,
only to learn that Cornwallis had forced the passage of the river,
dispersing the North Carolina militia left to guard the ford, and
killing General Davidson, their commander. He had certainly abundant
reason for depression on that wet and dreary night when he rode alone
into Salisbury.