Hero Stories from American History Part 9

He little knew what kind of men he had stirred to wrath. The frontier settlers of Franklin and Holston, which grew into the great commonwealth of Tennessee, were, for the most part, Scotch-Irish people. They had grappled with the wilderness, and had hewn out homes for themselves. Along with their log cabins they had built meetinghouses and schoolhouses. Their life was {93} full of ever-present peril and hardship; for they were engaged in a ceaseless struggle with the Indians. The minister preached with his gun at his side, and the men listened with their rifles within their grasp.

As we should expect, these hardy settlers were generally stanch patriots. They believed in Washington and in the Continental Congress. They knew that British gold bribed the Indians, and furnished them with weapons to butcher their women and children. It was British gold, too, that hired the wild and lawless among them to enlist in the invading army; and it was British officers that drilled them to become expert in killing their brethren of the lowlands.

At the time of the Revolution, these backwoodsmen were still fighting with the savages, and so had not taken an active part in the war on the seaboard. Like a rear guard of well-seasoned veterans, they stood between the Indians and their people on the coast.

Now these hardy mountaineers took Ferguson's threat seriously. Their Scotch-Irish blood was up.

Colonel Shelby, one of the county lieutenants of Washington County, rode posthaste to John Sevier's home, sixty miles away, to carry Ferguson's threat.

Sevier lived on the Nolichucky River, and from his deeds of daring and his hospitality was nicknamed "Chucky Jack." When Shelby arrived, it was a day of merrymaking. They were having a barbecue; that is, they were roasting oxen whole on great spits; and a {94} horse race was to be run. The colonel told his story, and the merrymakers agreed to turn out.

Shelby now rode home at full speed to muster his own men, and sent urgent word to Colonel William Campbell, a famous Indian fighter, who lived forty miles away, to call out the Holston Virginians.

The place appointed for meeting was at Sycamore Shoals, a central point on the Watauga River. The day set was September 25.

Hither came Shelby and Sevier with about five hundred men, William Campbell with four hundred Virginians, and McDowell with about one hundred and sixty refugees from North Carolina.

Word was sent to Colonel Cleveland, a hunter and Indian fighter of Wilkes County in North Carolina, to come with all the men he could raise east of the mountains.

Colonel Sevier tried in vain to borrow money to furnish the men with horses and supplies. The people were willing to give their last dollar, but they had paid out all their money for land, and the cash was in the hands of the county entry taker, John Adair.

Sevier appealed to him.

This patriot's reply is historic: "I have no authority by law, Colonel Sevier, to make that disposition of this money. It belongs to the treasury of North Carolina, and I dare not appropriate a penny of it to any purpose. But if the country is overrun by the British, liberty is {95} gone. Let the money go, too. Take it. If the enemy, by its use, is driven from the country, I can trust that country to justify and vindicate my conduct. Take it."

This money, thirteen thousand dollars in silver and gold, was taken, and the supplies bought. Shelby and Sevier pledged themselves to refund the money, or to have the act legalized by the legislature.

September 25 was a day of intense excitement in those frontier settlements. The entire military force of what is now Tennessee met at Sycamore Shoals. The younger and more vigorous men were to march, while the older men with poorer guns were to remain behind, to help the women defend their homes against the savages. But all came, to bid good-by to husbands, to brothers, and to lovers. Food, horses, guns, blankets,--everything except money was brought without stint.

The backwoodsmen were mounted on swift, wiry horses. Their long hunting shirts were girded with bead-worked belts. Some wore caps made of mink or of c.o.o.nskins, with the tails hanging down behind; others had soft hats, in each of which was fastened either a sprig of evergreen or a buck's tail.

Nearly all were armed with what was called the Deckhard rifle, remarkable for the precision and the distance of its shot. Every man carried a tomahawk and a scalping knife. There was not a bayonet in the whole force. Here and there an officer wore a sword.

{96} There was no staff, no commissary, no quartermaster, and no surgeon.

Early in the morning of September 26, the little army was ready to march. Before leaving camp, all met in an open grove to hear their minister, the Rev. Samuel Doak, invoke divine blessing on their perilous undertaking.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Praying for the Success of the Riflemen]

Years before, this G.o.d-fearing man had crossed the mountains, driving before him an "old flea-bitten gray horse" loaded with Bibles, and had cast his lot with the Holston settlers. By his energy in founding churches and in building schoolhouses, as well as by his skill in shooting Indians, he had become a potent influence for good among these frontier people.

Every man doffed his hat and bowed his head on his long rifle, as the white-headed Presbyterian prayed in burning words that they might stand bravely in battle, and that the sword of the Lord and of Gideon might smite their foes.

{97} Our little army now pushed on over the mountains. On the third day they crossed the Blue Ridge, and saw far away the fertile valleys of the upper Catawba. The next day they reached the lovely lowlands, where Colonel Cleveland with three hundred and fifty militia joined them.

