HOW FRANCIS MARION HEARD GOOD NEWS FROM WILLIAMSBURG
FOR weeks the little band pressed on through swamps and over stony
roads. The Baron De Kalb, with a force of Continentals from Virginia,
was marching south, and it was upon falling in with this army that
Marion based his hope of safety. For it had not been long before the
alarm was out; the swift, merciless dragoons of Tarleton and the
skulking loyalists were after them night and day. How they escaped,
they themselves could not afterward remember; the bay of dogs, upon
their trail at night, would often startle them into renewed flight; the
warning of a friend, or perhaps a slave, would cause them frequently to
change their course by day.
Marion’s injured limb grew slowly better; at last he was able to
dispense with the sling and ride in the usual fashion. After this they
made much better progress and pushed northward rapidly. Mrs. Collins
was left at a small town with some relatives; the band was augmented
from time to time during this flight until at last it numbered some
twenty hardened, bronzed men and boys, well-mounted, but poorly armed
and clothed.
Tom and Cole were scouting one afternoon; it was dark when they
rejoined their comrades, who had encamped on the banks of a small
stream. Marion, almost entirely well now, sat by the camp-fire cleaning
his pistols when Tom threw himself from his tired horse and approached
him.
“What news on the scout, lad?” asked the commander.
“A change has been made in the force which we are anxious to meet,”
replied the boy. “General Gates has superseded De Kalb and is pushing
south by forced marches. It is his intention, I hear, to carry the war
to the enemy instead of waiting for him to attack.”
Marion received the intelligence with moody brow.
“Gates,” said he, slowly. “I’ve heard of him. A hot-blooded, impetuous
officer. Brave, but rash; and not at all the man for the work.”
“You, too, think he should avoid a meeting until compelled to fight, do
you, major?”
“He should avoid a meeting until he knows his ground and is acquainted
with the force before him. There is nothing to be gained by venturesome
enterprises such as, I dare say, General Gates will attempt. It will
but weaken him and unnerve his rank and file. De Kalb would have
been a better man; he is accustomed to the warfare of petty European
principalities, which is conducted with caution and no waste of men
or supplies. I am sorry to hear this; the appointment of Gates was a
mistake.”
The fears for the reckless courage of Gates expressed by Marion were
only too well founded. That hot-tempered officer came plunging through
North Carolina, full-tilt, with the ambition, seemingly, like Cæsar to
write a dispatch announcing in the same breath the sight of and the
conquest of the enemy.
The army commanded by General Gates, though small, was the
best-equipped that the south had yet seen; they were well-clad in smart
uniforms; their musket-barrels shone in the sun; their camp had all the
neatness of a camp of trained soldiery; their artillery was heavy and
capable of excellent service. Despite his rapid marches, Gates had the
knack of keeping his men in good condition, and on the evening when
Marion, with Tom Deering and Cole riding upon either side of him, and
his nondescript band of woodsmen and fugitive militia at his heels,
rode into it, the Continental camp was at its neatest and trimmest. The
coonskin caps and wretched rags of the newcomers excited the jeers of
the smart regular troops as their owners went down the road, between
the line of camp-fires, toward the general’s tent.
“If this is the sort of reinforcement South Carolina has to offer us,”
cried a big sergeant of Virginia foot, “we’ll have to do their share of
the fighting, too.”
Tom Deering could not stand the laugh of contempt that greeted this,
but reined up beside a company of the jeering infantry and allowed his
comrades to trot by behind the unruffled Marion.
“If you men of Virginia go as far as we of Carolina for the cause,”
said he, “you’ll go to the mouth of the British cannon, and a little
further.”
“Well crowed, my bantam-cock,” laughed the big sergeant. “And how long
have you been soldiering, may I ask?”
Tom’s eyes flashed as he faced the circle of laughing infantrymen who
had gathered about him at the prospect of sport; their laughter angered
him, for he felt that it was uncalled-for and unjust. So he swept the
big sergeant scornfully with his eye.
“I was soldiering,” said he, “before you had pulled on that nice, clean
uniform for the first time. I had served a gun at Fort Moultrie and
been under fire in a score of other places, sergeant, while you were
still driving bullocks in the Virginia hay-fields.”
