University of Virginia Library

27. CHAPTER XXVII.
PURSUIT — THE SKRIMMAGE AT QUINBY.

The ground should never have been lost. Why it was lost —
by what circumstances — by whose misconduct — the chronicles
all fail to inform us. They were probably unwilling to censure
favorite names, and suppressed much, that, for the benefit of the
student, should properly have been given. Their accounts of
the events in connection with this escape of the British are all
exceedingly confused and contradictory. A severe critical examination
would exhibit many contradictions and absurdities
of which historians should be made ashamed. In seeking to
save the military reputation of their subject, they forfeit some
credit to their own. Why were the British suffered to escape
on this occasion? They were almost completely environed.
They could have been quite. All the routes might have been
covered, and no matter what the result of the battle, the British
could have been most effectually kept from evading it. We
have seen in a previous chapter, the struggles first of Maham,
and next of Horry, to secure or destroy the bridge at Watboo.
We have seen that by an overawing force, Colonel Coates had
baffled these attempts. It was by the route over this bridge
that the British commander made his escape. Yet it was certainly
in the power of Sumter, whose position was such as to
warrant his expectation of battle every moment at the hands
of the former, to have covered the route by this bridge, even if
he found it policy to avoid bringing on the general action at
this point. Why was this not done?

The question brings us back to our former difficulties. As
we have said, there is nothing satisfactory to be gleaned from

our chroniclers; and, as the case stands, the censure necessarily
rests on the general in command of our partisans. We are
scarcely satisfied that this should be so. Yet, from Sumter's
known rashness, which had already incurred frequent reproaches,
the world will readily accuse him of that neglect of proper
precautions, which constitutes the military fault in the present
instance. In one respect he is not liable to this imputation of
rashness on this occasion. Nay, it would seem, that, sensible
of his fault, he was inclined to be more circumspect than usual,
since he rather withdrew from before the demonstrations of the
British, and chose his ground with a deliberation which he had
hitherto disdained to show, whenever battle was presented to
his sword. Ordinarily, he was not a man of much method, or a
watchful prudence. He preferred rapid to slow performances;
was always more eager to do, than to do systematically; was
eagerly impulsive; dashing and adventurous; never counting
the hazards with an enemy before him. And there would have
been no such deliberativeness in his method in this affair, had
he ever dreamed of the possibility of the British colonel seeking
to evade the issue, which he seemed to offer. How should
he fancy such a thing? The British force was, in numbers,
nearly equal to his own. They had a superior infantry. They
held a position of considerable strength. There was no reason
why they should not maintain it, against any assault, from such
a force as his, even if they did not succeed in keeping it under
a continued leaguer. He knew the British temper too well to
suppose that under such circumstances there could be any reluctance
to fight; and we have no doubt that when Sumter
rolled himself up under his tree that night for slumber, he did
so with the full conviction that he was to do battle in the
morning.

But should Sumter have been deceived by the ruse of Coates?
Should he have confided in these ostentatious demonstrations
which he had made of battle during the latter part of the day,
when the bridge of Watboo was the ostensible object of controversy?
Should not the very strategics of Coates, by which
one third of the day was consumed unprofitably, have awakened
some suspicions of the real purposes of that officer? If his
plan was battle, there needed no delay. Why, if such were

his purpose, should he delay. His whole force was in hand,
and that was equal to that of the Americans. No re-enforcements
could be expected, in the brief interval of a night, which
he seemed to require. His troops had not been fatigued by
any hard duty as was the case with Sumter's. They were all
fresh, all well-armed, and ammunition in abundance. Sumter
ought not to have been deceived.

