The Life of General Francis Marion Part 2

And they bear the dullness of apathy the better, because they have never known the transports of affection. But with me, my charmer, the case is happily different; for at the moment I first saw those angel eyes, they infused a sweetness into my heart unknown before.

And those delicious sparks, fanned by your loves and graces, have now risen to such a flame of bliss, that methinks, were it to go out, my life would go out with it. Then, my first and last, and only sweetheart, I pray you, do not fear that I shall ever cease to love you: for indeed that can never be while you continue even half as lovely as you are at present."

"Well then, Marion," replied she, fondly pressing his ruddy cheeks to her heaving bosom, "if it depends on me, on my constant affection and studiousness to please, you shall never love me less; but more and more every day of your life."

The next morning, accompanied by Madame D'Aubrey, Marion and Louisa returned home in order to make the best preparations, which the shortness of the time would allow, to quit their country for ever.

In choosing his place of exile, it has been said that Marion's thoughts were at first turned towards the West Indies. But it would appear that Heaven had decreed for him a different direction. For scarcely had he reached his home, much agitated about the means of getting off in time, before a letter was brought him from an intimate friend in Roch.e.l.le, informing him that a large ship, chartered for the Carolinas, by several wealthy Huguenot families, was then lying at anchor under the Isle de Rhee. Gratefully regarding this as a beckoning from heaven, they at once commenced their work, and prosecuted it with such spirit, that on the evening of the ninth day they embraced their weeping friends and went on board the ship.

It is said that many of the most respectable families of Carolina -- the Gourdines, Hugers, Trapiers, Postells, Horrys, &c. came over in the same ship.

The next day, the clouds began to bank the eastern sky, and the winds to whistle from the hills. Pleased with the darkly rippling waters, the ready ship got home her anchors and loosed her sails.

Then wheeling before the freshening gale, she bid adieu to her native sh.o.r.es, and on wings of wide-spread canvas, commenced her foaming course for the western world.

But though mutual love and confidence in heaven were strong in the bosoms of young Marion and his Louisa, yet could they not suppress the workings of nature, which would indulge her sorrows when looking back on the lessening sh.o.r.es; they beheld dwindled to a point and trembling in the misty sky, that glorious land, at once their own cradle and the sepulchre of their fathers.

Some natural tears they shed, but wiped them soon, for the earth was all before them where to choose their place of rest; and Providence their guide.

But Marion and Louisa did not leave their country empty handed.

Her Parents, 'tis supposed, gave Louisa money, but what sum, after this long lapse of time, is uncertain. Nor does tradition say for how much Marion sold his little farm. But it is well known that on their arrival in Carolina, they went up into the country, and bought a plantation on Goose Creek, near Charleston, where their dust now sleeps, after a long life endeared by mutual love, and surrounded by every comfort that industry and prudence can bestow.

We have said that Marion left his country for the sake of his RELIGION: which appears to have been of that cheerful sort for which a wise man would make any sacrifice. It was the religion of the gospel, that blessed philosophy which asks not a face of gloom, but a heart of joy.

And thereunto enjoin a supreme love of G.o.d, and a close walk with him in a pure and benevolent life. From this, the genuine spring of all the sweetest charities and joys of life, Marion derived that cheerfulness which appears never to have failed him.

Even in his last will, where most men fancy they ought to be gloomy as the grave whither they are going, his cheerfulness continued to shine with undiminished l.u.s.tre. It was like the setting of a cloudless sun: which, after pouring its fattening beams on the fields of a live-long summer's day, goes down in smiles to rise a brighter beauty on another day. This will is certainly an amiable curiosity, and as it may be of service to the reader, by showing him how free and easy a good life makes a man with death, I will record it: at least the princ.i.p.al features of it, as I got them from the family.

After having, in the good old way, bequeathed "his soul to G.o.d who gave it,"

and "his body to the earth out of which it was taken," he proceeds in the manner following:

In the first place, as to debts, thank G.o.d, I owe none.

And therefore shall give my executors but little trouble on that score.

Secondly -- As to the poor, I have always treated them as my brethren.

My dear family will, I know, follow my example.

Thirdly -- As to the wealth with which G.o.d has been pleased to bless me and my dear Louisa and children, lovingly we have labored together for it -- lovingly we have enjoyed it -- and now, with a glad and grateful heart do I leave it among them.

He then proceeds to the distribution. Liberally to his children: but far more so to his wife -- and at the end of each bequest a.s.signs his reasons, viz.,

I give my ever beloved Louisa all my ready money -- that she may never be alarmed at a sudden call.

I give her all my fat calves and lambs, my pigs and poultry -- that she may always keep a good table.

I give her my new carriage and horses -- that she may visit her friends in comfort.

