University of Virginia Library

56. CHAPTER LVI.

After leaving Gilbert-town, Campbell moved steadily toward the
point at which he proposed to meet Williams, and by night-fall
had accomplished about one half of the journey. The march furnished
Henry Lindsay unalloyed pleasure. Every incident belonging
to it awakened the fancies which he had indulged in reference
to military life, and he was delighted in the contemplation
of this actual accomplishment of some of the many dreams of
glory which his boyish romance had engendered at home.
Besides, being a favorite of those in command, he was allowed to
ride in the ranks whenever it suited his pleasure, and to amuse
himself with what subject of interest the journey afforded;
whilst, at the same time, he found his personal ease so much
attended to as to leave him but little room to complain of the discomfort
or toil of the campaign.

The night was spent in the woods, and it was scarcely day-break,
when the exhilarating though harsh clamor of the horns summoned
the troops to the renewal of their journey, which was pursued
until the afternoon, when, about four o'clock, they reached
the border of the tract of country known as the Cowpens. Afar
off, occupying a piece of elevated ground, Campbell was enabled
to descry a considerable body of cavalry, whose standard, dress,
and equipment, even at this distance, sufficiently made known to
him their friendly character,—a fact that was immediately afterwards
confirmed by the report of some videttes, who had been
stationed upon the road by which Campbell advanced. A brief
interval brought the two parties together, and the force of the
allied bands was thus augmented by the addition of our gallant
friend Williams, at the head of four hundred sturdy companions.

“Make a short speech of it,” said Shelby, addressing Williams,

after that officer had ridden into the circle of his comrades, and
had exchanged with them a friendly greeting, “you have been
busy, fellow-soldier, whilst we were waiting to see the grass grow.
What has become of the runaway?”

“He left this spot but yesterday,” replied Williams; “Ferguson
has something of the bull-dog in him: his retreat, now that he is
forced to it, is surly and slow; he stops to snarl and growl as if he
defied us to follow him. If he had but stood his ground here, we
should have had him in as pretty a field as one might desire.
Devil thank him for his prudence! But he is now at the Cherokee
Ford of Broad river—so I conjecture, by the report of my scouts
—hard upon thirty miles from here, on his way towards
Charlotte.”

“Say you so?” exclaimed Campbell; “then, by my faith, we
have no time to lose! Gentlemen, we will rest but an hour, and
then to it, for a night march. Pick me out your best men and
stoutest horses; leave the footmen behind, and the weakest of the
cavalry. This fellow may take it into his head to show his heels.
If I can but tread upon the tail of the copperhead with one foot,
he will throw himself into his coil for fight,—that's the nature of
the beast,—and after that, if need be, we can threaten him until
all our force arrives. Shelby, look to the immediate execution of
this order.”

“That's glorious, sergeant,” said Henry, who, with his companion,
Robinson, had stolen up to the skirts of the circle of
officers during this conference, and had heard Campbell's order.
“I am of this party, whoever goes. Colonel Campbell,” he added,
with the familiarity of his privilege, “the Rangers are ready for
you, at any rate.”

“There's a mettlesome colt,” said Campbell, laughing and speaking
to the officers around him, “that bird shows fight before his
spurs are grown. Pray, sir,” he continued, addressing Henry,
“what command have you?”

“I consider myself answerable for the second platoon of the
Amherst Rangers,” replied Henry, with a waggish sauciness, “and
they march this night, whatever happens.”

“You shall serve with me in the staff, master,” said Campbell,

playfully, “such fiery young blades must be looked after. Get
your men ready; you shall go, I promise you.”

Henry, delighted at the notice he had received, rode off with
alacrity to spread the news.

The council broke up, and the earliest arrangements were set on
foot to make the draught required by the general orders.

Before the day had departed, nine hundred picked men, well
mounted and equipped, were seen spurring forward from the line,
and taking a position in the column of march, which was now
prepared to move. All the principal officers of the army accompanied
this detachment, in which were to be seen the Amherst
Rangers with their redoubtable recruits, Henry Lindsay and the
sergeant.