But was he deceived? Was he himself prepared for battle
at the moment. We think not. We believe that his troops
were not in hand; that his force was inadequate to the conflict
when Coates made his demonstrations. Our reasons are founded
upon the fact that it was only that very day that the mounted
men of Marion and the legion of Lee reached him. We
have no evidence to show at what hour they did arrive, but
most probably late in the day — probably not before night had
fallen; since we find that Lee in his memoirs, reports nothing
of the efforts severally and jointly made by Maham and Horry
to destroy the bridge at Watboo, by which the enemy must
pass if he took the route east of Cooper river. He only tells
us that Coates had occupied it with a detachment. Subsequently,
it appears from Lee's statement, that Coates had abandoned
it, and that Sumter had ordered a party to take possession
of it. They certainly did not keep possession of it, for by
this very route Coates made his escape unobserved. But the
statement would acquit Sumter of all blame. But how was it
that the passage of the bridge was suffered? The answer is
that Sumter believed the bridge to have been destroyed; that
he had detached a party for this purpose; that the report of the
officer of the detachment assured him that the work had been
done; and that the British were effectually cut off from retreat in
that direction; and that Sumter manœuvred to compel their retreat
by the western route which was the shortest and easiest;
conceiving them to be too strong in their position at Biggin to
attack them in that place. It is farther stated, by way of excusing
the party who had undertaken the destruction of the
bridge, that they had done so, effectually, but that Coates had
repaired it.

Now this was next to impossible, if the work had been
thoroughly done. Had the sleepers been cut through, as well

as the planks thrown off, there could have been no repairs
effected, adequate to the passage of eight hundred men, of
which one hundred and fifty were horse, a piece of artillery,
and an extended train of baggage-wagons. But even allowing
that the British had repaired the bridge, why were they suffered
to do so? Where were the scouting parties — the patrols — the
hungry, eager, watchful, vigilant hawks of war that should
have been for ever on the wing around the enemy's whole encampment?
There is no answer to this question. Indeed,
from all circumstances, it would seem that no watch had been
maintained at all. This seems to be the naked fact — let the
blame fall where it will. Coates should never have been suffered
to repair the bridge, even if this were possible. But we
doubt this whole story. We suspect that the party sent to
destroy it, contented themselves with throwing off a few planks,
which a few men in half an hour could readily restore. It
should never have been left to the fiery beacon, which their
own hands had kindled, to announce the flight of the British in
the camp of our partisans.

But who shall say that Sumter had not taken all these and
other precautions? It is one of the evils of a volunteer and
militia service, that vedettes, and sentinels, and patrolling parties,
are easily beguiled from their duty. They rarely acquire
the stern discipline of the regular service. This is their grand
defect. They have ardor in greater degree than the regular;
are famous at a dash — in the first headlong onset; but they get
easily diverted from the main to minor objects; easily discouraged
by unlooked-for reverses; lack in that simple steady
courage and endurance which secures a victory, and never loses
an opportunity. We can scarcely conceive that Sumter should
retire to his tents, without taking every proper precaution
against his enemy's movements. In all probability his scouting
parties were ordered on the duty and evaded it. Of course,
there is no excuse for this dereliction; but it may be suggested
that a large portion of Sumter's command had just
arrived in camp; that they had already been engaged, for
several days, in incessant and exhausting operations; that the
weather was intensely hot; and that nature was overcome with
languor and debility. Perhaps the partisans also generally

indulged in Sumter's own conviction, that the fight was certainly
to come off on the morrow, and that rest was necessary
to prepare them for its trials. We can readily find apologies
for all parties, but never a good excuse for any.

But, to our narrative:—

The church in flames soon taught our partisans that the bird
had flown. The pursuit was immediately commenced. It was
as quickly ascertained that Coates had pursued the eastern route
and not the western. Why he should have done so, is not
important to our study. The west was the shortest and the
easiest route, unobstructed by water-courses; but it was probably
the heaviest march in hot weather, and over long tracts of
sterile sands. Water and shade might have been the inducements
to pursue the eastern route and it is possible that Coates
may have been apprized of some ascending galleys by the
Cooper river, bringing provisions and reinforcements. Enough
for us that our partisans were soon aware of the direction taken
by the British.

