University of Virginia Library

20. CHAPTER XX.

The reader will scarcely believe, knowing as he
does the great achievements of General Marion at the
South throughout the revolution, that his proffer of service
on this occasion was not so agreeable to General
Gates. Yet so we have it, on the authority of history.
That gentleman partook largely of the spirit which
circulated so freely in his army; and the uncouth accoutrements,
the bare feet, and the tattered garments of
the motley assemblage of men and boys, half armed,
which the Swamp Fox had brought with him to do the
battles of liberty, provoked his risibility along with
that of his troops. The personal appearance of Marion
himself was as little in his favour. Diffident even
to shyness, there was little that was prepossessing in
his manners. He was awkward and embarrassed in
the presence of strangers: and though singularly cool
and collected with the necessity and the danger, he
was hardly the man to command the favourable consideration
of a superficial judge—one of mediocre
ability, such as General Gates undoubtedly was. The
very contrast between them was enough for the latter.
Built, himself, on a superb scale, the movement, the look,
the deportment of Gates, all bespoke the conscious great
man. Marion, on the other hand, small in person, lame
of a leg, with a downcast eye, and hesitating manners,
was a cipher in the estimation of the more imposing
personage who looked upon him. And then the coarse
clothes—the odd mixture of what was once a uniform,
with such portions of his dress as necessity had supplied,
and which never could become so—altogether offended

the nice taste of one rather solicitous than otherwise
of the symmetries of fashion. Nothing, therefore,
but a well-regulated sense of politeness, formed closely
upon the models of foreign service, prevented the
generalissimo from laughing outright at the new
auxiliaries now proffered to his aid. But, though he
forbore to offend in this manner, he did not scruple to
lay before Marion his objections to the proposed
junction on this very ground. The shallow mind could
not see that the very poverty, the miserably clad and
armed condition of Marion's men, were the best pledges
that could be given for their fidelity. Why should
they fight in rags for a desperate cause, without pay
or promise, but that a high sense of honour and of
country was the impelling principle? The truth must
be spoken: and the Partisan of Carolina, the very
stay of its hope for so long a season—he who, more
than any other man, had done so much towards keeping
alive the fires of liberty and courage there, until they
grew into a bright, extending, unquenchable flame—
was very civilly bowed out of the army, and sent
back to his swamps upon a service almost nominal.

“Our force is sufficient, my dear colonel,” was the
conclusion of the general—“quite sufficient; and you
can give us little if any aid by direct co-operation.
Something you may do, indeed—yes—by keeping to
the swamps, and furnishing us occasional intelligence
—picking off the foragers, and breaking up the communications.”

“My men are true, your excellency,” was the calm
reply; “they desire to serve their country. It is the
general opinion that you will need all the aid that the
militia of the state can afford.”

“The general opinion, my dear colonel, errs in this,
as it does in the majority of other cases. We shall
have a force adequate to our objects quite as soon as
a junction can be formed with Major-general Caswell.
Could you procure arms, and the necessary equipments,
and attach your force with his—”

“I understand your excellency,” was the simple answer,
as Gates hinted his true objections in the last
sentence; but, save the slight compression of his lips,
usually parted otherwise, no trace of emotion besides,
followed upon the countenance of the speaker.

“My men,” he continued, “are, some of them, of
the very best families in the country, homeless now,
and robbed of all by their enemies. They are not
the men to fight less earnestly on that account, nor will
their poverty and rags hinder them from striking a good
blow, when occasion serves, against the invader to
whom they owe them.”

Gates was sufficiently a tactician to see that the pride
of Marion was touched with the unjust estimate which
had been made of his men, and he strove to remove
the impression by a show of frankness.

“But, you see, my dear colonel, that though your
men may fight like very devils, nothing can possibly
keep the continentals from laughing at them. We
can't supply your people; and so long as they remain
as they are, so long will they be a laughing stock—so
long will there be uproar and insubordination. We are
quite too delicately situated now to risk any thing with
the army; we are too nigh the enemy, and they have
been too stinted. To deny them to laugh, is to force
them to rebel; we can only remove the cause of laughter,
and, in this way, defeat the insubordination which
undue merriment, sternly and suddenly checked, would
certainly bring about.”

Gates had made the best of his case, and Marion,
with few words, obeyed the opinion, from which, however,
he mentally withheld all his assent. He contented
himself, simply, with stating his own, and the desire of
his men, to serve the country by active operation in the
best possible way. Gates replied to this in a manner
sufficiently annoying to his hearer, but which had subsequently
its own adequate rebuke.

