Mary Slocumb was the noble-hearted wife of one of the bravest soldiers
of the Southern army, and was a fair specimen of the heroic women whose
influence was so sensibly felt in the Carolinas at the period when the
Revolutionary storm was deluging that section with all the horrors of
civil war. Lieutenant Slocumb, her husband, like many others whose
patriotism would not allow them to remain at home in the enjoyment of
ease and comfort, while their country called for the exertion of her
sons to free her from the thraldom of a foreign tyrant, had attached
himself to the regiment of Colonel Caswell, who, at the period of which
we write, had collected his friends and the yeomen of the surrounding
country, to give battle to Donald McDonald, and his Highlanders and
Tories, then on their way to join Sir Henry Clinton on Cape Fear, after
having escaped from Colonel Moore at Cross Creeks. In the battle of
Moore's Creek, which followed, Lieutenant Slocumb and his detachment, by
turning the flank of the enemy, secured the victory to the patriots, and
captured a large portion of the loyal Highlanders, among whom was the
brave McDonald himself. It was a hard fought and bloody battle, and
Slocumb, in after years, delighted to relate the incidents of the
obstinately contested field, among which none was so interesting as his
meeting with his wife on his return from the pursuit of the defeated
Tories. It seems that on the night after the departure of her husband
and his detachment, Mrs. Slocumb had dreamed of seeing her husband's
body, wrapped in his military cloak, lying upon the battle-field,
surrounded with the dead and dying. So strong was the impression upon
her mind, that she could sleep no more, and she determined to go to him.
Telling her woman to look after her child, and merely saying that she
could not sleep, and would ride down the road, she went to the stable,
saddled her mare—as fleet a nag as ever traveled—and in a few moments
was on her way after the little army, sixty miles distant. By the time
she had ridden some ten miles, the night air had cooled her feverish
excitement, and she was tempted to turn back, but the thought that her
husband might be dead, or dying, urged her on, and when the first faint
tints of morning illumined the east, she was thirty miles from home. At
sunrise, she came upon a group of women and children, who had taken
their station in the road to catch any tidings that might pass from the
battle-field. Of these she inquired if the battle had been fought, but
they could give her no information, and she rode on, following the
well-marked trail of the troops.
About eight or nine o'clock she heard a sound like distant thunder. She
stopped to listen; again it boomed in the distance, and she knew it must
be cannon. The battle was then raging.
"What a fool!" thought she. "My husband could not be dead last night,
and the battle only fighting now. Still, as I am so near, I will go on
and see how they come out."
Every step now brought her nearer the field, and she soon heard the
sound of the musketry and shouting. In a few moments she came out into
the road below Moore's Creek bridge. A short distance from the road,
under a cluster of trees, were lying perhaps twenty men. They were
wounded.
"I knew the spot—the very trees; and the position of the men I knew as
if I had seen it a thousand times. I had seen it all night! I saw all at
once; but in an instant my whole soul was centered in one spot; for
there, wrapped in his bloody guard cloak, lay the body of my husband.
How I passed the few yards from my saddle to the spot I never knew. I
remember uncovering the head, and seeing a face clothed with gore from a
dreadful wound across the temple. I put my hand on the bloody face;
'twas warm, and an _unknown voice_ begged for water."
What a revulsion! It was not her husband, then, after all! She brought
water, gave him some to drink, washed his face, and discovered that it
was Frank Cogdell. He soon revived, and could speak.
"I was washing the wound on his head. Said he: 'It is not that; it is
that hole in my leg that is killing me.' A puddle of blood was standing
on the ground about his feet; I took his knife, cut away his trowsers
and stocking, and found the blood came from a shot-hole, through and
through the fleshy part of his leg."
She sought for some healing leaves, bound up his wounds, and then went
to others, whose wounds she dressed, and while engaged in this
charitable work, Colonel Caswell came up. He was surprised, of course,
to see her, and was about to pay her some compliment, when she abruptly
asked for her husband.
"He is where he ought to be, madam, in pursuit of the enemy. But, pray,
how came you here?"
"Oh, I thought," said she, "you would need nurses as well as soldiers.
See! I have already dressed many of these good fellows; and here is
one," going to Frank, and lifting up his head so that he could drink
some more water, "would have died before any of you men could have
helped him."
Just then she looked up, and her husband, covered with blood and dirt,
stood before her.
"Why, Mary!" he exclaimed, "what are you doing there? Hugging Frank
Cogdell, the greatest reprobate in the army!"
