The Life of General Francis Marion Part 33

-- A. L., 1997.

"But, from this shameful sight, turn again to the land of free schools; to Bunker's Hill. There, behind a poor ditch of half a night's raising, you behold fifteen hundred militia-men waiting the approach of three thousand British regulars with a heavy train of artillery!

With such odds against them, such fearful odds in numbers, discipline, arms, and martial fame, will they not shrink from the contest, and, like their southern friends, jump up and run! Oh no; to a man they have been taught to read; to a man they have been instructed to KNOW, and dearer than life to prize, the blessings of FREEDOM.

Their bodies are lying behind ditches, but their thoughts are on the wing, darting through eternity. The warning voice of G.o.d still rings in their ears.

The hated forms of proud merciless kings pa.s.s before their eyes.

They look back to the days of old, and strengthen themselves as they think what their gallant forefathers dared for LIBERTY and for THEM.

They looked forward to their own dear children, and yearn over the unoffending millions, now, in tearful eyes, looking up to them for protection. And shall this infinite host of deathless beings, created in G.o.d's own image, and capable by VIRTUE and EQUAL LAWS, of endless progression in glory and happiness; shall they be arrested in their high career, and from the freeborn sons of G.o.d, be degraded into the slaves of man? Maddening at the accursed thought, they grasp their avenging firelocks, and drawing their sights along the death-charged tubes, they long for the coming up of the British thousands.

Three times the British thousands came up; and three times the dauntless yeomen, waiting their near approach, received them in storms of thunder and lightning that shivered their ranks, and heaped the field with their weltering carca.s.ses.

"In short, my dear sir, men will always fight for their government, according to their sense of its value. To value it aright, they must understand it. This they cannot do without education.

And as a large portion of the citizens are poor, and can never attain that inestimable blessing, without the aid of government, it is plainly the first duty of government to bestow it freely upon them.

And the more perfect the government, the greater the duty to make it well known. Selfish and oppressive governments, indeed, as Christ observes, must "hate the light, and fear to come to it, because their deeds are evil." But a fair and cheap government, like our republic, "longs for the light, and rejoices to come to the light, that it may be manifested to be from G.o.d," and well worth all the vigilance and valor that an enlightened nation can rally for its defence.

And, G.o.d knows, a good government can hardly ever be half anxious enough to give its citizens a thorough knowledge of its own excellencies.

For as some of the most valuable truths, for lack of careful promulgation, have been lost; so the best government on earth, if not duly known and prized, may be subverted. Ambitious demagogues will rise, and the people through ignorance, and love of change, will follow them.

Vast armies will be formed, and b.l.o.o.d.y battles fought.

And after desolating their country with all the horrors of civil war, the guilty survivors will have to bend their necks to the iron yokes of some stern usurper, and like beasts of burden, to drag, unpitied, those galling chains which they have riveted upon themselves for ever."

This, as nearly as I can recollect, was the substance of the last dialogue I ever had with Marion. It was spoken with an emphasis which I shall never forget. Indeed he described the glorious action at Bunker's Hill, as though he had been one of the combatants.

His agitation was great, his voice became altered and broken; and his face kindled over with that living fire with which it was wont to burn, when he entered the battles of his country.

I arose from my seat as he spoke; and on recovering from the magic of his tongue, found myself bending forward to the voice of my friend, and my right hand stretched by my side; it was stretched to my side for the sword that was wont to burn in the presence of Marion when battle rose, and the crowding foe was darkening around us. But thanks to G.o.d, 'twas sweet delusion all.

No sword hung burning by my side; no crowding foe darkened around us.

In dust or in chains they had all vanished away, and bright in his scabbard rested the sword of peace in my own pleasant halls on Winyaw bay.

Chapter 32.

The death of Marion -- his character.

"Next to Washington, O glorious shade!

In page historic shall thy name have place.

Deep on thy country's memory are portrayed Those gallant deeds which time shall ne'er erase.

Ah! full of honors, and of years farewell!

Thus o'er thy tomb shall Carolina sigh; Each tongue thy valor and thy worth shall tell, Which taught the young to fight, the old to die."

The next morning, I set out for my plantation on Winyaw bay.

Marion, as usual, accompanied me to my horse, and, at parting, begged I would come and see him again soon, for that he felt he had not long to stay. As the reader may suppose, I paid but little heed to this expression, which I looked on as no more than the common cant of the aged. But I soon had cause to remember it with sorrow. For I had been but a few weeks at home, before, opening a Charleston paper, I found in a mourning column, "THE DEATH OF GENERAL MARION". Never shall I forget the heart-sickness of that moment; never forget what I felt when first I learned that Marion was no more. Though the grave was between us, yet his beloved image seemed to appear before me fresher than ever.

All our former friendships, all our former wars returned.

But alas! he who was to me the soul of all the rest; the foremost in every battle; the dearest at every feast; he shall return no more!

"Oh Marion, my friend!" my bursting heart seemed to say, "and art thou gone?

Shall I no more hear that voice which was always so sweet; no more see that smile which awakened up such joy in my soul! Must that beloved form be lost forever among the clods in the valley. And those G.o.dlike virtues, shall they pa.s.s away like the empty visions of the night!"