It rained during the night, a circumstance that, however it
increased the toils of the soldiers, but little abated their speed—
and, an hour before daybreak, they had reached the destined
point on Broad river; but the game had disappeared. Ferguson,
as we have seen, had pushed his march on the preceding evening
beyond this spot, and had taken the road, as it was reported,
towards King's mountain, which was not above twelve miles
distant.

A few hours were given by Campbell to the refreshment of his
troops, who halted upon the bank of the river, where, having
kindled their fires and opened their wallets, they soon found themselves
in a condition that pleasantly contrasted with the discomforts
of their ride during the night. The enemy consisted principally
of infantry—and Campbell, having gained so closely upon their
footsteps, felt no doubt of overtaking them in the course of the
day. He, therefore, determined to allow his men full time to
recruit their strength for the approaching conflict.

The rain had ceased before the dawn. The clouds had fled
from the firmament before a brisk and enlivening autumnal breeze,
and the sun rose with unusual splendor. It was one of those days
which belong to October, clear, cool, and exhilarating—when all
animal nature seems to be invigorated by breathing an atmosphere
of buoyant health. For more than an hour after the sun had cast
his broad beams over the landscape, the wearied encampment was

seen stretched in slumber—the camp guards only, and some occasional
parties on fatigue service, were to be observed in motion.
By degrees, the drowsy soldiers woke up, refreshed by the change
of weather, no less than by the repose which they had snatched in
the short moments of the halt. A general summons, at last,
brought every one into motion. By nine o'clock of the morning,
the army were in condition to prosecute their march, as little
wanting in alacrity or vigor as when they first commenced their
labors; and, at the hour designated, they were seen to prick forth
upon their way with an elastic movement that had in it the vivacity
of a holiday sport. Even our young martialist, Henry, had
become so inured to the toils of the road, that now, with the aid
of a sleep which Horse Shoe had affectionately guarded until the
last moment—to say nothing of a good luncheon of broiled venison,
which the boy discussed after he had mounted into his saddle—
he might be considered the most light-hearted of the host.

Towards noon, the army reached the neighborhood of King's
mountain. The scouts and parties of the advance had brought
information that Ferguson had turned aside from his direct road,
and taken post upon this eminence, where, it was evident, he meant
to await the attack of his enemy. Campbell, therefore, lost no
time in pushing forward, and was soon rewarded with a view of
the object of his pursuit. Some two or three miles distant, where
an opening through the forest first gave him a sight of the mass
of highland, he could indistinctly discern the array of the adverse
army perched on the very summit of the hill.

The mountain consists of an elongated ridge, rising out of the
bosom of an uneven country, to the height of perhaps five hundred
feet, and presenting a level line of summit or crest, from which the
earth slopes down, at its southward termination and on each side,
by an easy descent; whilst northward, it is detached from highlands
of inferior elevation by a rugged valley—thus giving it the character
of an insulated promontory, not exceeding half a mile in
length. At the period to which our story refers, it was covered,
except in a few patches of barren field or broken ground, with a
growth of heavy timber, which was so far free from underwood as
in no great degree to embarrass the passage of horsemen; and
through this growth the eye might distinguish, at a considerable

distance, the occasional masses of grey rock that were scattered in
huge boulders over its summit and sides.

The adjacent region, lying south from the mountain, was partially
cleared and in cultivation, presenting a limited range of open
ground, over which the march of Campbell might have been
revealed in frequent glimpses to the British partisan, for some
three or four miles. We may suppose, therefore, that the two
antagonists watched each other, during the advance of the approaching
army across this district, with emotions of various and
deep interest. Campbell drew at length into a ravine which,
bounded by low and short hills, and shaded by detached portions
of the forest, partly concealed his troops from the view of the
enemy, who was now not more than half a mile distant. The
gorge of this dell or narrow valley opened immediately towards
the southern termination of the mountain; and the column halted
a short distance within, where a bare knoll, or round, low hill,
crowned with rock, jutted abruptly over the road, and constituted
the only impediment that prevented each party from inspecting
the array of his opponent.

