The Life of General Francis Marion Part 14

We told him we hoped better things.

"Oh no!" replied he, "it is impossible. War is a kind of game, and has its fixed rules, whereby, when we are well acquainted with them, we can pretty correctly tell how the trial will go. To-morrow, it seems, the die is to be cast, and in my judgment, without the least chance on our side. The militia will, I suppose, as usual, play the back-game, that is, get out of the sc.r.a.pe as fast as their legs can carry them.

But that, you know, won't do for me. I am an old soldier, and cannot run: and I believe I have with me some brave fellows that will stand by me to the last. So that, when you hear of our battle, you will probably hear that your old friend De Kalb is at rest."

I do not know that I was ever more affected in my life.

I looked at Marion and saw that his eyes were watery. De Kalb saw it too, and taking us by the hand, with a firm tone, and animated look, said, "No! no! gentlemen; no emotions for me but those of congratulation.

I am happy. To die is the irreversible decree of him who made us.

Then what joy to be able to meet his decree without dismay!

This, thank G.o.d, is my case. The happiness of man is my wish, that happiness I deem inconsistent with slavery. -- And to avert so great an evil from an innocent people, I will gladly meet the British to-morrow, at any odds whatever."

As he spoke this, I saw a something in his eyes which at once demonstrated the divinity of virtue and the immortality of the soul.

With sorrowful hearts we then left him, and with feelings which I shall never forget, while memory maintains her place in this my aged brain.

"Oh my G.o.d!" said Marion, as we rode off, "what a difference does education make between man and man! Enlightened by her sacred ray, see here is the native of a distant country, come to fight for our liberty and happiness, while many of our own people, for lack of education, are actually aiding the British to heap chains and curses upon themselves and children."

It was on the morning of August the 15th, 1780, that we left the army in a good position near Rugeley's mills, twelve miles from Camden, where the enemy lay. About ten o'clock that night orders were given to march to surprise the enemy, who had at the same time commenced their march, to surprise the Americans. To their mutual astonishment, the advance of the two armies met about two o'clock, and began to fire on each other. The firing, however, was soon discontinued by both parties, who appeared very willing to leave the matter to be decided by daylight.

A council of war was called: in which De Kalb advised that the army should fall back to Rugeley's mills, and there, in a good position, wait to be attacked. --

But Gates not only rejected this excellent counsel, but threw out suspicions that it originated from fear. Upon this, the brave old De Kalb called to his servant to take his horse, and leaping on the ground, placed himself at the head of his command, on foot. To this indecent expression of general Gates, he also retorted with considerable warmth, "Well, sir, a few hours perhaps will let us see who are the brave."

It should be recorded for the benefit of our officers, many of whose laurels have been blasted by the fumes of brandy, that general Gates was rather too fond of his nocturnal gla.s.s.

"I wonder where we shall dine to-morrow?" said one of his officers, as, in the dark, they sat on their sleepy horses waiting for the day.

"Dine, sir!" replied the confident Gates, "why at Camden, sir, to be sure.

Begad! I would not give a pinch of snuff, sir, to be insured a beef-steak to-morrow in Camden, and lord Cornwallis at my table."

Presently day appeared; and, as the dawning light increased, the frighted militia began to discover the woods reddening over like crimson with the long extended lines of the British army, which soon, with rattling drums and thundering cannon, came rus.h.i.+ng on to the charge.

The militia, scarcely waiting to give them a distant fire, broke and fled in the utmost precipitation. Whereupon Gates clapped spurs to his horse, and pushed hard after them, as he said, "to bring the rascals back."

But he took care never to bring himself back, nor indeed to stop until he had fairly reached Charlotte, eighty miles from the field of battle.

I remember it was common to talk in those days, that he killed three horses in his flight.

Gates and the militia, composing two-thirds of the army, having thus shamefully taken themselves off, the brave old De Kalb, and his handful of continentals were left alone to try the fortune of the day.

And never did men display a more determined valor! For though outnumbered more than two to one, they sustained the shock of the enemy's whole force, for upwards of an hour. With equal fury the ranks-sweeping cannon and muskets were employed by both sides, until the contending legions were nearly mixed.

Then quitting this slower mode of slaughter, with rage-blackened faces and fiery eyeb.a.l.l.s, they plunge forward on each other, to the swifter vengeance of the bayonet. Far and wide the woods resound with the clang of steel, while the red reeking weapons, like stings of infernal serpents, are seen piercing the bodies of the combatants.

Some, on receiving the fatal stab, let drop their useless arms, and with dying fingers clasped the hostile steel that's cold in their bowels.

Others, faintly crying out, "O G.o.d I am slain!" sank pale, quivering to the ground, while the vital current gushed in hissing streams from their bursted bosoms. Officers, as well as men, now mingle in the uproaring strife, and s.n.a.t.c.hing the weapons of the slain, swell the horrid carnage. Glorying in his continentals, the brave De Kalb towers before them, like a pillar of fire.

His burning face is like a red star, guiding their destructive course; his voice, as the horn that kindles the young pack in the chase of blood.

A British grenadier, of giant size, rushes on him with a fixed bayonet.

De Kalb parries the furious blow, and plunges his sword in the Briton's breast; then, seizing his falling arms, he deals death around him on the crowding foe. Loud rise the shouts of the Americans; but louder still the shouts of the more numerous enemy.