From this deep gloom which strong atheistic sorrow had poured over my nerves, I was suddenly roused, as by an angel's touch, to the bright hopes of religion. The virtues of my departed friend all flashed at once upon my kindling thoughts: his countenance so stern with honor; his tongue so sacred to truth; that heart always so ready to meet death in defence of the injured; that eye ever beaming benevolence to man, and that whole life so reverential of G.o.d. The remembrance, I say, of all these things, came in streams of joy to my heart.

"O happy Marion!" I exclaimed, "thou art safe, my friend; thou art safe.

No tears of mine shall doubt thy blissful state. Surely if there be a G.o.d, and that there is, all nature cries aloud through all her works, he must delight in virtue, and what he delights in must be happy."

Then it was, that I felt what a benefactor Marion had been to me.

How dear his company while living; how sweet his memory when dead.

Like the sun travelling in brightness, his smiles had ever been my joy, his example my light. And though now set in the grave, yet has he not left me in darkness. His virtues, like stars, are lighted up after him. They point my hopes to the path of glory; and proclaim, that, though fallen, he is not extinguished.

From the physicians and many others who attended him in his last illness, I learned that he had died as he had lived, a truly GREAT MAN. His chamber was not, as is usual with dying persons, a scene of gloom and silent distress, but rather like the cheerful parlor of one who was setting out on an agreeable journey. "Some," said he, "have spoken of death as a leap in the dark; but for my part, I look on it as a welcome resting place, where virtuous old age may throw down his pains and aches, wipe off his old scores, and begin anew on an innocent and happy state that shall last for ever. What weakness to wish to live to such ghastly dotage, as to frighten the children, and make even the dogs to bark at us as we totter along the streets. Most certainly then, there is a time when, to a good man, death is a great mercy even to his body; and as to his soul, why should he tremble about that? Who can doubt that G.o.d created us to be happy; and thereto made us to love one another?

which is plainly written in our hearts; whose every thought and work of love is happiness, and as plainly written as the gospel; whose every line breathes love, and every precept enjoins good works.

Now, the man who has spent life in bravely denying himself every inclination that would make others miserable, and in courageously doing all in his power to make them happy, what has such a man to fear from death, or rather, what glorious things has he not to hope from it?"

Hearing one of his friends say that the methodists and baptists were progressing rapidly in some parts of the state, he replied, "Well, thank G.o.d for that; that is good news." The same gentleman then asked him which he thought was the best religion. "I know but one religion," he answered, "and that is hearty love of G.o.d and man.

This is the only true religion; and I would to G.o.d our country was full of it.

For it is the only spice to embalm and to immortalize our republic.

Any politician can sketch out a fine theory of government, but what is to bind the people to the practice? Archimedes used to mourn that though his mechanic powers were irresistible, yet he could never raise the world; because he had no place in the heavens, whereon to fix his pullies. Even so, our republic will never be raised above the shameful factions and miserable end of all other governments, until our citizens come to have their hearts like Archimedes' pullies, fixed on heaven. The world sometimes makes such bids to ambition, that nothing but heaven can outbid her. The heart is sometimes so embittered, that nothing but divine love can sweeten it; so enraged, that devotion only can becalm it; and so broke down, that it takes all the force of heavenly hope to raise it. In short, religion is the only sovereign and controlling power over man.

Bound by that, the rulers will never usurp, nor the people rebel.

The former will govern like fathers, and the latter obey like children.

And thus moving on, firm and united as a host of brothers, they will continue invincible as long as they continue virtuous."

When he was near his end, seeing his lady weeping by his bedside, he gave her a look of great tenderness, and said, "My dear, weep not for me, I am not afraid to die; for, thank G.o.d, I can lay my hand on my heart and say, that since I came to man's estate, I have never intentionally done wrong to any."

These were nearly his last words, for shortly after uttering them, he closed his eyes in the sleep of death.

Thus peaceful and happy was the end of general Francis Marion, of whom, as a partisan officer, general Greene has often been heard to say, that "the page of history never furnished his equal."

And if any higher praise of Marion were necessary, it is to be found in the very remarkable resemblance between him and the great Washington.

They both came forward, volunteers in the service of their country; they both learned the military art in the hard and hazardous schools of Indian warfare; they were both such true soldiers in vigilance, that no enemy could ever surprise them; and so equal in undaunted valor, that nothing could ever dishearten them: while as to the still n.o.bler virtues of patience, disinterestedness, self-government, severity to themselves and generosity to their enemies, it is difficult to determine whether Marion or Washington most deserve our admiration. And even in the lesser incidents of their lives, the resemblance between these two great men is closer than common.

They were both born in the same year; both lost their fathers in early life; both married excellent and wealthy ladies; both left widows; and both died childless.

The name of Marion continues dear to the people of the south; and to this day, whenever his amiable widow rides through the country, she meets the most pleasing evidences, that her husband, though dead, is not forgotten. The wealthy, everywhere, treat her with the respect due to a mother; while the poor, gathering around her carriage, often press to shake hands with her, then looking at each other with a sigh they exclaim -- "THAT'S THE WIDOW OF OUR GLORIOUS OLD MARION."