“Any increase of force, my dear colonel, would be
perfectly unnecessary after my junction with the troops
I daily look for. Caswell will bring me all the North

Carolina subsidies, and General Stevens, with a strong
body of Virginians, will join in a few days. My force
then will be little short of seven thousand men, and
quite sufficient for all contemplated purposes. We
shall therefore need no aid from your men.”

“I hope not, general; though should you, my men
are always ready to offer it for their country. Have I
your excellency's permission to retire?”

“You have, Colonel Marion; but I trust you will
still continue operations on the Peedee and the Santee
rivers. One service, if you will permit me, I will require
at your hands; and that is, that you will employ
your men in breaking up all the boats which you can
possibly find at the several crossing places on the
Wateree—at Nelson's and Vance's ferries in particular.
We must not let my Lord Rawdon escape us.”

It was now Marion's turn to smile, and his dark eye
kindled with an arch and lustrous expression as he heard
of the anticipated victory. He well knew that Rawdon
could not and would not endeavour to retreat. Such a
movement would have at once lost him the country. It
would have stimulated the dormant hopes of all the people.
It would have crushed the tories, by withdrawing
the army whose presence had been their prop. It would
have destroyed all the immense labours, at one swoop,
by which the invader had sought, not only to realize,
but to secure his power. The weakness of Gates
amused the partisan, and the smile upon his lips was
irrepressible. But the self-complaisance of the general
did not suffer him to behold it; and, concluding his
wishes and his compliments at the same time, he bowed
the Swamp Fox out of the marquee, and left him to the
attention of the old baron, De Kalb.[1] The veteran
was gloomy, and did not scruple to pour his melancholy
forebodings into the ears of Marion, for whom

he had conceived a liking. At parting, he ventured a
smile, however, as he reminded him of the employment
which Gates had assigned him in the destruction of the
boats.

“You need not hurry to its execution, my friend,” said
he; “it is a sad waste of property, and, if my thoughts
do not greatly wander, I fear an unnecessary waste.
But God cheer us, and his blessing be upon you.”

They parted—never to meet again. The partisan
led his rejected warriors back in the direction of his
swamp dwelling, on the Santee, while the old veteran
went back with a heavy heart to his duties in the camp.

In an hour, the onward march was again resumed.
The troops went forward with more alacrity,
as they had that day feasted with more satisfaction to
themselves than on many days previous. A small
supply of Indian meal had been brought into camp by
the foragers, and produced quite a sensation. This
gave a mess to all; and the impoverished beef, which,
hitherto, they had eaten either alone or with unripe fruit,
boiled along with it, grew particularly palatable. With
all the elasticity which belongs to soldiers, they forgot
past privations, and hurried on, under the promise of
improving circumstances at every step of their farther
progress. This spirit was the more increased, as the
commanding officer, aware of the critical situation of
the troops, unfolded himself more freely than he had
hitherto done to Colonel Williams, who acted as deputy
adjutant-general.[2] The show of confidence operated
favourably on the troops, who were at a loss to know
why General Gates, against all counsel, had taken the
present route. He said it had been forced upon him;
that his object was to unite with Caswell; that Caswell
had evaded every order to join with him; that Caswell's
vanity desired a separate command, and that he
probably contemplated some enterprise by which to
distinguish himself.

“I should not be sorry,” said he, “to see his ambi

tion checked by a rap over the knuckles, if it were not
that the militia would disperse and leave this handful
of brave men (meaning the continentals) without even
nominal assistance.”[3]

He urged that the route was taken to counteract the
risks of Caswell, by forcing him to the junction he
seemed so desirous to avoid; and, at the same time, to
secure some of the supplies of provisions and other
necessaries, which he asserted, on the alleged authority
of the executive of North Carolina, were even then
in the greatest profusion in Caswell's camp. He moreover
suggested that a change of direction now would
not only dispirit the troops, but intimidate the people
of the country, who had generally sent in their submissions
as he passed, promising to join him under
their own leaders. These were the arguments of
Gates; and whatever may be their value, he should
have the benefit of them in his defence. To these
were opposed, in vain, the poverty and destitution of
the country, and the perfidious character of the people
along the route they pursued. The die was cast, however,
and the army went forward to destruction. But
we will not anticipate.