The pursuit, hotly eager, was begun by Lee with the cavalry
of his legion, and Maham, with a detachment of Marion's.
The rest of the forces followed as fast as possible; the field-piece
(as it proved unfortunately) being left behind in charge
of Lieutenant Singleton, in order not to retard the infantry; a
policy which rendered the pursuit much more swift than sure.
It is necessary here that we should remind the reader that there
is a choice of roads on the route east of Cooper river, both of
which conduct to the metropolis. Biggin creek, the most
northerly of several streams which unite to make the river, is
esteemed the head, or chief of its western branches. East of
this creek the Charleston road crosses two other creeks, called
Watboo and Quinby, the latter being esteemed the eastern arm
of the river. Between these two creeks the road forks, and
crosses the latter at two different points; the right at Bonneau's
ferry, the left at Quinby bridge. The road to Bonneau's ferry
follows the course of the main stream; the route by Quinby
diverges from it, for a time, in an easterly direction. The interval
between the two crossings may be, in an air line, six or
seven miles. We may call it fifteen miles from Biggin, the
point of starting, to Bonneau's, and something more to Quinby.

The fork which opens the roads to these two points begins at a
short distance only from the former.

These particulars being understood, it will be easy to follow
the course of our partisans, and of the British respectively.
The former, in full chase, darted across Watboo bridge, which
the enemy had not broken down behind them — probably because
they feared to disturb the slumbers of the sleeping Americans.
Our troopers dashed on until they made the discovery
that the British army had divided, the infantry and artillery
taking one route, the cavalry another, the latter pursuing the
right hand road leading to Bonneau's ferry. Hampton alone
continued the pursuit of the cavalry, Lee proceeding with his
legion against the infantry. But, Hampton, though he urged
his steeds at every bound, had the mortification to discover,
when he reached the ferry, that the enemy had escaped him,
had crossed in safety, and secured the boats on the opposite
side. He could only cast wistful glances at the quarry, and
cursing his misfortune, to wheel about and retrace his steps, in
hope to get up in time to take a part in the play with the
British infantry.

Meanwhile, the legion horse, and Maham's, were pressing
hard and fast upon the heels of the enemy, on the route to
Quinby bridge. Colonel Coates had marched well, and, so far,
prosperously; but he was not one of those military marvels who
bring genius to the aid of drill. He was a tolerable soldier of
the old school, and in a period when the age was not distinguished
by any great military examples. He had outgeneraled
Sumter, had stolen away from him, but had committed several
errors. His firing the church was an error in policy, if not in
morals. He had unnecessarily advised his enemy of his flight,
just two hours too soon. Better had he left the stores for the
temptation of the starving and naked partisans. The disposition
of his column of march on the retreat, was not a judicious
one. His baggage-train, instead of being sent ahead, under a
sufficient escort, was made to bring up the rear, unde a guard
of one hundred men, commanded by a certain Capt. Campbell.
The rear-guard, on a retreat, should consist of picked men under
a first-rate officer. In the present case, it was composed of raw
Irishmen who had never been under fire, and was led by an incompetent

person. Another error was in the lengthened line
of the column of march; the rear-guard being most of the time
more than a mile in the rear of the main body. But we must
not stop for criticism; let us proceed to the events of this pursuit.

Coates, as we have said, marched well; but the most rapid
march of infantry, cumbered with a heavy baggage-train, is still
a slow progress. It was not difficult for our Baron Sinclair's
carriage, drawn by four first-rate horses, to keep up with the
march. Fitzgerald, in order to the better security of the little
party, had introduced it in the interval between the main body
and the rear-guard. Here, the chances were, that, whether attacked
in front or rear, there would still be time afforded to get
the carriage out of the mélée.