It was an hour after noon, and the present halt was improved
by the men in making ready for battle. Meanwhile, the chief
officers met together in front, and employed their time in surveying
the localities of the ground upon which they were soon to be
brought to action. The knoll, I have described, furnished a
favorable position for this observation, and thither they had already
repaired.

I turn from the graver and more important matters which may
be supposed to have occupied the thoughts of the leaders, as they
were grouped together on the broad rock, to a subject which was,
at this moment, brought to their notice by the unexpected appearance
of two females on horseback, on the road, a full half mile in
the rear of the army, and who were now approaching at a steady
pace. They were attended by a man who, even thus far off,
showed the sedateness of age; and, a short space behind them,
rode a few files of troopers in military array.

It was with mingled feelings of surprise and admiration at the
courage which could have prompted her, at such a time, to visit
the army, that the party recognised Mildred Lindsay and her

attendants, in the approaching cavalcade. These emotions were
expressed by them in the rough and hearty phrase of their habitual
and familiar intercourse.

“Let me beg, gentlemen,” said Campbell, interrupting them,
“that you speak kindly and considerately of yonder lady. By my
honor, I have never seen man or woman with a more devoted or
braver heart. Poor girl!—she has nobly followed Butler through
his afflictions, and taken her share of suffering with a spirit that
should bring us all to shame. Horse Shoe Robinson, who has
squired her to our camp, even from her father's house, speaks of a
secret between her and our captive friend, that tells plainly enough
to my mind of sworn faith and long-tried love. As men and soldiers,
we should reverence it. Williams, look carefully to her
comfort and safety. Go, man, at once, and meet her on the road.
God grant that this day may bring an end to her grief!”

Williams departed on his mission, and when he met the lady,
her brother and the sergeant were already in her train.

Allen Musgrove explained the cause of this unlooked-for apparition.
The party, in obedience to Mildred's urgent wish, and
scarcely less to the content of all the others, had quitted their
secluded position at Gilbert-town on the preceding morning; and
learning in the course of the day from persons on the road, that
Ferguson had moved northwards, the miller had taken a direction
across the country which enabled him to intercept the army at its
present post, with little more than half the travel which the circuitous
route of the march had required. They had passed the night
under a friendly roof some ten or twelve miles distant, and had
overtaken their companions at the critical moment at which they
have been introduced to view.

At Mildred's request she was conducted into the presence of
Campbell, who still retained his station on the knoll. A thoughtful
and amiable deference was manifested towards her by the
assembled soldiers, who received her with many kind and encouraging
greetings. That air of perturbation and timidity which, in
spite of all efforts at self-control, the novelty of her position and
the consciousness of the dreadful scene at hand had thrown over
her demeanor, gradually began to give way before the assurances
and sympathy of her friends; and, at length, she became sufficiently

self-possessed to look around her and mark the events that
were in progress.

The important moment of battle drew nigh, and the several
leaders respectively took their leave of her, with an exhortation to
be of good cheer, and to remain at her present post under the charge
of her trusty companion, the miller, who was fully instructed by
Campbell as to the course he should take for the lady's safety, in
whatever emergency might arise.

Here we leave her for a moment, whilst we cast a glance at the
preparations for battle.

It was three o'clock before these arrangements were completed.
I have informed my reader that the mountain terminated immediately
in front of the outlet from the narrow dell in which Campbell's
army had halted, its breast protruding into the plain only
some few hundred paces from the head of the column, whilst the
valley, that forked both right and left, afforded an easy passage
along the base on either side. Ferguson occupied the very summit,
and now frowned upon his foe from the midst of a host confident
in the strength of their position, and exasperated by the pursuit
which had driven them into this fastness.

