University of Virginia Library

`We have had the devil to pay. Archibald is taken
prisoner. Arthur narrowly escaped; with two or
three sabre cuts, not worth mentioning. Sir Henry
Clinton is carrying all before him; and poor Sullivan,
never was mortal man so put to it! notwithstanding his
generalship, he is tied up, hand and foot, by Cornwallis
and Clinton. We were sent out, with a few hundred
regulars, and a few rascally militia, to keep open a
route at Monk's corner, for Lincoln to retreat by when
he could do no better. But Tarleton, would that Arthur

or Archibald could meet him, face to face, for
a few minutes: my notion is that he would never get
through his six divisions again. I say nothing for
myself, for this twist in my neck has become confoundedly
troublesome of late; and I am nothing to be
compared with Archibald, as a swordsman. By the way
---Archibald looks altogether better than when we wrote
last, and we begin to have hope; but he has none; or, if
he have any, he will not own it; he only smiles, patiently,
when we speak of what may be, like one that
feels the principles of vitality going out, one after the
other, in his heart.'

`But, to the scuffle. General Clinton thought fit, day
before yesterday, to pack off about fifteen hundred men
to bring us in, dead or alive. Tarleton's legion was
with them—a legion of devils, to be sure; for he rides
over horse and foot, with them at his heels. But, we
shall remember him, and, if it be God's will, there may
be a change of wind one day or other.'

`The first intelligence that we had of his approach,
was the sight of three of our videttes, at full speed; two
of whom were cut down in our sight, and the third, followed
into camp; we had no time to do our duty. We
were literally ridden down. The bullets rattled about
our harness, like hail, for a moment; and then, before
we could make a movement, or gain ground enough for
a charge, half of our men were unhorsed and rolling in
the dirt; Arthur among the rest; but he gave a pretty
account, I am told, of three or four of the fellows about
him. They rode down, all at once, upon him; and—
there they are yet. Our troop broke; and, by the
trumpet, were ordered to the woods, whence most of
them escaped under Colonel Washington. But Archibald,
after having rallied a few, was attracted by
the cries of women, to one of the dwellings; he stove in
the door of the house; and rode, through and through
it, with about a dozen men; and there, in the heat
and smoke, on horseback and on foot, with the pistols
ringing in at his ears; the enemy without firing in the
windows; and the wretched women, within, shrieking

in the arms of their ravishers, the gallant, glorious
Archibald set fire to the house; slew, with his own
hand one of the ruffians; and, amid a general hourra
and explosion, rescued three lovely creatures, in the
moment of their extremest peril. But the rescue was
only from the flame and smoke; the roof fell in, ere
the brave fellows had cleared the garden wall; and,
three or four of their horses, that were actually within
the house, came thundering through the sides of it,
their manes all on fire, and furniture ringing; and the
enemy, who gave way for a moment, and held up their
hands, at the terrible beauty of the spectacle, immediately
contracted about him and his few followers, reduced
to five or six now, on foot; and about as many
more on horseback, and took them prisoners. He
fought to the last moment; and fell, at length, exhausted
with blood, and stifled with heat. But we have
heard not ten minutes ago, that he is in no danger. It is
for that reason that I write you. I was unwilling to
begin a letter, until I knew his fate. He is the talk
of the whole army; nay, of the two armies. They
say that his beautiful hair was burnt off; his clothes
burnt to a coal; and that one of the women whom he
saved, is a creature of singular beauty and—but hush,
we shall be dreaming treason, before we know it. It
is too late now, I am sure, for beauty to dream of sharing
in the dominion of death. Yet bear up; let him
die! let me die! let us all die! it is nothing—nothing,
so that we have done worthily. Let us learn to look
death in the face. It is cowardly to shut our eyes.
Arthur, as I told you, had a narrow escape. He had
a dear friend slaughtered under his very eyes; but
Arthur avenged him; and poor Bernie—(Major Bernie
was his name—) was literally swimming in the blood
of his murderers, before Arthur would permit himself
to think of safety; but then, a horse happened to dash
by him, a noble beast, he is before the tent now—
Arthur sprang into the saddle, under a shower of balls
from the infantry, and before a dozen horsemen; but
he escaped, and joined us within an hour.

`I had a strange dream last night. I hope that it
is true. Give the enclosed to Ellen; and, if it be not
true, bid her to pray for me, that it may be, if not now
—that is, if it be too late, now—that it may be true, at
some future day. I dreamt that I was a father; that
my babe was a boy—a giant, with the palest blue eyes
in the world; and a lip—the young rascal! so like his
mother's—that, when the rough hand of Arthur past over
my mouth, to awaken me, for another battle—I kissed
it again and again, under the notion that it was Emwa's.
What shall be his name—Archibald, I say.'

And how comes on your little ones? If I remember
rightly, John, you were in the hope of some young
horsemen, born, I suppose, saddled and bridled—I—I—
curse it, I cannot trifle. That girl has spoilt me. I
must stop—it may be—it may—O, God, have compassion
upon me, and avert the owen; it may be, that,
while I am jesting about my boy, I have neither boy—
nor girl—nor wife—Oadley, farewell—I cannot
write another line, my heart is too full.—Write! in
mercy, write!