University of Virginia Library

29. CHAPTER XXIX.
FURTHER PASSAGES-AT-ARMS AT SHUBRICK'S.

We have seen what was the unfortunate result of the ill-managed
attempt upon the British at Quinby bridge; how
everything was in the hands of the Americans, had there been
proper concert among the parties, and had the forward troops,
which had dashed across the bridge, been properly supported.
These were in possession of the enemy's only field-piece, a
howitzer, loaded with grape, which might have been whirled
about in the twinkling of an eye, and made to pour its fiery
contents upon the massed column of the British as it straggled
up along, and over, the narrow causey. Had there been no
pause, for deliberation, at the bridge, no moments of hesitation
in following the first two sections of the legion dragoons, a sufficient
body could have been thrown across to have cut to pieces
the small British party at the bridge, turned the howitzer upon
its former owners, and swept the causey at a single charge.
We have seen what were Sumter's opinions; and we may say,
par parenthese, that Captain Porgy is no mean authority in such
matters. We have heard his opinions also. But we must not
dwell upon this sore subject; and would not, for a moment, but
that we share in Porgy's vexation, who was wont to say that
half of the battles he had ever seen lost, were lost by a petty
finessing, when plain, honest, direct, up and down fighting, was
all that was essential.

But Sumter and Marion were not the men to give up the
game, while it was possible to find, or to take, the trail. Marion
happened upon a negro who thought he could show them a way
across the river swamp, in a place that was passable. Marion

immediately sent him forward, and closely followed upon his
heels with his brigade. But this route was a circuitous one;
and, during the delay, Coates, having succeeded effectually in
throwing the planks from the bridge, cutting off all danger
of instant pursuit from that quarter, retired at a tolerably quick
step to the adjoining plantation of Shubrick, of which he took
possession. Having no cavalry himself, and not daring to
trust himself to a further march, in the face of so powerful a
body of this description of troops, as were at his heels, he
resolved to convert the Shubrick dwelling into a fortress, and
maintain himself in the position if he could. The spot chosen
was very suitable to this purpose. The dwelling-house was of
two stories, and upon a rising ground. There were numerous
out-houses, a picketed garden, and connecting fences; of all
of which the British colonel took possession; arranging for his
defence as rapidly as possible. He was thus covered against
cavalry, and measurably from the marksmen of the partisans —
his only two sources of apprehension at present. The arrival
of Sumter's field-piece, which had been sent for, would materially
abridge these securities; and the quiet leaguer of the place,
by the numerous cavalry of the partisans, would starve the
garrison into submission. But both of these objects required
time, and the delay might work results such as one could not
hope for, and the other might not expect. And a good general,
like a good politician, looks to time, usually, as involving a large
chapter of chances, for, as well as against! At all events, there
would be time enough to think of surrender — “to-morrow, and
to-morrow, and to-morrow.”

The infantry of Sumter's command arrived on the ground at
three o'clock, P. M. They found Coates' main force drawn up
in a square in front of the dwelling, his sharp-shooters occupying
the several houses about, by which the approach was commanded.

Sumter had very few bayonets. It was by no means his
policy, accordingly, to march up to the assault. His game was
probably to use the sort of weapons which he had, in such a
way as to deprive his enemy of the full use of those in which
he was superior. He divided his infantry into three bodies.
His own brigade, under Colonels Middleton, Polk, Taylor, and

Lacy, advanced in front, under cover of a row of negro-houses;
Marion's brigade, now considerably reduced, thrown into two
divisions, was ordered to advance on the right, where there was
no shelter, but from some common worm fences, and these within
short musket range from the houses which the enemy's sharp-shooters
occupied. His was to be the hottest business evidently.
The cavalry, such as it was utterly impossible to use as gunmen
at all, was stationed securely, at some distance from the scene
of action, but sufficiently near to cover the infantry in the event
of pursuit.

We have made a formal distinction between the infantry and
cavalry of Sumter's command, as Sumter himself had done in
this arrangement for battle. But, properly speaking, the greater
portion of his infantry were dismounted riflemen. Their proper
exercise was as mounted gunmen; a very efficient military arm
in certain departments of service, especially border and Indian
warfare; where the object is to reach the scene of action rapidly,
and then to serve, as occasion required, whether on horse
or foot; to overtake a flying enemy, or, as riflemen and rangers,
to oppose the red men after a fashion of their own, by keen
knife, and deadly bullet. Opposed to regular infantry, to a
drilled foot-soldiery, armed with the bayonet, and without a
cover, they had little real efficiency, unless in overwhelming
numbers.

The attack was begun at four o'clock. It was undertaken
with the greatest alacrity by the brigade of Sumter, which,
gaining, at a run, the cover of the negro-houses in front of them,
soon plied its rifles with destructive effect upon the houses, whenever
a victim showed himself at door or window. From this
cover, Tom Taylor, with some forty-five men of his regiment,
then pressed forward to the fences on the British left, whence
his fire soon became too serious and fatal to suffer him to remain
long in this position. Accordingly, our dashing young Irishman,
Fitzgerald, was soon seen pressing down upon him with a detachment,
at the pas de charge, before which Taylor's party
were compelled to recoil, and from which they might not have
escaped, but for the daring interposition of Marion's men, who
seeing Taylor's danger, rushed forward to his relief. Led by
Sinclair and Singleton, a hundred lithe and active forms, variously