On the fifth of August, in the afternoon, General
Gates received a letter from Caswell, notifying him of
an attack which he meditated upon a post of the British,
on Lynch's creek, about fourteen miles from the
militia encampment. This increased the anxiety of
Gates, who urged forward the regulars. While urging
them still upon the ensuing day, a new despatch was
received from the general of militia, stating his apprehensions
of an attack from the very post which, the
day before, he had himself meditated to assault. Such
a strange mixture of boldness and timidity alarmed
Gates even for his safety; and he now hurried forward,
to relieve him from himself, with more rapidity than
ever. On the seventh of August, by dint of forced
marching, he attained his object, and the long-delayed

junction was safely effected, at the Cross Roads, about
fifteen miles east of the enemy's most advanced post
on Lynch's creek. The army was soon refreshed;
every thing was in plenty: and amid the greatest confusion,
and in spite of all his difficulties, Caswell had
contrived to keep a constant supply of wines, and other
luxuries on hand, with which the half-famished continentals
were pleasantly regaled. After the junction,
which occurred about noon in the day, the army
marched a few miles towards the enemy's station. On
the next day, pressing forward to the post, they found
the field their own; the enemy had evacuated it, and
returned back, at his leisure, to a much stronger position
on Little Lynch's creek, and within a day's march
of the main post of Camden, where Rawdon commanded
in person, with a force already strong, and hourly
increasing from a judicious contraction of the minor
posts around him, which he effected, with the approach
of the continentals.

Still, the army pressed forward, in obedience to command,
ignorant of its course, and totally unconscious
of the next step to be taken. The commander, however,
began to take his precautions, as he saw the danger
of approaching an enemy encumbered as he now
was with unnecessary baggage, and the large numbers
of women and children, whom he had found with Caswell's
militia. Wagons were detached to convey the
heavy baggage, and such women as could be driven
away, to a place of safety near Charlotte; but large
numbers of them preferred remaining with the troops,
sharing all their dangers, and partaking of their privations.
Exhortations and menace alike failed of effect;
they positively refused to leave the army on any terms.
Relieved, however, of much of his encumbrance, Gates
proceeded to the post on Little Lynch's creek, to
which the enemy had retired. Here he found him
strongly posted. He was in cover, on a rising ground,
on the south side of the Wateree; the way leading to
it was over a causeway to a wooden bridge which
stood on the north side, resting upon very steep banks.

The creek lay in a deep, muddy channel, bounded on
the north by an extensive swamp, and only passable
(except by a circuit of several miles) directly in front
of the enemy.

“To attack him in face, would be taking the bull by
the horns, indeed,” was the concluding remark of
Gates, as he reviewed the position and examined his
intelligence. “We'll go round him”—and, for the first
time, the commander prepared to take the least direct
road to the enemy. Defiling by the right, having cautiously
thrown out a flanking regiment under Colonel
Hall, of Maryland, the army pushed on by a circuitous
course towards Rawdon. This movement had the
effect of breaking up the minor post of the enemy
which Gates had been compelled to avoid, and its commanding
officer, with some precipitation, fell back with
all his garrison upon Camden. The post at Clermont,
Rugely's Mills, was also abandoned at the same time;
and, on the thirteenth of August, it was occupied by the
American general with his jaded army.

The movements of Gates had been closely watched
by the enemy, who was vigilant in the extreme. The
precautions taken by Rawdon, who, up to this moment,
had been opposed to him, were judicious and timely.
But the command was now to be delivered into yet
abler hands; for, with the first account of the proximity
of the southern army, Cornwallis, with a portion
of the garrison from Charlestown, set forth for Camden.
His march communicated, like wildfire, the business of
his mission to the people of the country through which
he was to pass; and it was with feelings in nowise enviable,
that he saw the exulting looks of the disaffected
whenever they met with him on his progress. At Dorchester,
where he paused a day, and by his presence
controlled somewhat the restless spirit of those in that
quarter, who, otherwise, were willing enough to rise in
mutiny, he could almost hear the muttered rebellion
as it rose involuntarily to the lips of many. Standing
lustily in his doorway as the glittering regiments went

through the village, old Pryor growled out his hope for
their destruction.

“Ay, go! ye glitter now, and look d—n fine, but
Gates will roll your red jackets in the mud. He'll
give you a dressing, my lads, ye shall remember. Ay,
shake your flags, and beat your drums, but you'll have
another guess sort of shake and tune when you're coming
back.”

The stern and lofty earl, erect and tall, inflexible and
thoughtful, moved along upon his steed like some massive
tower, before the dwelling of the sturdy rebel; who,
uttering no shout, waving no hat, giving no sign but
that of scornful hate, and a most bitter contempt, gazed
upon the warrior without fear or shrinking.