This disposition, besides, afforded him frequent opportunities
for communion with the lady whom he sought. Our young
Irishman neglected no precautions, and forbore no attentions.
He was frequently beside the carriage, and, by his buoyancy
of temper, and lively play of conversation, greatly contributed
to beguile the tediousness of the route. He was never more
elastic, more gay, more graceful; never appeared to better advantage;
and it was with difficulty that our Baron Sinclair
could refrain, when the young fellow withdrew to his duties,
from reproaching Carrie aloud, for preferring — as he muttered
it to himself — “a d—d demure son of a Frenchman,” to the
brave and dashing young cavalier, who was so distinguished,
and could make himself so agreeable! Our present task will
not suffer us to report the dialogues between these parties on
the route, or even to give a sample of them. Enough, that the
night rapidly stole away, and the dawn opened, and the day advanced,
and they as yet felt none of the fatigues of the journey.
Hours had now passed, since their departure from Biggin, and
no hostile trumpet had sounded in their ears. At length the
vanguard reached Quinby in safety, crossed, and continued its
progress. The main body followed in safety, also, dragging
their solitary piece of artillery across the bridge. The planks
of the bridge were then loosened from the sleepers, ready to be
thrown off, and into the creek, as soon as the rear-guard should
have passed. The howitzer, its muzzle turned toward the

bridge, charged with grape, was allowed to remain, to protect
the party destined to demolish it.

So quiet had been the march, so utterly undisturbed the
progress, that the severe exertions of the British colonel were
relaxed. His precautions seemed to give him every security.
What had he to fear from the rear, with a strong detachment
of a hundred men a mile behind him? What to fear in front,
with his main body already marching across the causey before
him, and pressing onward, through a lane, into a friendly settlement?
There were surely no reasonable grounds for apprehension,
at such a moment; and Coates himself loitered at the
bridge with the howitzer, waiting for the arrival of the rear-guard
and baggage-wagons. His escape was a matter so sure,
in his opinion, that his mood and muscles relaxed to merriment.
Fitzgerald, who had just galloped up from Sinclair's carriage,
which he had left half a mile behind, was the subject of much
of that sort of jest in which old soldiers love to deal at the expense
of young ones, and which young lovers rarely find offensive.
Coates assumed him to be successful in his pursuit; and,
though Fitzgerald denied it, and expressed his fears, yet this
was ascribed, by his colonel, only to a proper modesty, which
would not suffer him to boast. At this very moment, and while
the two, attended by a few artillerists only, were loitering about
the gun, the leading officer of the pursuing partisans had reported
the rear-guard, under Campbell, to be in sight.

The legion cavalry were in advance; Marion's, under Maham,
close behind them. Lee, at once, prepared for the charge.
The legion cavalry was directed to take close order. Captain
Eggleston, with one troop, was detached, turning into the woods
on the left, in order to gain the enemy's right; while the squadron
under Lee, supported by the cavalry under Maham, advanced
along the road directly toward the quarry.

We have seen how the rear-guard of Coates was composed,
and of what force it consisted. The approach of the American
horse, from two directions, first awakened Campbell, the captain
of the British, to a sense of his danger. He formed his line, and
blundered in doing so. Had he at once taken to the swamp
which skirted him, and posted himself under cover of his
wagons, he would have been safe. Instead of this, he formed

in line, his left upon the road, and his right in the woods opposite
to Eggleston's command.

“We have him as we want him!” said Lee, to his captain
Armstrong, a very gallant and powerful fellow.

The British line was scarcely formed when Lee's bugle
sounded the charge. His troop dashed forward, swords drawn,
and steeds in full gallop. At that instant, the British order to
“fire” was heard distinctly from right to left. But no fire followed.
Lee felt the danger.

“They reserve their fire to make it more fatal!” said he to
Armstrong.

“It is fatal if we falter now!” exclaimed Armstrong, giving
his steed the rowel as he spoke, and rushing forward. He was
promptly followed, with a wild shout, and every sword flashing
in the air.

To the surprise of the assailants, their delighted surprise,
there was not a shot. The wild Irish threw down their arms,
and begged for quarter.