Campbell resolved to assail this post by a spirited attack, at the
same moment, in front and on the two flanks. With this intent
his army was divided into three equal parts. The centre was
reserved to himself and Shelby; the right was assigned to Sevier
and M'Dowell; the left to Cleveland and Williams. These two
latter parties were to repair to their respective sides of the mountain,
and the whole were to make the onset by scaling the heights as
nearly as possible at the same instant.

The men, before they marched out of the ravine, had dismounted
and picqueted their horses under the winding shelter of the hills;
and, being now separated into detached columns formed in solid
order, they were put in motion to reach their allotted posts. The
Amherst Rangers were retained on horseback for such duty as
might require speed, and were stationed close in the rear of Campbell's
own division, which now merely marched from behind the
shelter of the knoll and halted in the view of the enemy, until
sufficient delay should be afforded to the flanking divisions to attain
their ground.

Mildred, attended by Allen Musgrove and his daughter, still
maintained her position on the knoll, and from this height surveyed
the preparations for combat with a beating heart. The scene
within her view was one of intense occupation. The air of stern
resolve that sat upon every brow; the silent but onward movement
of the masses of men advancing to conflict; the few brief and quick
words of command that fell from the distance upon her ear; the
sullen beat of the hoof upon the sod, as an occasional horseman
sped to and fro between the more remote bodies and the centre
division, which yet stood in compact phalanx immediately below
her at the foot of the hill; then the breathless anxiety of her companions
near at hand, and the short note of dread, and almost
terror, that now and then escaped from the lips of Mary Musgrove,
as the maiden looked eagerly and fearfully abroad over the plain;
all these incidents wrought upon her feelings and caused her to
tremble. Yet, amidst these novel emotions, she was not insensible
to a certain lively and even pleasant interest, arising out of the
picturesque character of the spectacle. The gay sunshine striking
aslant these moving battalions, lighting up their fringed and many-colored
hunting-shirts, and casting a golden hue upon their brown
and weather-beaten faces, brought out into warm relief the chief
characteristics of this peculiar woodland army. And Mildred sometimes
forgot her fears in the fleeting inspiration of the sight, as she
watched the progress of an advancing column—at one time
moving in close ranks, with the serried thicket of rifles above their
heads, and at another deploying into files to pass some narrow
path, along which, with trailed arms and bodies bent, they sped
with the pace of hunters beating the hill-side for game. The
tattered and service-stricken banner that shook its folds in the
wind above these detached bodies, likewise lent its charm of
association to the field the silence and steadfastness of the array in
which it was borne, and its constant onward motion; showing it to
be encircled by strong arms and stout hearts.

Turning from these, the lady's eye was raised, with a less joyous
glance, towards the position of the enemy. On the most prominent
point of the mountain's crest she could descry the standard of England
fluttering above a concentrated body, whose scarlet uniforms,
as the sun glanced upon them through the forest, showed that here

Ferguson had posted his corps of regulars, and held them ready to
meet the attack of the centre division of the assailants; whilst the
glittering of bayonets amidst the dark foliage, at intervals, rearward
along the line of the summit, indicated that heavy detachments
were stationed in this quarter to guard the flanks. The marching
and countermarching of the frequent corps, from various positions
on the summit; the speeding of officers on horseback, and the
occasional movement of small squadrons of dragoons, who were at
one moment seen struggling along the sides of the mountain, and,
at another, descending towards the base or returning to the summit,
disclosed the earnestness and activity of the preparation with
which a courageous soldier may be supposed to make ready for
his foe.

It was with a look of sorrowful concern which brought tears into
her eyes, that Mildred gazed upon this host, and strained her vision
in the vain endeavor to catch some evidences of the presence of
Arthur Butler.

“We both look, perchance,” she said to herself, “at this very
instant, upon yon hateful banner—and with the same aversion:
but oh, with what more painful apprehension it is my fortune to
behold it! Little does he think that Mildred's eyes are turned
upon it. 'Tis well he does not—his noble heart would chafe itself
with ten-fold anguish at the cruel thraldom that separates us. Yes,
'tis well he does not dream that his Mildred is here to witness this
dreadful struggle,” she continued, musing over the subject of her
grief, “it might tempt him to some rash endeavor to break his
bondage. It is better as it is; the misery of the thought of our
afflictions should be mine only; the brave patience of a manly
soldier is his, and should not be embittered with sorrows that belong
not to the perils of war.”