It was a fact well known to his comrades that the sergeant had, up to
this time, never smelled gun-powder in actual battle; and when Tom
finished speaking a roar of laughter went, directed at the big man; and
he reddened angrily, and bit at his huge mustache.
“Never judge a dog by the color of his fur,” said Tom, delighted to
have turned the laugh upon the other. “And never judge a man by the
coat upon his back. When you, sergeant, have raced through an enemy’s
country--a country, too, full of swamps, thickets and almost impassable
roads, for months, with bloodhounds upon your track by night and
Tories with ropes ready in their hands searching for you by day, you
will not look so trim and natty as you do now, and you will not be so
ready to laugh.”
The troops of General Gates were a rough, good-humored lot; it required
but a moment for them to catch the truth of the boy’s remarks; and with
one accord, the sergeant included, they burst into a cheer for the
sincerity and heartiness of which there could be no doubt. Tom’s eyes
gleamed with satisfaction as he waved his cap in response, wheeled his
horse and dashed after his comrades.
“There is good stuff in them, for all their readiness to jeer,” he
muttered to himself. “And they are big, strong, willing looking
fellows, too; and should render an excellent account of themselves.”
Marion’s men were halted in the road not far from the headquarters
of General Gates. The latter and Marion were standing at the flap of
the tent conversing earnestly. Beside the stalwart general of the
Continentals Marion looked insignificant; and Gates, like his men,
seemed to regard the partisan’s command as a rabble, the like of which
clings to the skirts of every army. His face wore an amused smile,
not unmixed with contempt. It is a fact that this officer was a vain
man, of ostentatious habit and one whose judgment was very apt to be
affected by parade and the external show of things.
“I am very thankful to you, Major Marion, for coming to put your
company at my service,” said General Gates, patronizingly. “But, the
fact is, I have no very great opinion of cavalry, and think I have but
little need of it.”
Marion flushed with resentment at this; but controlled himself.
“This is a very thinly settled country, general,” returned he. “I
should think that an active troop of horse would be very useful both in
securing intelligence and in procuring supplies.”
Gates seemed somewhat impressed by this, and after some further
conversation, invited Marion into his tent. The troop of swamp-riders
dismounted and picketed their horses outside the camp, preparing to
settle for the night. The very rags and poverty of this little band
which was afterward to become so famous were but proofs of their
integrity, could Gates but have seen it in that light. It was in
defiance of the temptations and the power of the British that these
men had taken the field, and had the leader of the Continentals been a
wise man, he would have seen, even through their rags and destitution,
the steady glow of patriotism; which enkindled throughout the state by
this little, dark, unassuming officer, and Sumpter, and a few others
of equal daring, was to blaze out, at last, in that perfect brightness
which was to cause the invader to slink away, confounded.
That night and the two following Marion and his men spent in the camp
of General Gates. In spite of the bad impression which his tattered
command had made upon the general, Marion’s undoubted knowledge of the
surrounding country was noted and made use of. But Tom could not bear
the camp or its people and spent but little time there; for he and Cole
were constantly scouting over the flats and through the woods, at his
leader’s orders, in the hope of catching a view of the foe.
The town of Williamsburg was not a great many miles away, and upon the
evening of the first day Tom and his faithful follower rode into the
town to see what news there was to be had. The town was a hotbed of
patriotism; the very name of King George was execrated there, and the
boy was sure to be welcomed and to receive what tidings of the British
the townspeople possessed. As it happened, a few weeks before this, a
party of British and Tories had entered the place and plundered right
and left; a few who resisted, and some others whom the Tories pointed
out as rebels, were shot; then the marauders rode off with the warning
to Williamsburg to improve in her loyalty to king and parliament or she
would receive another visit.
The citizens gathered in angry crowds. “If,” said they, “we are to be
set upon when we have not struck a blow against the crown, what worse
can happen to us if we take up arms and fight like men should against
tyranny.”
There was no answer to this argument, so the Williamsburgers proceeded
to arm themselves with whatever they could find in the way of weapons,
and set about drilling upon the village green. It was in the midst of
the drill that Tom and Cole found them that evening when they rode down
the main street, and very proud the townsfolk seemed to be of it.
“Tell General Gates,” said the stout old burgess to Tom, after finding
out where he was from, “that the freemen of Williamsburg are preparing.