Was this terror? Was it the menacing attitude of the cavalry
that produced this result? Possibly. And yet, of a hundred
men, of a notoriously fighting race, was there not one man,
to discharge a musket — from impulse, if not from will or principle?
Not one! Lee ascribed it all to panic. It may have
been so. Panic is as contagious as fire, and runs as quickly
through the ranks as fire does over the prairies in dry weather.
But we remember what Fitzgerald said to Sinclair, and we half
suspect, there was no hearty good will for the British cause
among these wild Irish, and that this had something to do with
it. Anyhow, it is very clear that their captain Campbell was
an imbecile.

Of course, Lee was very well pleased to grant quarter to
people who had behaved so civilly. Both parties escaped unhurt.
A few of the militia horse was detached to take charge
of the prisoners and baggage, and the legion cavalry dashed
ahead after the main body of the retreating British. Scarcely
had Lee's back been turned, when Captain Campbell, beginning
to feel ashamed of himself, made an effort to persuade his men
to resume their arms; but a prompt messenger brought Lee

back, and the captain not over fierce, and his men not over willing,
they were soon subdued to docility.

But this paltry petty incident, probably saved the British
army. While Lee was quieting Campbell, Armstrong came in
sight of the bridge and Coates. The latter, at this moment,
was in his most humorous vein, jeering Fitzgerald about his
conquests. He was actually talking about Cupid and Hymen,
and such antiquated divinities, in a sort of speech which the
poets of that day had dealt in ad nauseam. Our readers will
remember that that was the era of such geniuses as Pye, and
Whitehead, and Wharton, successively poets-laureate. We
may judge readily of the sort of poets which could willingly
sing the glories of the Guelphic dynasties of the Georges —
first, second, or third! Lee ought not to have turned back.
What if the wild Irish under Campbell did resume their arms,
how could they effect the result? Besides, the infantry under
Sumter were pressing forward, and the British rear-guard might
safely have been left to them. The moments were too precious
to be wasted upon any subordinate objects. Everything depended
upon the headlong rush over the bridge, while Coates
was unsuspicious of danger, and while his main body were
crowded along a causey, girdled by swamp, packed closely on
this causey, and in the still narrower lane beyond it, unable to
deply, and to be mown down like thick grass at the will of
the reaper. Had the whole force of the legion dashed onward,
the discomfiture of the whole army of the British, in this situation,
was inevitable. No infantry can withstand a determined
charge of cavalry while in such condition.

But the gallant Armstrong, though leading his own troop
only, remembering the orders of the day, to charge the enemy
at all hazards wherever he could find them, dashed onward to
his prey giving no heed to consideration, right or left. He
passed the carriage of Colonel Sinclair like a streak of lightning,
giving it no sort of heed, as if it were game quite too
small for any trooper with a goodly enemy before him. Your
petty chapman of a captain would have stopped to look into
the vehicle, to see if it contained “the elephant.”

The little party of Colonel Sinclair were roused on a sudden,
as the troop went by.

“Who are these people? Why this rush?” demanded Carrie
Sinclair of her father.

“The rebels! by all that's damnable!” roared the colonel,
and he felt for his pistols. But the troop had swept by. Another
came, and another, and they swept on also, without heeding
the vehicle.

“Oh! my father, they are about to fight. Let us fly — into
the woods. Into the woods.”

“Ay, we shall have it now, my girl, and you will soon see
how the British regulars will trim the jackets of these fellows!
But it is something queer that they should pass the rear-guard.
They couldn't do so without a fight. Have I been asleep.
Have you heard nothing, Carrie?”

“Nothing, till the rush of these horsemen.”

“No guns — no trumpets — no shouts?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“It is strange. These fellows look to be rebels. Their uniform
— if it may be called such — is not ours. What can the
rear-guard be about. Where the devil is Fitzgerald?”

“He has only a little while left us, you remember.”