Hitherto, each band of the mountain army had been under the command of its own leader. Some of the men were unruly; others were disposed to plunder. This would never do, if they were to be successful; and so, on October 2, it was decided to give the supreme command to Colonel Cleveland.

Before the army set out on the following day, the colonels told their men what was expected of them.

"Now, my brave fellows," said Colonel Cleveland, "the redcoats are at hand. We must up and at them. When the pinch comes, I shall be with you."

"Everybody must be his own officer!" cried Colonel Shelby. "Give them Indian play, boys; and now if a single man among you wants to go back home, this is your chance; let him step three paces to the rear."

Not a man did so.

The pioneer army continued its march, picking up small bands of refugees. When they reached Gilberttown the next night, they numbered nearly fifteen hundred men. They hoped to find Ferguson at this place, but the wily partisan had sharp eyes and quick ears. He had been told by his Tory friends that the army of riflemen were after him.

{98} The Briton sent posthaste to Cornwallis for more men; he called upon the Tories to rally to his support; and he issued a proclamation, in which he called the backwoodsmen "the dregs of mankind," "a set of mongrels," and other bad names. "Something must be done," he wrote to Cornwallis.

All this showed to the patriot riflemen that Ferguson was retreating because he feared them. Doubtless he would have escaped easily enough from ordinary soldiers; but his pursuers were made of different stuff. They had hunted wild beasts and savages all their lives. Now they were after the redcoats in the same way they would pursue a band of Indians. They had come over the mountains to fight, and fight they would.

Seven hundred and fifty men, mounted on the strongest horses, now hurried forward, leaving the rest to follow.

At sunset, on October 6, they reached Cowpens, where three months later Morgan was to defeat Tarleton. Here several hundred militia under noted partisan leaders joined them. Seated round their blazing camp fires, the hungry men roasted for supper the corn which they had stripped from the field of a rich Tory.

The colonels decided in council to pick out about nine hundred men, and with these to push on all night in pursuit of their hated foe.

Some were so eager to fight that they followed on foot, and actually arrived in time for the battle.

{99} All this time Ferguson was working to keep out of the way of the patriots. Several large bands of Tories were already on their way to help him. He also expected help from Cornwallis. The one thing needed was a day or two of time, and then he would be able to make a stand against his pursuers.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A Map of the Military Operations in the Carolinas]

On the same night of October 6, Ferguson halted at King's Mountain, about a day's march from the riflemen at Cowpens, and thirty-five miles from the camp of Cornwallis. The ridge on which he pitched his camp was nearly half a mile long, and about sixty feet above the level of the valley. Its steep sides were covered with timber.

The next day the British did not move. The heavy baggage wagons were ma.s.sed along the northeast part of the ridge, while the soldiers camped on the south side.

{100} In his pride, the haughty young Briton declared that he could defend the hill against any rebel force, and "that G.o.d Almighty Himself could not drive him from it."

Through that dark and rainy night the mountaineers marched. It rained hard all the next forenoon, but the men wrapped their blankets and the skirts of their hunting shirts round their gunlocks, and hurried on after Ferguson. A few of Shelby's men stopped at a Tory's house.

"How many are there of you?" asked a young girl.

"Enough," said one of the riflemen, "to whip Ferguson, if we can catch him."

"He is on that hill yonder," replied the girl, pointing to the high range about three miles away.

Shelby had sent out Enoch Gilmer as a spy. He came back, saying that he had met a young woman who had been at the enemy's camp to sell chickens, and that Ferguson was encamped on the spot where some hunters had been the year before. These same hunters were with Shelby, and at once said they knew every inch of the way. Two captured Tories were compelled to tell how the British leader was dressed.

It was now three o'clock. It had stopped raining, and the sun was shining. All was hurry and bustle. The plan was to surround the hill, to give the men a better chance to fire upward, without firing into each other.

When the patriots came within about a mile of the ridge, they dismounted and tied their horses. The {101} watchword was "Buford,"

the name of the brave officer whose troops had been ma.s.sacred by Tarleton after their surrender. Each man was ordered to fight for himself. He might retreat before the British bayonets, but he must rally at once to the fight, and let the redcoats have "Indian play."

Sevier led the right wing. Some of his men by hard riding got to the rear of Ferguson's army, and cut off the only chance for retreat.

Cleveland had charge of the left wing, while Campbell and Shelby were to attack in front. So swiftly did the different detachments reach their {102} places that Ferguson found himself attacked on every side at once.

On horseback the gallant Briton leads his regulars in a bayonet charge down the steep hillside. With the Indian war whoop, which echoes and reechoes, Campbell's riflemen rush forward. They have no bayonets, and are driven down the hill. In a voice of thunder, Campbell rallies his men, and up the hill they go with a still deadlier fire, as the regulars retreat.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Charging the British at King's Mountain]