The Life of General Francis Marion Part 20

We were encamped near the house of a rich man by the name of Cross. His wife, in sense and domestic virtues, was an Abigail; while as to her husband, his riches, though great, were his least recommendation, for he possessed all the generosity and honor of the n.o.blest patriot.

His soul delighted in Marion, whom he called the 'pillar of our cause'.

Oft as he took leave of us, for battle, his bosom would heave, his visage swell, and the tear would start into his eye.

And when he saw us return again, loaded with the spoils of victory, he would rush to meet us, with all a brother's transports on his face.

His flocks and herds, his meat-houses and corn-fields, were all our own; while his generous looks would tell us that he still wished for more to give.

Indeed, often at the most imminent risk of his life, he used to send us intelligence, and also furnish us with powder and ball.

But this most amiable of men, was not permitted to see our cause triumphant; for in the midst of his sighs and tears for his struggling country, G.o.d took him to his own rest. The messenger of death came to him, in the character of a nervous fever. As the physicians did not like to visit him on his plantation, he was carried into Georgetown to be near them.

Marion went to see him the morning he set out; and immediately after his departure, fixed a guard at his house, that nothing might be disturbed.

One would indeed have supposed it unnecessary to place a guard over such a house as his. But alas! what will not a base heart-hardening avarice do!

And I blush while I relate, that, the very day after our generous friend was carried off, pale and hollow-eyed, to Georgetown, whence he never more returned, two of our officers, one of them a MAJOR, went to his house to pillage it!

The guard, of course, opposed: but they d.a.m.ned him for an "impertinent rascal", and swore that if he opened his mouth again, they would spit him on the spot. Then bursting the door, they went in, and after forcing the desks, drawers, and trunks, they rifled them of whatever they wanted.

This most unsoldierly and detestable transaction was communicated to me by Mrs. Cross herself; whose servant came to me next morning with her compliments, and requested that I would go down to her, where she was sitting in her carriage at the road. I waited on her at once; and greatly to my grief, found her in tears. I entreated to know the cause.

"Oh, sir," replied she, "we are ruined! we are ruined! Poor Mr. Cross is, I fear, on his deathbed. And then what will become of me and my poor children, when he is gone, and every thing is taken from us!"

She then reminded me of her husband's love to general Marion and his people, from whom he withheld nothing, but gladly imparted of all he had, though often at the risk of his utter destruction from the British and tories.

"And yet, after all," said she, "soon as my poor sick husband's back is turned, your people can go and break him up!"

"Madam," I replied, "I hope 'tis no offence to ask your pardon; for I really cannot admit a suspicion so disgraceful to our troop: and to my certain knowledge, general Marion placed a guard over your house the moment Mr. Cross left it."

"Yes, sir," said she, "that's very true. And it was like general Marion.

But some of our officers have forced the guard and broken open the house, and this instant I saw one of them with Mr. Cross's sword by his side."

I never felt more mortified in my life. Then, after entreating her to be perfectly easy about her house and furniture in future, I took leave of this excellent lady, and flew to the guard to see if what I had heard were true.

He told me it was too true; mentioned the names of the officers; and even went so far as to show me one of them strutting about with the sword by his side!

It was well for the wretch, that I did not possess the eyes of a basilisk, for I should certainly have blasted him on the spot. Pausing, however, one salutary moment, to confirm myself in the love of virtue, by noting how abominable a villain looks, I hasted to the general with the hateful tale; which excited in his honest bosom the indignation which I had expected. Then calling one of his aids, he said, "Go to major ----, and desire him to send me Mr. Cross's sword immediately."

The aid was presently back, but without the sword. On being asked by the general, why he had not brought it, he replied; "The major says, sir, that the sword does not belong to Mr. Cross. He says, moreover, that if you want the sword, you must go for it yourself."

"Well, go back," said the general, "and desire those two officers to come to me."

It was not for such an affair as this to be kept secret.

It took wind in a moment; and by the time the two officers were arrived, almost all the field officers had come together to the general's quarters, to see how he would act on this extraordinary occasion.

Inferring from the looks of the two culprits, that they meant to test his firmness; and, willing that the company should fully understand the merits of the case, he thus addressed us:

"You well know, gentlemen," said he, "how like a brother the proprietor of this plantation has always treated us.

We never gained a victory, but it caused him tears of joy; and however starved by others, by him we have ever been feasted.

You also know, that he is now gone, sick, to Georgetown -- there, perhaps, to die. Soon as he left us, I placed a guard over his house; but, at the same time, blushed for the reflection cast on my men; all of whom, as I thought, would, instead of robbing, have defended it with their lives. But, equally to my astonishment and grief, I find I was mistaken. Yes, gentlemen, our friend has been robbed, not by the poor untutored privates in the ranks, but by my OFFICERS!

by those who ought to have ABHORRED such an act! Yes, gentlemen, two of our brethren in arms -- two of our officers -- forgetting what they owed to you, what they owed to me, and, most of all, to their country and to themselves, have done this odious deed!

And one of them (here he pointed to the major) now wears by his side the sword of our sick and injured friend.

"Well knowing that all men, even the best, have too often 'done those things which they ought not to have done,' I felt it my duty to be as tender with this gentleman as possible; and therefore, sent him a polite request that he would return the sword: to which he was pleased to reply, that 'if I wanted it, I must come and take it myself.' Still wishing to settle the affair in a way as much to his credit as possible, I sent for him to come to me. And now, sir, (addressing the major) I entreat of you, for the last time, to give me up that sword."

With great rudeness he swore he would not. Instantly every face was dark: and, biting his lip with rage, each officer laid his hand upon his sword and looked to the general. One word, nay, one a.s.senting LOOK, and the brute would have been hewed into mincemeat in a moment.