"I don't care," she cried, "Frank is a brave fellow, a good soldier, and
a true friend to Congress."
"True, true! every word of it!" said Caswell; "you are right, madam,"
with the lowest possible bow.
"I would not tell my husband," says she, "what brought me there. I was
so happy; and so were all! It was a glorious victory; I came just at the
hight of the enjoyment, I knew my husband was surprised, but I could see
he was not displeased with me. It was night again before our excitement
had all subsided. Many prisoners were brought in, and among them some
very obnoxious; but the worst of the Tories were not taken prisoners.
They were for the most part left in the woods and swamps, whenever they
were overtaken. I begged for some of the poor prisoners, and Caswell
readily told me none should be hurt, but such as had been guilty of
murder and house-burning. In the middle of the night, I again mounted my
mare and started for home. Caswell and my husband wanted me to stay till
next morning, and they would send a party with me; but no; I wanted to
see my child, and I told them they could send no party who could keep up
with me. What a happy ride I had back! and with what joy did I embrace
my child as he ran to meet me."
Could the inventive genius of the most able writer of fiction suggest a
more thrilling narrative? Alas! how many such intensely interesting
incidents are buried in the graves of those noble men and women who
sacrificed everything but honor, that we, their children, might live
free and independent.
How many females of the present age could be found to ride a hundred and
twenty-five miles in less than forty hours, even on such an errand?
This was not the only adventure of this spirited lady, living, as she
did, in the midst of contending armies, and entering with ardor, into
all the plans and hopes of her husband.
Another couple, living at the North, had some spirited adventures, quite
worth chronicling. In the town of North Castle, Westchester County, New
York, resided, during the War for Independence, a young married couple,
who were both, heart and soul, enlisted in the patriotic cause, and
whose best services were devoted to their country. Mr. Fisher was an
eminent and active member of a partisan band, under Major Paulding,
whose confidence and esteem he always enjoyed to an eminent degree, and
who by his unflinching patriotism, and the energy and skill with which
he thwarted the plans and designs of the Tories, made himself
particularly obnoxious to them. His active duties as a scout, sometimes
kept him for months from his home, where his young wife had nothing but
her heroism of spirit to oppose to the marauding bands that traversed
the "Neutral Ground," and whose creed it was, to make war upon women and
children indiscriminately. While the high-minded Whig, therefore, was
serving his country, in the swamp and on the mountain, the wife had to
undergo scenes, requiring an equal courage and fortitude, with those of
his.
She was one of those women of the revolution, by whose indomitable
spirit and active benevolence our armies were often held together, and
our soldiers encouraged to persevere in the glorious course they had
begun. She was without fear, and was always ready to serve her
country, or defend herself, upon any emergency. The American soldier,
too, often found relief from suffering, through her benevolence. She
was one of those, who attended upon the wounded of White Plains, and
administered comfort to the dying, and relief to the wounded. After
this battle, when Washington's army was encamped near her residence,
the Commander-in-Chief's table was often indebted for many of its
delicacies, to the prudent attention and care of Mrs. Fisher.
Washington often expressed his obligations to her in person.
Many anecdotes are related of her daring. On one occasion, a favorite
colt was stolen, when she mounted a horse and rode down to Morrissania,
where the loyalists were encamped, and demanded of the English officer
in command, the restoration of her property. The Englishman courteously
assented, and the colt being found, it was restored to her. This was
considered at the time, a most daring expedition. Her route, which was a
long one, was through a section of country beset with marauders, who
were never in the habit of hesitating to make war on a woman.
We remarked that the danger from the marauding Tory bands, prevented Mr.
Fisher from visiting his home, but at long intervals. There was one band
of Tories notorious for its cruelty, headed by one Blindberry, a most
bloodthirsty wretch, whose memory to this day, is only preserved to be
execrated. This fellow was the terror of the whole community. On one
occasion, after having been absent for six months, Mr. Fisher's anxiety
to see his family, became so great, that one evening he cautiously
approached the house, and was admitted unseen. Late that night, after he
had retired, steps were heard without, and presently there was a loud
knocking at the door, with a peremptory summons for it to be opened.
This not being heeded, it was repeated, with a threat to break open the
door, if it was not complied with. The house was a simple old-fashioned
cottage, the door opening directly into a room, which was used by Mr.