“Go, d—n you, go; go where the drum that beats
for you shall be muffled; go where the bugle that rings
in your ears shall not stir you again in your saddles;
go where the rifle shall have a better mark in your
bodies than it ever found at Bunker's and at Lexington.”

And as he muttered thus, his old eye rekindled, and
he watched the last retreating forms in the distance,
repeating to himself the fond hope, which was then a
pregnant sentiment in the bosom of thousands, who
had felt long, when they could not resent, and now
rejoiced in the belief, confidently entertained, that their
enemies had gone to a battle-field from whence they
never would return. The hour of punishment was at
hand, so they fondly thought, and Gates's was the avenging
arm sent for its infliction.

On the night of the fifteenth of August, without any
conference with his officers, Gates bade his army advance
from Clermont on the route to Camden. What
was his hope? What, indeed, we may well ask, was
his object? He literally had no intelligence; he had
omitted many of those precautions by which, in armies,
intelligence was to be procured. The suggestions of
his own friends were unheeded, and he deigned no
general consultation. Colonels Williams and Walton,
both ventured to remind him in general terms of the near
neighbourhood of the foe, doubtless in force; for, on
the subject of their numbers, no information had yet

been received. On the same day, an inhabitant from
Camden, named Hughson, came to head-quarters, affecting
ignorance of the approach of the Americans,
and pretending a warm interest in their success. He
was a Marylander, and was disposed to be very friendly
with his countrymen, the continentals. He freely gave
his information to Gates—information which was true,
so far as it went; but which was given in just sufficient
quantity to promote the precipitation of the American
commander and the purposes of the British.
Gates readily believed all that was told him; and though
suspicions arose in the minds of some of the officers
around him, the credulity of the general underwent no
arraignment, and the spy was actually suffered to leave
the camp and return to Camden, not only with the fulfilment
of the purpose for which he went, but possessed
of the more valuable information with which he
was permitted to return. Besotted self-confidence had
actually blinded the American general to the huge and
fearful trench which he had been digging for himself,
and which now lay immediately before him.

A few hours only divided him from his enemy; yet,
strange to say, he knew not that it was Cornwallis who
stood opposed to him. That brave commander had
hurried with all possible celerity to the scene of action.
He knew how greatly the fortunes of the colony depended
upon the present contest. Marion was even
then busy along the Santee, and so effectually did he
guard the passes by Nelson's and Watson's, that his
lordship, though commanding a fine body of troops,
veterans all, fresh from Charlestown, and superior
far to any force of the partisan, was compelled to take
a circuitous and indirect route in reaching Camden.
Marion had greatly increased his force with a number
of insurgents from Black river. Sumter, too, was in
active motion, and watched the Wateree river with the
avidity of a hawk. On the success of this battle depended
every thing; for, though to gain it would not
necessarily have secured the conquest of Cornwallis
in Carolina, not to gain it would most probably have

been the loss of all. He knew this, and his desire
was for early battle before the troops of Gates were
rested; before the militia could come in to his relief;
and before the spirit of revolt, throughout the province,
should distract, by concerted and simultaneous operation.
No general was ever more ready than Cornwallis
to carve his way out of difficulties with the strong arm
and the sword. Policy, and his desire alike, persuaded
him now to the adoption of this stern arbitrament.

At the very hour that Gates moved from Clermont
in the route to Camden, the British general set out
from that station to attack him in his encampment.
Yet Gates had no intelligence of this: he knew not
even that his lordship was in Camden. He neglected
every means of intelligence, and the retributive justice,
which, in one moment, withered all the choice laurels
of his previous fame, and tore the green honours from
his brow, though stern and dreadful, must yet be held
the just due of him, who, with a leading responsibility
of life, freedom, and fortune depending upon him, forfeits,
by the feebleness of a rash spirit, all the rich triumphs
that are otherwise within his grasp. Vainly
has the historian striven after arguments in his excuse.
He is without defence; and in reviewing all the events
of this period, we must convict him of headstrong self-confidence,
temerity without coolness, and effort, idly
expended, without a purpose, and almost without an
aim. It was the opinion of his officers, and, indeed, of
all others, that the delay of a few days, with his army
in a secure position, was all that was necessary towards
giving the American an immense superiority over the
British commander. Provisions would have been
plenty in that time, and the native militia, once satisfied
of his presence, would have crowded to his camp.
But the fates were impatient for their prey, and he
whom God has once appointed for destruction, may well
fold his robes about him in preparation for his fall.