“Sister,” said Henry, who had stolen up the hill unobserved,
and now stood beside Mildred, “take courage and keep a good
heart! The very day I often prayed to see has come—and it has
come sooner than you promised it should. Here I am in the field,
amongst men, and no play-game is it, either, to keep us busy, but
downright earnest battle. And then, dear sister, you are here to
look on—isn't that a piece of good luck?”

“Ah, brother, I could talk to you with a boastful tongue when

all around us was peace and security. I cannot exhort you now.
If I dare, I would beg you to stay by my side. I have need of
your comfort, and shudder with a chilly fear. Henry, that small
hand of yours can do no service to-day—and in truth, I cannot bear
to see you exposed to danger.”

“In tears, sister! Come now, this is not like you. Hasn't Arthur
fought many a day and often? And didn't you set him on,
with good brave words for it?”

“I was not there to see him,” interrupted Mildred.

“Well, sister, I must get to my post,” said Henry. “I serve as
aide-de-camp, and Horse Shoe is to help me. By-the-by, Mildred,
the sergeant is uncommonly silent and busy to-day. He smells
this battle like an old soldier, and I heard him give a few hints to
Campbell, concerning the marching up yonder hill:—he told him
the column should not display until they got near the top, as Ferguson
has no cannon; and the Colonel took it very gladly. Horse
Shoe, moreover, thinks we will beat them—and the men have
great dependence on what he says. I shall not lose sight of him
to-day.”

“For Heaven's sake, Henry,” exclaimed Mildred, “my dear
brother, do not think of following the sergeant! I cannot part
with you,” she added, with great earnestness; “it is an awful time
for brother and sister to separate—stay with me.”

The cadet turned a look upon his sister of surprise, at the new
light in which her present fears represented her.

“I thought, Mildred,” he said, “you were brave. Hav'n't we
come all this way from home to assist Butler? And are you now,
for the first time—just when we are going to pluck him from the
midst of the wolves upon that mountain—are you now to weep and
play the coward, sister?

“Go, go!” said Mildred, as she covered her eyes with her hand,
“but, dear Henry, remember you have a weak arm and a slender
frame, and are not expected to take upon you the duties of a man.”

“Besides,” said Mary Musgrove, who had been a silent and perplexed
witness of this scene, and who now put in her word of
counsel, out of the fulness of her heart, “besides, Mister Henry
Lindsay, what trouble would it give to Sergeant Robinson, and all
the rest of them, if you should get lost scampering about the hills,

and they shouldn't know where to find you? It would take up so
much of their precious time in looking for you: and, I am sure,
they hav'n't much to spare!”

“You are as valiant as a mouse,” replied Henry, laughing, “and
monstrous wise, Mary Musgrove. Do you take care of my sister,
and speak a word now and then to keep up her spirits—that is, if
your tongue doesn't grow too thick with fright. Your teeth chatter
now. A kiss, Mildred. There: God bless you! I must get
to my post.”

With these words, Henry bounded off towards the valley to
rejoin his comrades. Half way, he met Allen Musgrove, who was
now on his return to the top of the hill, whence he had withdrawn
for a brief space to hold some converse with Robinson.

“A word,” said Allen to Henry, as they met; “you are but a
stripling. Remember that this day's work is to be wrought by
men of might—those who are keen of eye and steady of foot. In
the tempest of battle your weight, Mister Henry, would be but as
a feather in the gale. Yet in this fight none might be crushed
whose fall would bring more anguish than yours. Let me beg
you, as a rash and thoughtless youth, to think of that. The good
lady, your sister—”

“I cannot stay to hear you,” interrupted Henry; “the column is
beginning to move.”

And in a moment he was at the foot of the hill.