 | The forayers, or, The raid of the dog-days |  |
INTRODUCTION.
HISTORICAL SUMMARY.
The reader who has done me the honor to keep progress with
me in the several journeys which I have made into the somewhat
obscure regions of our historical romance — who has, in
brief, read my novels, the “Partisan,” “Mellichampe,” “Katharine
Walton,” and “The Scout,” will remember that I have
endeavored to maintain a proper historical connection among
these stories, corresponding with the several transitional periods
of the Revolutionary war in South Carolina. While the “Partisan”
opened the drama with the fall of Charleston, the “Scout”
closed with the siege of “Ninety-Six;” an event which, though
it left the victory in the hands of the British, left them, at the
same time, in a condition of such feebleness, as to render their
temporary triumph of little value to their fortunes. The post
was abandoned as soon as rescued from the besiegers, and Lord
Rawdon, apprehensive of dangers which were sufficiently apparent
upon the horizon to every veteran eye, took up his line of
march, with all possible expedition, for the Low Country, and
the securities of the seaboard.
The “Partisan” closed with the melancholy defeat of the first
southern continental army under Gates, at Camden. “Mellichampe”
illustrated the interval between this event and the arrival
of Greene, with the rude material for the organization of a second
army; and was more particularly intended to do honor to the
resolute and hardy patriotism of the scattered bands of patriots,
who still maintained a predatory warfare against the foe among
the swamps and thickets, rather keeping alive the spirit of the
country, than operating decisively for its rescue. “The Scout,”
originally published under the name of “The Kinsmen,” occupied
a third period, when the wary policy of Greene began to
make itself felt, in the gradual isolation and overthrow of the
detached posts and fortresses which the enemy had established
with the view to overawe the people in the leading precincts
of the state; while “Katharine Walton,” closing the career of
certain parties, introduced to the reader by the “Partisan,” and
making complete the trilogy begun in that work, was designed
to show the fluctuations of the contest, the spirit with which it
was carried on, and to embody certain events of great individual
interest, connected with the fortunes of persons not less distinguished
by their individual worth of character, and their influence
upon the general history, than by the romantic circumstances
growing out of their career.
This narrative brought down the record to a period, when,
for the first time, the British were made to understand that the
conflict was doubtful; that their conquests were insecure, and
that, so far from extending their arms over the interior, it became
a question with them whether they should be able to
maintain their hold upon the strong places of which they had
so long held possession. Their country-posts had mostly fallen
into the hands of the partisans, and such as remained were momently
threatened with like fortune. To maintain themselves
in Charleston and Savannah, the necessity was pressing that
they should contract their powers, and concentrate their forces.
British empire was in a state of exhaustion, and the army of
the invader was now half made up of the provincial loyalists.
It is proposed, in the present story, to resume the historical
narrative at this period; making it subordinate, however — as
has been the plan of the preceding volumes — to other events,
in which the writer will naturally seek to illustrate the social
condition of the country, under the influence of those strifes and
trials which give vivacity to ordinary circumstances, and mark
with deeper hues, and stronger colors, and sterner tones, the
otherwise common progress of human hopes and fears, passions
and necessities.
The operations of the British in South Carolina, after the
abandonment of Ninety-Six, were contracted almost entirely
within that section of country, which is enclosed by the Santee,
the Congaree, and Edisto rivers. They were wholly concentrated
in the alluvial regions, or what is called the Low
Country. Here, Rawdon proposed to keep his forces in hand,
ready for emergencies, and hoped, undertaking no enterprises,
to make a sufficient stand against the American troops. But,
even for this, it was soon found that his strength was inadequate,
and that Greene was confident enough to offer him battle on
the Edisto. With a melancholy instinct, warning him of humiliating
reverses, Lord Rawdon anticipated the mortification of
final defeat, by yielding the command of the army to Colonel
Stewart, retiring himself, after a brief pause at Orangeburg, to
the walls of Charleston, where, he lingered only long enough
to stain his good name by the sanguinary execution of Hayne,
and then departed for Europe.