“Ay, ay; but where the devil is he now. It is now that he
is wanted.”

“But, dear father, we are here in the way of danger. Had
we not better turn into the woods.”

“Danger! Pshaw! Do you suppose that these trooping
squads, even if they be of the rebel route, can do anything
against his majesty's infantry, covered with a field-piece.
There's no danger, girl. None! But, I think, Fitzgerald
might have shown himself, so as to have pacified your fears at
least.”

Fitzgerald was, at that moment, as well as his colonel, in a
position of some awkwardness. We have seen how confident
Coates was in his securities. How he could jeer our young
Irishman about his amours. As we have said, he had just been
mouthing about Cupid and Hymen, in the poetical slang — for
poets of an imitative school are all so many slangwhangers —
repeaters of a stereotyped phraseology — when Armstrong burst
upon him — no drum beaten, no bugle sounded, no shot fired
from the rear-guard to give him warning of his danger. Armstrong

never stopped for stay or hinderance, but dashed over the
bridge at the head of his section, and threw himself headlong
upon the little group who had charge of the British howitzer.

His headlong audacity was in fact only a proper prudence.
The howitzer, with its jaws charged with grape, confronting
him, and covering the bridge, the port-fire burning, and ready
for use, allowed him not a moment of respite for thought or
hesitation. His policy was to seize the piece, take advantage of
the surprise which he had occasioned, and cut down the gunners;
and so thinking, if he thought at all, he dashed recklessly over
the rickety planks which had been loosened from the sleepers,
in readiness to be thrown off with the passage of the baggage
and the rear-guard.

The audacity of Armstrong was temporarily successful. Had
Lee been present to support him, with the legion, the success
would have been complete. The artillerists in charge of the
piece, as well as their officer, taken by surprise, had not time to
apply the match, and were summoned instantly to defend themselves.
Armstrong had been followed, under a like impulse,
by Lieutenant Carrington, of the legion; and he, in turn, by
Colonel Maham, and Captain Macaulay, of Marion's. The two
first were followed by their sections. The third section was
arrested in the leap by the fact that their predecessors had dislodged
the planks of the bridge by the desperate plunges of
their horses, and that a wide gulf separated the parties, the
deep dark water of the creek, rolling between. It was when
the third section came to a halt that Maham and Macaulay forced
their horses to the leap. But at this very moment an unseen
enemy started up, almost from beneath the bridge, in a working
party set to complete its destruction. These delivered a fire
under which Maham's horse fell dead. Two of Lee's dragoons
on the opposite side were slain at the same fire; the chasm in
the bridge had been made wider, and the efforts of Lee who
had now rejoined his third section, seemed altogether unavailing
to repair the bridge, even for temporary use. His two sections,
with Maham and Macaulay, seemed cut off from all succor, and
in the power of the enemy.

But their audacity was continued, the result now of their
peculiarly perilous position. In a moment they drove the artillerists