Let the British make another of their ruffian raids upon the town, and
it shall not be like the last. This time, instead of cautious words,
they will be greeted by a sleet of lead.”
“Hurrah!” rang lustily from the ranks of the militia. “That they will!”
“Let them show so much as their noses in the town limits again and
we’ll send them back to Cornwallis as soundly beaten as ever a pack of
prowling curs were yet.”
The speaker was a brawny, sooty man, in a blacksmith’s apron; he
carried a great sledge over his shoulder instead of a musket, and
seemed in every way capable of doing his part in carrying out the
promise. His words were greeted by much laughter and cheers by his
comrades, and under cover of this Tom was drawn aside by the stout
burgess.
“They are rare good lads, all of them,” spoke the burgess. “They will
fight for their rights and their firesides to the last, but they have
no one to lead them in whom they have confidence; it is a great pity,
but it is so.”
[Illustration: _“THEY ARE RARE GOOD LADS, ALL OF THEM,”
SPOKE THE BURGESS_]
He shook his head despondently as he said this, and as his eyes
traveled along the not very trim ranks of the volunteers, he shook his
gray head sadly.
“Is there no man of experience among them?” asked Tom.
“Not one, not one,” answered the burgess, “and it’s a great pity, for
they are a fine body of men.”
He shook his head once more and sighed regretfully. Then turning to Tom
he continued:
“I sent a messenger to Governor Rutledge asking him to select a leader
for this company.”
“What was his answer?”
“He said that there was but one man in the entire South whom he would
name as an ideal leader of irregular troops.”
“And that man was----?”
“One Francis Marion.”
Tom started in surprise and then laughed with pleasure.
“Well,” said he to the stout old burgess, “why do you not secure him?”
“He is not to be found. The governor has no idea if he be living or
dead. Men die suddenly in these times, you know.”
“But suppose,” said the boy, “that I could tell you where to find him?”
The old man grasped him eagerly by the arm.
“You are not jesting?”
“Not in the least. I am of Major Marion’s command. He is now in the
camp of General Gates.”
The burgess was overjoyed at this intelligence; he wrung Tom’s hand
warmly. “Good news,” he cackled, hardly able to restrain himself. “I
will go to him in the morning--I will offer him the command.” Then he
paused suddenly and continued in a more sober tone. “Do you think, my
lad, that he will be inclined to accept?”
Tom thought of his commander’s cold reception at the hands of General
Gates, and answered promptly:
“I rather think he will, sir.”
“Good--good!” The old fellow went off, at this point, into a rapture of
chuckling. “Come, you will lodge with me to-night; I will not accept
a refusal. Wait until I give word to dismiss the company for the day;
then you shall have as fine a supper and as soft a bed as you have ever
had in your life.”
At the burgess’ command the drill-sergeant dismissed the militia; then
Tom and Cole were led away to the comfortable stone house of the town
official; their horses were put up in the stable and baited with corn;
Cole was taken in hand by some of the negro servants, while his young
master was borne off to be introduced to the family of the burgess. In
spite of his worn clothes and unkempt appearance, the boy was kindly
welcomed by his hostess and her blooming daughters. To be sure he
noticed, now and then, that the girls would giggle together, aside,
over his deerskin hunting-shirt or his leather leggings; but they made
up for this by their many little kindnesses; and the sly looks of
admiration which they stole at his handsome, sun-browned face and tall,
sinewy form often made his cheeks burn.
The burgess was as good as his word; the supper which Tom sat down to
was the best he had eaten for many a long week; and the bed upon which
he stretched his tired length afterward, being the first he had slept
in since leaving home, felt fully up to specifications.
Early in the morning the household was astir; and when Tom and the
master of the house had breakfasted they bid the ladies good-bye. The
chestnut and the bay were ready saddled at the door; and beside them
stood a fat, white horse which was to bear the weight of the worthy
burgess.
“He is not very speedy,” admitted the official, “but he is strong and
safe. And that last quality, young sir, is not a thing to be overlooked
when one comes to my age, and attains my girth.”
The ladies waved their kerchiefs from the windows; the burgess and the
young swamp-rider took off their caps and bowed in return, while Cole
grinned like an amiable Goliath. Then they shook their reins, and set
off for the Continental camp, to bear the good tidings to Marion.