Fisher and his wife as a sleeping room. The party now discharged their
pistols three or four times through the window, but the balls lodged
harmlessly in the walls. This proceeding effecting nothing, they begun
at once to demolish the door, and in a few moments they burst roughly
into the room. Mr. Fisher sprung from the bed, prepared to defend his
wife and himself to the last. But the only object of this band was
plunder. In those times, the country people were compelled to convert
their effects into money, as every thing moveable, would be sure to be
captured, and having no means of investing their wealth, it was
generally concealed in secure places. But these concealments rarely
availed them any thing, if their persons should fall into the hands of
the Tories, as every means of torture that ingenuity could suggest, was
availed of to force the hapless victims to betray the hiding place of
their wealth. Hanging, roasting over slow fires, or a pistol at the
head, were the usual modes adopted.
The Tory leader, who was no other than this same Blindberry, demanded of
Mr. Fisher his gold. The stern patriot, who was a man of unconquerable
will, calmly refused. The marauders became enraged, and he was
threatened with death if he persisted in his denial. But neither the
flashing swords that gleamed around him, the musket at his breast, nor
the furious aspects of the wretches, could move him a jot from his
determined purpose. The word was given to try hanging. In an instant a
rope was thrown over the branch of a tree, that stood by the door, and
their victim was drawn beneath it, and the rope adjusted to his neck.
Once more he was asked to give up his money. Without the tremor of a
muscle, he refused. The next moment he was dangling high up in the air.
He was allowed to suspend for a few seconds, and lowered to the ground.
His reply to the same question was given, in an undaunted refusal. Again
did his tormentors run him up into the air; but when they again lowered
him, he had fainted. In a few moments, however, he revived, and as the
knowledge of the affair gradually broke upon his mind, he thundered out,
"No, not a farthing!" Once more did the wretches swing him off, and this
time he was kept suspended until they thought he was dead, when they
lowered him, and seeing now no chance of obtaining the coveted gold,
they departed.
[Illustration:
Mrs. Slocumb at Moore's Creek.—_Page_ 27.
]
The agony of the wife during this scene, can only be imagined. A Tory
was stationed by her side, and with a pistol at her head, enjoined
silence on the penalty of her life. In those few minutes were crowded a
life of torture and suffering. When they had gone, she tremblingly stole
out to the side of her husband, and with what little strength she
possessed, dragged his lifeless form into the house. With the vague hope
that he might not be dead, she applied restoratives, and soon had the
unspeakable joy of detecting signs of life. Ere morning, he was entirely
restored, and that very day joined his scout.
Continuing their route, the Tories fell upon several of the neighbors,
all of whom suffered some cruelty at their hands. At one house they
placed its master in a chair, tied him down, and built a fire under him,
by which means he was at last compelled by his unsupportable agony to
reveal the hiding place of his gold. But a terrible retribution was
preparing for them. Major Paulding had gathered a party of his men, and
was in hot pursuit of them. As the Major was following up their track,
he stopped at the residence of Mr. Wright, an old Quaker, who felt a
strong sympathy for the American cause, but whose principles prevented
him from taking an active part in the contest. To the inquiry, if such a
party of Tories as has been described, was seen, the Quaker replied in
the affirmative, pointing out the course they had taken.
"What do you say, my men," said the Major to his followers, "shall we
follow them up?"
A unanimous consent was given.
"Jonathan, if thee wishes to see those men," said Mr. Wright,
approaching Major Paulding, with a knowing look, "if thee wishes to see
them particular, would it not be better for thee to go to 'Brundage's
Corner,' as they are most likely from the North, and will return that
way. There thee can'st see them without doubt."
The shrewd insinuation of the Quaker, was caught in an instant. The
place referred to, afforded a most admirable place for an ambuscade, and
by secreting themselves there, the enemy was certain to fall into their
hands.
The Whigs had not been concealed long, ere the party was heard
approaching. At the signal, the patriots sprung forward, and discharged
their weapons. At the very first fire, the bloodthirsty Tory leader
fell, some said from a bullet discharged by the hand of Major Paulding
himself.
The intense hatred felt by the people toward Blindberry, and the
universal joy manifested at his fall, prompted some to make a public
rejoicing on the event, and in order to express their uncompromising
hostility to their foe, his body was hung before the assembled patriots
of the district, amid their jeers and expressions of pleasure. Among the
assembly was Mr. Fisher, who, but a few hours before had so nearly
fallen a victim to his cruelty.