One single farther statement will suffice to put the reader in
possession of the relative position of the opposing forces. The
numerical strength of Greene and Stewart was nearly equal.
Apart from the garrison at Charleston, and a detachment under
Colonel Cruger, slowly approaching from above, the army of
two thousand men; that of Greene was fully the latter number,
but mostly composed of militia. But, though Greene lacked
in regular infantry, he was more than a match for his opponent
in cavalry. In this respect, he was well served. There was
no better cavalry in the world, and it grew more numerous
every day, by accessions from the country gentry.
It will be seen from this statement, that Greene, though not
unwilling to fight, was yet in no condition to invite the combat
except on his own terms. For this, Rawdon and Stewart were
equally unwilling. Strongly posted as they were in Orangeburg,
it would have been madness in Greene to have forced the
trial of strength upon them, and Stewart, left suddenly in command,
felt too heavily the weight of responsibility upon him, to
undertake any bold adventure. There were reasons for his
forbearance, other than his own sense of responsibility, which
sufficiently excused his apathy. But these reasons will properly
find development in the course of our story. It is then understood
that our narrative opens at the moment when Rawdon is
preparing to yield the care of the army to the charge of his
lieutenant, at the moment when, approaching Orangeburg as a
post of rest, after the retreat from Ninety-Six, after the abandonment
and destruction of Camden, after the loss of almost all
of their posts in the interior, the British, after an exhausting
march, weary and desponding, are seeking to snatch a momentary
rest from fatigue and danger — not willing to seek their
foes, and scarcely able to cover themselves from pursuit. They
were soon to be strengthened by a body of thirteen hundred men,
chiefly loyalists, under the command of Cruger, late commandant
at the post of Ninety-Six; but of his approach, as yet, they
knew but little, and had every reason to apprehend that he
might be cut off, burdened as was his train by clouds of fugitive
tories, with their families, from the upper country, and followed
closely by Pickens, one of the most famous partisans of Carolina.
Pickens's cavalry, which, to use his own language, “could neither
get up with the enemy, nor get away from him.” To excuse
the lack of enterprise in both armies, it is only necessary
to add that hunger and nakedness were at work among them.
Provisions could not be procured on any terms. The country
was exhausted; and very cheerfully would both parties have
taken the field for food, when they would have hesitated to
do so for more noble considerations.
But we may safely leave it to the novelist to pursue the narrative
in place of the historian. Enough has been shown of
the chronicle to place the reader in full possession of the relative
strength and condition of the contending forces. The Americans
are gaining confidence with every moment of pause; the
British, gathering themselves up for the last struggle, prior to
their expulsion from a region, of which, for a long season,
they had enjoyed the pleasant fruits. Suspense, anxiety and
apprehension, like so many heavy clouds, to say nothing of a
long and scorching summer, hung over the fortunes of the contending
armies, and seemed to paralyze their energies.
But the partisans have their work to do in spite of these discouraging
influences. They were allowed no such respite as
was accorded to the regular army, and throughout the whole
exhausting period of summer, their cavalry was kept in motion
startling the British with incessant alarms; hovering about their
posts, snatching up their convoys, and occasionally cutting off
their detachments. In this sort of work, we find all our great
captains of partisans equally engaged, Marion, Sumter, Pickens,
Lee, Maham, Harden, the two Hamptons, Horry, Taylor, and
many others. By these, even under the blazing heats of July
and August, the country was literally swept, as with a fiery
besom, through all that region the boundaries of which have
already been described. This was the famous campaign of
“The Dog-Days,” a season proverbial for the wonderful endurance
of neither army could make a day's march, without the loss of
numbers perishing from the heat. In the retreat of Rawdon
from Ninety-Six, more than fifty soldiers dropped dead upon
the march; and subsequently — but we must not anticipate.
We have already trespassed somewhat, in these slight glances
at the province which we propose to assign to our story.
| The forayers, or, The raid of the dog-days | |