from the howitzer, and assailed the small British party
at the spot. These, headed by Coates and Fitzgerald, had
drawn their swords, cheered on their few followers, shouted to
the regiment along the causey, and, seeking temporary shelter
behind a wagon which had crossed, bearing some sick and
wounded officers, they skilfully opposed their small swords to
the threatening sabres of the partisans. These would have
been of little help without the cover of the wagon, but with
this defence, and the exercise of great activity, and the most
vigilant eyes, they succeeded in prolonging the defence till they
could receive succor from their troops. It was not long before
the causey was crowded with combatants, and a desperate hand-to-hand
conflict took place; a wild melée, showing a dozen or
more separate duels, after the fashion of the middle ages, in a
regular tournament a l'outrance. But such a conflict could not
long continue. All would depend upon the ability of the
partisans to cross the bridge; and of this there was now little
prospect. Without succor, our dashing cavaliers, isolated from
their companions, must succumb. Thus far they had lost a few
dragoons, but the officers remained unhurt. The panic of the
British had now ceased. In the first moment of alarm, believing
that the whole force of the Americans were upon them, and
conscious of their total inability, from their closely-packed order
along the narrow causey, to receive them, they had hurried forward
in inextricable confusion. Had the legion cavalry crossed,
or had Maham's command been able to do so, there could have
been but one result, in utter defeat and ruin. But the Fates
were against our friends — the Fates, and something in themselves.
The British recovered. The panic was arrested. Straggling
bodies forced their way back; the fight became hotter.
Our troopers were no longer the assailants, and when they
looked up the causey, and beheld the human billows rolling toward
them, and looked behind them to see the impossibility of
getting any succor from their friends, they felt that but one
duty remained to them — to effect their escape if possible.
Neither their coolness nor courage abandoned them at this
moment. They felt that but one hope of escape was left them,
to charge through the straggling masses along the causey,
and gain the woods, whence they could make their way into
the swamp. They felt very sure that the British would never
fire upon them, through a natural dread of shooting their own
officers whom they left behind them on the causey — felt sure
that no arm would be stretched out to arrest their steeds under
the spurred and goaded violence of their headlong rush — and
knew that the enemy had no cavalry with which to pursue.
An instant sufficed for these reflections, a word to make them
simultaneously felt by their comrades, and, sounding their bugles
with a lively trill of defiance, they wheeled about from the foes
with whom they had been contending, and dashed headlong up
the causey. Right and left, the enemy's infantry — a straggling
mass — gave way, while the gallant troopers rushed through
their masses, scattering them from side to side. The moment
they reached the highlands they wheeled into the thickets on
their left, and escaped by heading the stream. Never was a
brave determination more gallantly carried into execution.

Note.—In the Life of Lord Edward Fitzgerald, by the poet, Moore, he
has fallen into some mistakes in respect to his subject, in connection with this
spirited little affair, and in respect to the events themselves, which we propose
to correct for the benefit of future editors of the poet's writings. Moore
represents his hero as being with the rear-guard on the occasion, and as checking
Lee in his demonstrations upon it. He does not, indeed, say that he
saved the guard and the baggage, but he leaves this to be inferred; and this
inference will be drawn from his statement by every one who reads the passage
in ignorance of the events. He is right in representing Lord Edward
as at the bridge, and as being spiritedly engaged in covering it; but he again
misrepresents him as the person in command at this spot; when, in fact,
Colonel Coates himself was present, and to his presence our historian ascribes
much of the success of the British in saving the army. Fitzgerald
was in the rear of the main body, but the rear-guard and baggage were a mile
in his rear, and these were not saved, but lost; the Americans making large
booty on the occasion; capturing the army chest, with all its treasure, a
thousand guineas, with a large body of stores besides, of the most useful
description. The poet again mistakes when he represents the conduct of
Fitzgerald in this affair as first commending him to the favor of Lord Rawdon,
and securing his appointment as aid-de-camp to his lordship, in his
march to the relief of Ninety-Six. The biographer, in this statement, puts
the cart a long way before the horse. The siege of Ninety-Six, and its relief,
preceded the battle at Quinby by no less than four weeks. The assault upon
Ninety-six was made by Greene, on the 18th day of June; the battle of
Quinby took place on the 17th of July. Lord Edward's regiment, with two
others, from Ireland, reached Charleston on the 2d of June, and, for the first

time, afforded Rawdon the means by which to attempt the relief of Ninety-Six.
These troops were not designed for employment in South Carolina;
but the exigencies of Rawdon required that he should divert them from their
original destination. As soon as possible after their arrival from Ireland, he
set out on his march, at the head of two of these regiments, and other troops.
He entered Ninety-Six on the 21st of June, three days after the assault of
Greene, which had been precipitated to anticipate the arrival of Rawdon. It
is thus shown that Lord Edward won the favor of Rawdon by services under
his own eye, and was his aid a considerable time before the event at Quinby,
which the biographer describes as securing him this compliment.