I give her my family bible -- that she may live above the ill tempers and sorrows of life.

I give my son Peter a hornbook -- for I am afraid he will always be a dunce.

But Peter was so stung with this little squib, that he instantly quit his racc.o.o.n hunting by nights, and betook himself to reading, and soon became a very sensible and charming young man.

His eldest son, who, after his father, was named Gabriel, married a Miss Charlotte Corde, by whom he had six children -- Esther, Gabriel, Isaac, Benjamin, Job, and our hero Francis, the least as well as the last of the family. As to his sister Esther, I have never heard what became of her; but for his four brothers, I am happy to state, that though not formidable as soldiers, they were very amiable as citizens. They bought farms -- proved their oxen -- married wives -- multiplied good children, and thus, very unlike our n.i.g.g.ardly bachelors, contributed a liberal and laudable part to the population, strength, and glory of their country.

G.o.d, I pray heartily, take kind notice of all such; and grant, that having thus done his will in this world, they may partake of his glory in the next.

Chapter 2.

Marion's first appearance -- a humble cultivator of the earth -- the great Cherokee war of 1761 comes on -- volunteers his services to his country -- is appointed a first lieutenant in the provincial line -- commands a forlorn hope -- narrowly escapes with his life -- the Anglo-American and the Indian forces engaged -- b.l.o.o.d.y battle -- the Indians defeated -- their country laid waste -- peace made -- Marion retires.

Among the Mohawks of Sparta, it was a constant practice on the birth of a male infant, to set a military granny to examine him, as a butcher would a veal for the market, and if he were found any ways puny, he was presently thrown into a horse pond with as little ceremony as a blind puppy. Had such been the order of the day in 1732, Carolina would never have boasted a Marion; for I have it from good authority, that this great soldier, at his birth, was not larger than a New England lobster, and might easily enough have been put into a quart pot.

This puny appearance continued with him till the age of twelve, when it was removed by the following extraordinary providence.

On a trip to the West Indies, which his friends put him upon for his health's sake, the little schooner in which he was embarked was suddenly attacked by some monstrous fish, probably a thorn-back whale, who gave it such a terrible stroke with his tail as started a plank.

The frightened crew flew to their pumps, but in vain; for the briny flood rushed with such fury into their vessel, that they were glad to quit her, and tumble as fast as they could into their little jolly boat.

The event showed that this was as but a leap "out of the frying pan into the fire"; for their schooner went down so suddenly as not to give them time to take a mouthful of food with them, not even so much as a brown biscuit or a pint of water.

After three wretched days of feverish hunger and thirst, they agreed to kill a little cabin dog who had swam to them from the schooner just before she sunk. On his raw flesh they feasted without restraint; but the blood they preserved with more economy, to cool their parched lips.

In a few days, however, their own blood, for lack of cooling food, became so fiery hot as to scald their brain to frenzy. About the tenth day the captain and mate leaped overboard, raving mad; and the day following the two remaining seamen expired in the bottom of the boat, piteously crying to the last for WATER! WATER! G.o.d of his mercy forgive me, who have so often drank of that sweet beverage without grateful acknowledgments! Scarcely was this melancholy scene concluded before a vessel hove in sight, standing directly for the boat, as if purposely sent to save the child that was tossing in it on the gloomy waves.

Little Marion was so weak that he could not stir hand or foot to climb up the side of the vessel. The captain, however, soon had him on board; and by means of chocolate and turtle broth, sparingly given him at first, recruited him so fast, that, by the time he reached his native sh.o.r.es, he was in much better health than ever. So that on his return to his friends, it was found, as is often the case, that what was at first looked on as a great misfortune, had proved a very n.o.ble blessing. His const.i.tution seemed renewed, his frame commenced a second and rapid growth; while his cheeks, quitting their pale suet-colored cast, a.s.sumed a bright and healthy olive. According to the best accounts that I have been able to procure, Marion never thought of another trip to sea, but continued in his native parish, in that most independent and happy of all callings, a cultivator of the earth, till his twenty-seventh year.

A report then prevailing that the Cherokee Indians were murdering the frontier settlers, Marion turned out with his rifle, as a volunteer under governor Lyttleton. The affair, however, proved to be a mere flash in the pan: for the Cherokees finding that things were not exactly in the train they wished, sent on a deputation with their wampum belts and peace-talks to bury the hatchet and brighten the old chain of friendship with the whites; and the good-natured governor, thinking them sincere, concluded a treaty with them. The troops of course were dismissed, and Marion returned to his plantation.

Scarcely, however, had two years elapsed, before the perfidious Cherokees broke out again in a fresh place, killing and driving the defenceless inhabitants at a most barbarous rate.