Some little time after the preceding events, while Mr. Fisher was on
another visit to his family, sudden word was brought, that the Tories
were approaching. This, as before, was during the night. Mr. Fisher had
reason to suppose, that the object of this party, was to secure his
person, and it became necessary to obtain a place of concealment. The
most advantageous one that offered, was beneath the flooring, which was
loose, where was ample room for him, and where it was hoped, the Tories
would not think of looking for their enemy. Scarcely had he secreted
himself, when the Tories appeared. They burst into the presence of Mrs.
Fisher, in a boisterous manner, and with brutal jests and extravagant
threats, demanded to be informed, where her husband was. To these
inquiries, the undaunted woman deigned no reply.
"Come, give us a light," said the leader, "that we may ferret out your
rebel husband's hiding place. I'll swear, that you've got him stowed
away somewhere here."
"I have no light," was the calm reply.
The difficulties of procuring stores, sometimes left Whig families for
weeks without the common necessities.
"Come, my woman, none of that!" broke in the Tory; "a light we want, and
a light we must have, so bring out your candles!"
"I have none," reiterated Mrs. Fisher.
The Tory, with an oath, drew a pistol, cocked it, and coming up to her,
placed the muzzle in her face.
"Look here, my lady," said he, "we know that you've got your rebel of a
husband somewhere about here, and if you don't at once give us a candle,
so that we may hunt out his hiding place, I'll blow your brains out."
"I have told you," replied the lady, "that I have no candle; I can not
give you one, so you may blow my brains out the moment you please."
The heroic spirit that breathed in her words, and the firm look from her
undaunted eye, convinced the Tory that she was not to be intimidated.
They were compelled to make their search in the dark. After rummaging
into every nook and corner in vain, they gave up their object. On
several other occasions, Mr. Fisher had similar narrow escapes.
We can not refrain from referring to one enterprise in which Mr. Fisher
was engaged, by which means fifteen Whigs put to flight, over three
hundred Hessians. The news of their approach was spread abroad, and the
utmost consternation prevailed. The Hessians were always held in great
terror by the country people. On this occasion, they fled at their
approach into the forests and other secure fastnesses. Coney Hill, was
the usual place of retreat on these alarms. This was a hill somewhat off
from the main roads, and which was surrounded by narrow defiles, and
reached only through dense thickets, while its rocky and irregular
surface, afforded a means of defense impregnable. No fortress could have
been more secure. All the inhabitants, therefore, retreated to this
fastness, Mrs. Fisher alone of all neighbors, venturing to remain within
her own house.
The usual road traveled by the armies, that led north from White Plains,
in one place described a wide circuit, but there was a narrow, irregular
road, sometimes used, that shortened the distance considerably. But this
road was very dangerous to any large body of men. It led by the Coney
Hill, which we have mentioned, and its whole length was through a rocky
region, overgrown with tangled thickets of laurel, that would have
afforded effectual protection and concealment to a body of assailants,
and have made a small force formidable to a large one.
At a point on this road, therefore, Major Paulding and fifteen followers
stationed themselves, with a belief, that from the irregular and
incautious manner the Hessians were marching, they would be induced to
lessen their route, by taking the shorter cut. The belief proved to be
well founded. The spot where Major Paulding posted his ambuscade, was
one remarkably well adapted to that kind of warfare. It was, where the
road passing through a defile, made a sudden turn around a large rock,
and where it was so narrow, that six men could not pass abreast, while
the whole rising ground on either side was irregular, with rough, jagged
rocks, and covered with a dense growth of laurel.
Stationed at different points, and protected by rocky battlements, the
little band quietly awaited the coming of their enemy. At last they
appeared, approaching carelessly, and with an utter want of military
prudence. Not a sound, nor breath betrayed to them the presence of a
foe. The rocks, and laurel bushes, gave forth no sign of the deadly
messengers to be launched from their bosoms. Part of the Hessians had
already passed the turn of the road, when suddenly, like a clap of
thunder from an azure sky, an explosion burst from the flinty rocks that
surrounded them, and several of their number, pitched headlong to the
earth. Those in front, panic struck, fell back upon those in the rear,
while those in the rear pressed forward, uncertain of the danger, and
discharged their muskets into the thickets, but the bullets rebounded
harmlessly from the rocky walls, that inclosed their enemy. Another
volley completed their panic. Terrified at the presence of an enemy,
that seemed to fight from the bowels of the earth, and unable to
estimate the full extent of their danger, which their imagination
greatly magnified, they gave a wild cry, and fled precipitately.