The battle burns anew along all the fierce conflicting line.

There, the distant Cornwallis pushes on his fresh regiments, like red clouds, bursting in thunder on the Americans; and here, condensing his diminished legions, the brave De Kalb still maintains the unequal contest. But, alas! what can valor do against equal valor, aided by such fearful odds? The sons of freedom bleed on every side.

With grief their gallant leader marks the fall of his heroes; soon himself to fall. For, as with a face all inflamed in the fight, he bends forward animating his men, he receives ELEVEN WOUNDS!

Fainting with loss of blood, he falls to the ground. Several brave men, Britons and Americans, were killed over him, as they furiously strove to destroy or to defend. In the midst of the clas.h.i.+ng bayonets, his only surviving aid, Monsieur du Buyson, ran to him, and stretching his arms over the fallen hero, called out, "Save the baron de Kalb!

Save the baron de Kalb!" The British officers interposed, and prevented his immediate destruction.

It has been said that lord Cornwallis was so struck with the bravery of De Kalb, that he generously superintended while his wounds were dressed, by his own surgeons. It has also been said, that he appointed him to be buried with the honors of war.

British officers have been often known to do such n.o.ble deeds, but that lord Cornwallis was capable of acting so honorably, is doubtful.

De Kalb died as he had lived, the unconquered friend of liberty.

For, being kindly condoled with by a British officer for his misfortune, he replied, "I thank you, sir, for your generous sympathy; but I die the death I always prayed for; the death of a soldier fighting for the rights of man."

His last moments were spent in dictating a letter to a friend concerning his continentals, of whom he said, he "had no words that could sufficiently express his love, and his admiration of their valor."

He survived the action but a few hours, and was buried in the plains of Camden, near which his last battle was fought.

When the great Was.h.i.+ngton, many years afterwards, came on a visit to Camden he eagerly inquired for the grave of De Kalb. It was shown to him.

After looking on it a while, with a countenance marked with thought, he breathed a deep sigh, and exclaimed -- "So, there lies the brave De Kalb; the generous stranger, who came from a distant land, to fight our battles, and to water, with his blood, the tree of our liberty.

Would to G.o.d he had lived to share with us its fruits!"

Congress ordered him a monument. But the friend of St. Tammany still sleeps "without his fame". I have seen the place of his rest.

It was the lowest spot of the plain. No sculptured warrior mourned at his low-laid head; no cypress decked his heel.

But the tall corn stood in darkening ranks around him, and seemed to shake their green leaves with joy over his narrow dwelling.

But the roar of his battle is not yet quite pa.s.sed away, nor his ghastly wounds forgotten. The citizens of Camden have lately enclosed his grave, and placed on it handsome marble, with an epitaph gratefully descriptive of his VIRTUES and SERVICES, that the people of future days may, like Was.h.i.+ngton, heave the sigh when they read of "the generous stranger who came from a distant land to fight their battles, and to water, with his blood, the tree of their liberties."

Fair Camden's plains his glorious dust inhume, Where annual Ceres shades her hero's tomb.

Chapter 13.

Marion and the author very busy in destroying the rice-makers' boats on Santee -- first got the news of the defeat of our army, and death of the brave De Kalb -- Marion addresses his followers -- their gallant reply.

Marion and myself, as yet ignorant of the fate of the army, were on the waters of the Santee, very busily executing our boat-burning orders.

Not content with destroying the common scows and flats of the ferries, we went on to sweep the river of every skiff and canoe that we could lay hands on; nay, had the harmless wonkopkins been able to ferry an Englishman over the river, we should certainly have declared war and hurled our firebrands among them.

The reader may be sure we gained no good will by our zeal in this affair; for it was a serious thing to the planters: and their wrath waxed exceedingly hot against us. Among that fleet of boats and flats that perished by our firebrands or hatchets, there were two that belonged to my excellent old uncle, colonel E. Horry. The old gentleman could hardly believe his negroes, when they told him that we were destroying his boats. However, to be satisfied of the matter, he mounted his horse, and galloped down to the river to see.

We had completely done for his scow, and were just giving the finis.h.i.+ng blows to his boat as he hove in sight; whereupon, clapping whip and spur to his horse, he came on as hard as he could drive.

Soon as he was within hailing distance of an ordinary speaking trumpet, he began to bawl -- "Hold! hold! for G.o.d's sake hold!"

Then das.h.i.+ng up, with cheeks red as fire coals, and his mouth all in a lather, he roared out, "Why, what? what? what are you about here?"

"We are only trying to kidnap the British, uncle," said I.

"Kidnap the d---l," he replied.

Then looking around, and seeing how completely we had s.h.i.+vered his fine new boat and scow, he ripped out again -- "Well! here is a pretty spot of work! a pretty spot of work! A brand new scow and boat, that cost me, only last spring, three hundred dollars! every farthing of it!

and here now all cut to smas.h.!.+ ruined! not worth a chew of tobacco!

why! did mortal flesh ever see the like of this? Breaking up our boats!

why, how are we to harvest our rice?"

"Uncle," said I, "you had better think less of harvesting your rice, and more of catching the muskrats," meaning the British.