For my own part, whether I felt more, or governed myself less than the rest, I cannot say: but looking to the general, I broke out with an oath, that if I commanded as he did, I would have that fellow hung in five minutes.

"This is no business of yours, sir," replied he, rather sternly; "they are now before me."

Then looking at the major, still with great benignity, he said -- "And do you really mean, sir, not to give me up that sword?"

"Sir, I will not!" replied the major.

"Sergeant of the guard!" said the general, "bring me instantly a file of soldiers!"

Upon this, the major's colleague, who stood by, was seen to touch him.

Seeing the guard coming up with their naked weapons, and much anger in their looks, the major lost his courage, turned pale, and, in a sadly altered tone, whined out, "General, you needed not to have called in the guard. I will deliver up the sword. Here it is."

"No, sir, I will not accept it at your hands. Give it to the sergeant."

To this humiliating order, with much shame and blushing, the poor major was constrained to comply.

Thus, happily, were extinguished the first sparks of a mutiny, which, it was once thought, would have broken out into a dangerous flame.

The cool, dispa.s.sionate address which effected this, did not fail to produce a proper impression on us all. This the general easily perceived in our looks; and thereupon, as was common with him, when any such occasion served, he arose and addressed us, in, as nearly as I can recollect, the following words:

"When, gentlemen, shall we catch the spirit of our profession; the spirit of men fighting for a republic, a commonwealth of brothers!

that government most glorious, where G.o.d alone is king!

that government most pleasant, where men make and obey their own laws!

and that government most prosperous, where men, reaping as they sow, feel the utmost stimulus to every virtue that can exalt the human character and condition! This government, the glory of the earth, has ever been the desire of the wise and good of all nations.

For this, the Platos of Greece, the Catos of Rome, the Tells of Switzerland, the Sidneys of England, and the Washingtons of America, have sighed and reasoned, have fought and died. In this grand army, gentlemen, we are now enlisted; and are combatting under the same banners with those excellent men of the earth. Then let self-gratulation gladden our every heart, and swell each high-toned nerve.

With such worthies by our sides, with such a CAUSE before our eyes, let us move on with joy to the battle and charge like the honored champions of G.o.d and of human rights. But, in the moment of victory, let the supplicating enemy find us as lovely in mercy, as we are terrible in valor. Our enemies are blind. They neither understand nor desire the happiness of mankind. Ignorant, therefore, as children, they claim our pity for themselves. And as to their widows and little ones, the very thought of them should fill our souls with tenderness.

The crib that contains their corn, the cow that gives them milk, the cabin that shelters their feeble heads from the storm, should be sacred in our eyes. Weak and helpless, as they are, still they are the nurslings of heaven -- our best intercessors with the Almighty. Let them but give us their blessings, and I care not how much the British curse. Let their prayers ascend up before G.o.d in our behalf, and Cornwallis and Tarleton shall yet flee before us, like frightened wolves before the well armed shepherds!"

Such were the words of Marion, in the day when he saw in our looks, that our hearts were prepared for instruction. And such was the epilogue to the mutiny. The satisfaction which it gave to the officers was so general and sincere, that I often heard them say afterwards, that since the mutiny was suppressed, they were glad it happened; for it had given them an opportunity to hear a lecture, which they hoped would make them better men and braver soldiers too, as long as they lived.

About this time we received a flag from the enemy in Georgetown; the object of which was, to make some arrangements about the exchange of prisoners. The flag, after the usual ceremony of blindfolding, was conducted into Marion's encampment.

Having heard great talk about general Marion, his fancy had, naturally enough, sketched out for him some stout figure of a warrior, such as O'Hara or Cornwallis himself, of martial aspect and flaming regimentals.

But what was his surprise, when, led into Marion's presence, and the bandage taken from his eyes, he beheld in our hero, a swarthy, smoke-dried little man, with scarce enough of threadbare homespun to cover his nakedness! and in place of tall ranks, of gaily dressed soldiers, a handful of sunburnt yellow-legged militia-men; some roasting potatoes and some asleep, with their black firelocks and powder-horns lying by them on the logs! Having recovered a little from his surprise, he presented his letter to general Marion; who perused it, and soon settled everything to his satisfaction.

The officer took up his hat to retire.

"Oh no!" said Marion; "it is now about our time of dining; and I hope, sir, you will give us the pleasure of your company to dinner."

At mention of the word 'dinner', the British officer looked around him; but to his great mortification, could see no sign of a pot, pan, Dutch-oven, or any other cooking utensil that could raise the spirits of a hungry man.

"Well, Tom," said the general to one of his men, "come, give us our dinner."

The dinner to which he alluded, was no other than a heap of sweet potatoes, that were very snugly roasting under the embers, and which Tom, with his pine stick poker, soon liberated from their ashy confinement; pinching them, every now and then, with his fingers, especially the big ones, to see whether they were well done or not. Then having cleansed them of the ashes, partly by blowing them with his breath, and partly by brushing them with the sleeve of his old cotton shirt, he piled some of the best on a large piece of bark, and placed them between the British officer and Marion, on the trunk of the fallen pine on which they sat.

"I fear, sir," said the general, "our dinner will not prove so palatable to you as I could wish; but it is the best we have."

The officer, who was a well bred man, took up one of the potatoes and affected to feed, as if he had found a great dainty; but it was very plain, that he ate more from good manners than good appet.i.te.

Presently he broke out into a hearty laugh. Marion looked surprised.

"I beg pardon, general," said he: "but one cannot, you know, always command his conceits. I was thinking how drolly some of my brother officers would look, if our government were to give them such a bill of fare as this."