This event afforded the Whigs for a long time much merriment,
particularly as it was accompanied with no loss to the little party, who
had given the Hessians their terrible flight. Mrs. Fisher was accustomed
to give an amusing relation of the manner they appeared, as they flew by
her house, each running at his utmost speed, with the tin cannisters and
other numerous accouterments with which the Hessian soldiers were always
so plentifully provided—flying out in a straight line behind them.
The following incident, admirably illustrates the presence of mind, and
the many resources of this courageous lady. One day, a Whig neighbor
burst hastily into her presence, saying, that he was pursued by a body
of Tories, and if not concealed immediately, he was lost. It did not
take a moment for Mrs. Fisher to decide upon her course. There was a
large ash heap just out of the back door, some four or five feet in
hight, and as many long. Seizing a shovel, in a moment she made an
excavation, into which the fugitive crept, and the lady covered him with
ashes, having first taken the precaution to procure some _quills_, which
she placed one in another, and thus formed him a breathing-hole, by
which he sustained life, while the Tories sought in vain for his hiding
place.
A more humble family, but one which did good service in the cause of
liberty, was that of William Maybin. Maybin was taken prisoner, it was
supposed, at Sumter's surprise, on Fishing Creek, August, 1780. He was
carried to Charleston, and died in one of those charnel-houses of
freedom, a prison-ship. Here, just as he was dying, he was discovered by
his wife's brother, Benjamin Duncan, a soldier in the British army, who
obtained permission to bring his corpse on shore for burial. Duncan then
visited his bereaved sister, and, after a short stay, returned to his
duty, promising, as soon as possible, to come back and provide for her
and his other sister, a married woman. As a pledge, he left with her his
watch, and some other articles. The news of this valuable deposit was
soon spread among the loyalists; it was rumored that the watch was of
gold, falsely, for it was a silver one. Spoil was ever first in the
thoughts of many of those guilty traitors; and two marauders soon came
to the house of the widow and orphans. They demanded the watch,
threatening to take the lives of the helpless women and children, if it
was not delivered. Mrs. Maybin, anxious only, like a true mother, for
the safety of her children, fled to the woods, leaving her sister to
contend alone with the ruffians. She succeeded in baffling their
cupidity. They did not find the watch, although it was hidden under the
head of the bed. It became the property of Maybin's son, who valued it
as a memento of the courage of his aunt.
This family had their full share of trial and privation. When Rawdon's
army pursued General Greene on his retreat from Ninety-six, they
encamped about a week at Colonel Glenn's Mills, on the Enoree. They then
marched through the Fork, and crossed at Lisle's Ford. On this march,
the soldiers plundered everything on their way. The only piece of meat
she had left for her family, and which she had hidden on the wood-beams
of the house, was found and taken away. A small gray mare, called
"Dice," her only beast, was also stolen, but was afterward recovered.
This disgraceful foray, had, it is said, the sanction of Lord Rawdon.
On another occasion, a Tory visited Mrs. Maybin's cabin, and finding a
piece of homespun in her loom, cut it out and bore it away as a prize.
The wretch who could look upon the almost naked children of a poor
widow, and take from her the means of a scanty covering, did not,
however, escape. Little Ephraim Lyle, afterward met him, and, finding
the cloth upon his legs in a pair of leggins, inflicted upon him a
severe drubbing, and forced him to relinquish the spoil.
Horrible, truly, were these sufferings and privations, but far more real
than the trials of fortitude to which some "leading citizens" were
subjected.
John Clark, settled on the Enoree, near the place now called Clarke's
Ford. He was a staunch and zealous Whig during the war. In a skirmish at
the ford, under the command of Captain Jones, he was shot through the
leg, and with difficulty escaped to a bluff a mile distant. To this
place the enemy traced him, by his blood, and took him prisoner. His
mother furnished him with a bit of salve, and a piece of cloth to draw
and bind up his wound. His captors compelled him to mount a very poor
horse, and ride him, with nothing to separate him from the animal's
sharp backbone but an old bed-quilt, which his mother had given him from
her own scanty covering. With his feet bound under the _garron_, he was
compelled to ride, in great and increasing agony, more than forty miles,
to Ninety-six. There he was cast into prison, in his wounded condition,
in the midst of poor fellows suffering under a virulent type of
small-pox. He was the tenth sufferer, and marvelously recovered, was
liberated, made his way home, and lived long after the close of the
revolutionary struggle. His descendants are still to be found in
Newberry district.
[Illustration:
Brady's Leap.—_Page_ 43.
]