Marion instantly flew again to the governor with the tender of his services to fight for his afflicted countrymen. His excellency was so pleased with this second instance of Marion's patriotism, that he gave him a first lieutenancy in the provincial line under the brave captain William Moultrie. The reported force and fury of the Indians struck such a terror through the colony, that colonel Grant (of the British) with twelve hundred regulars, was ordered out on a forced march to succor the bleeding frontiers.

On their way they were joined at Ninety-Six, May 14, 1761, by twelve hundred provincials, all men of surest aim with the deadly rifle.

To draw off the enemy from their murderous excursions, Col. Grant wisely determined to push the war at once into their own country; which was no sooner discovered by them, than they instantly collected their whole force to oppose him. The only pa.s.sage into their country was through a dark defile or gap in the mountain, which it was resolved should be forced as rapidly as possible.

A forlorn hope of thirty brave fellows were ordered to explore the dangerous pa.s.s: and Marion, though but a young lieutenant, had the honor to be appointed their leader. At the head of his command he advanced with rapidity, while the army moved on to support him.

But scarcely had they entered the gloomy defile, when, from behind the rocks and trees, a sheet of fire suddenly blazed forth, which killed twenty-one of his men! With the remainder, he faced about and pushed back with all speed; whereupon great numbers of tall savages, frightfully painted, rushed from their lurking places, and with hideous yells and uplifted tomahawks, pursued and gained upon them so fast, that nothing but the nearness of the advanced guard saved them from destruction. The Anglo-American army then prepared themselves for a serious and b.l.o.o.d.y conflict.

An enemy in such force, so well posted, and defending the only pa.s.s into their country, would, they well knew, fight desperately.

And well aware, also what slaughter would follow upon their own defeat, they determined to yield the victory only with their lives.

A long summer's day was before them, for the sun had just risen above the hills, a bright spectator of the coming fight. Then, in high spirits, with justice on their side, and an approving conscience, they cheerfully left the event to Heaven. The British were formed in small corps, the more promptly to support the riflemen, who led the van, and now with wide extended wings began to move. In a little time they came in sight of the enemy, who appeared flying backwards and forwards, as if not well satisfied with their ground. The provincial marksmen then rapidly advancing, flew each to his tree, and the action began.

From wing to wing, quite across the defile, the woods appeared as if all on fire; while the incessant crash of small arms tortured the ear like claps of sharpest thunder. The muskets of the British, like their native bull-dogs, kept up a dreadful roar, but scarcely did more than bark the trees, or cut off the branches above the heads of the Indians.

While, with far less noise, the fatal rifles continued to lessen the numbers of the enemy. The action was kept up with great spirit for nearly two hours, during which the superiority of the American riflemen was very remarkably displayed. For in that time they lost only fifty-one -- whereas of the Indians there fell one hundred and three, which so disheartened them that they fled and gave up their country to the conquerors, who prepared immediately to enter it.

Colonel Grant had hoped to surprise their towns, but concluding that their swift-footed runners had given the alarm, he moved on in slow marches through the wilderness towards the settlements, thinking that by the destruction of their towns and corn-fields he should drive them into a disposition for peace.

Marion often spoke of this part of the war, as of a transaction which he remembered with sorrow. "We arrived," said he, in a letter to a friend, "at the Indian towns in the month of July. As the lands were rich and the season had been favorable, the corn was bending under the double weight of l.u.s.ty roasting ears and pods of cl.u.s.tering beans.

The furrows seemed to rejoice under their precious loads -- the fields stood thick with bread. We encamped the first night in the woods, near the fields, where the whole army feasted on the young corn, which, with fat venison, made a most delicious treat.

"The next morning we proceeded by order of colonel Grant, to burn down the Indians' cabins. Some of our men seemed to enjoy this cruel work, laughing very heartily at the curling flames, as they mounted loud crackling over the tops of the huts.

But to me it appeared a shocking sight. Poor creatures! thought I, we surely need not grudge you such miserable habitations.

But when we came, according to orders, to cut down the fields of corn, I could scarcely refrain from tears. For who could see the stalks that stood so stately with broad green leaves and gaily ta.s.seled shocks, filled with sweet milky fluid and flour, the staff of life; who, I say, without grief, could see these sacred plants sinking under our swords with all their precious load, to wither and rot untasted in their mourning fields?

"I saw every where around the footsteps of the little Indian children, where they had lately played under the shade of their rustling corn.

No doubt they had often looked up with joy to the swelling shocks, and gladdened when they thought of their abundant cakes for the coming winter.

When we are gone, thought I, they will return, and peeping through the weeds with tearful eyes, will mark the ghastly ruin poured over their homes and happy fields, where they had so often played.

"'Who did this?' they will ask their mothers.