armed, mostly with rifles, but here and there with musket
and bayonet, and a few with pikes, darting through a galling
fire from the house, made their way to the fences on the right,
and rescued Taylor from Fitzgerald's bayonets which were driving
them down hill. It was Fitzgerald's turn to yield to this
pressure; but another party from the house, with trailing muskets,
hurried out to his relief; and between these and Marion's
men the fight, in a few moments, became desperate and hand-to-hand.
Those who were armed with suitable weapons, firmly
met the British, while the riflemen, under the slight covering of
the open fences, maintained a steady and deadly fire, under
which the enemy slowly and sullenly gave way. Another
sally, with similar results, satisfied Coates, that it was no part
of his policy to risk his force any longer in this manner in the
open field; and he shrunk back into his cover, from which he
now saw that no efforts of his present assailants could dislodge
him. Marion's men kept up the fight with the temerity of veterans.
For three mortal hours, the rifle did its work fatally.
Not a head could show itself — not a musket glitter at the windows
of the dwelling— that did not draw its bullet. It was
dark before the American general withdrew from a contest,
which, doing mischief while it lasted, was yet not of a sort to
effect the conquest of the post. He withdrew his forces in perfect
order. It was no longer possible for him, indeed, to continue
the fight, employing his men as infantry. Every charge
of powder in Marion's command was exhausted.

Firing from a house of two stories, from doors and windows,
and a picketed garden, and better provided with ammunition
than the Americans, the British did not suffer their assailants
to escape without some loss. The brunt of the battle fell chiefly
upon the men of Marion. They had generously periled
themselves in the rescue of Taylor; but the position which had
been assigned them was one of superior peril. This was the
subject of much reproach among them, against the general in
command. Sumter's own, they murmured, had been spared and
economized, with the exception of Tom Taylor's detachment of
forty-five. It is certain that all who fell in the action were
Marion's; which lost, among others, two veteran officers, in
Colonels Swinton and Baxter, men who had followed him in all

his previous fortunes, and over whose fate he grieved with all
the deep sympathies of a friend and brother. But the British
loss was far greater — seventy of their men were slain outright,
twice that number were wounded. They were in fact put hors
de combat, and must have surrendered at discretion, could the
field-piece of Lieutenant Singleton been brought into the action.
It had been sent for, but, when it came, there was no powder.
Bullets of pewter were to be had in tolerable plenty, yet not an
ounce of powder. In such trim were our poor partisans constantly
compelled to go into battle.

That night there was murmuring enough in the camp of the
Americans. There were sharp words between Sumter and Lee,
the former ascribing all the disappointments of the expedition
to the misconduct of the latter. It is a curious circumstance,
which the chroniclers have not sought to explain, why the
legion infantry were not employed in the action at Shubrick's
house. Only the men of Sumter and Marion were engaged.
Lee's infantry must have remained with the cavalry, or possibly
in charge of the baggage. Of the action at the house, his
own memoirs say not a syllable; or just enough to show that
he himself knew nothing about it. On this occasion he ignores
Sumter's presence altogether, and leaves the reader to infer that
he and Marion alone were in the field; yet Sumter was in command,
and present all the while. Sumter and Lee had no love
for each other. Lee's manners were very offensive, and Sumter
had several causes of complaint. He does not spare his censure
in his despatches, and charges him with having failed in everything
which he undertook during the expedition. In camp,
Lee's conduct was very freely canvassed. He was said to have
been far more tender and careful of his horses than of his men;
and to this tenderness was ascribed the reluctance of the third
section of his cavalry, which he led himself, to take the leap at
the bridge, when Maham and Macaulay, of Marion's, swept by
him successfully. To complete the chapter of his offences, on
this occasion, he left the camp early the next morning, without
leave, and, moving off for that of Greene, thus contributed to
lessen the chances of success against Coates, who might have
been invested the next day had Lee remained, to enable our
partisans to make a complete leaguer of the post. As it was, the

partisans built their watch-fires, and environed it all night. It
was a gloomy watch in the tents of Marion, who had to lament
two favorite officers, and a score of men; the only casualties of
the fight at the house falling upon his brigade. Its daring exposure
might well have led to the loss of many more, who were
under full fire from doors and windows, and the picketed garden,
for three hours, and themselves without cover. That he
did not lose the better part of the force engaged is almost miraculous,
and only to be ascribed to the fact that the British force
consisted chiefly of raw Irishmen, who knew very little of the
uses of the gun as a “shooting-iron.”

But, small as his loss was, it was of serious concern in the
eyes of a commander who was very economical of life — whose
force was usually too small to suffer him to be prodigal in this
respect; and the hour of midnight, assigned to the burial of the
dead — favorites some — all personally known to their general
— was one of gloom and bitterness. No wonder that they felt
and spoke harshly of those to whose selfishness and indiscretion
their losses were to be ascribed.

We need not depict the mournful ceremonies of a military-burial
at midnight. The picture is a fine one for the romancer,
as well as for the painter; midnight in the great, gorgeous forests,
with a hundred torches flaring over the new-made grave
— the dead stretched out without a shroud — the comrades who
have galloped and shouted with us in the gay sunshine of that
very day — who had rushed into battle with us a hundred times
— but who see us not now, hear us not; will never rise to blast
of bugle or clash of steel again. Dust to dust! It need not be
spoken. The action is sufficient. We hear the heavy sod as it
falls in upon and shuts from our eyes the noble form of our comrade;
we wave the torch over him for a last look; then turn
away to hide our tears, and start, as at the sound of the last
trump, when the three-fold volley over the grave announces to
us that the last fight of the soldier is finished!

Very bitter was the talk in Marion's camp that night.
Marion said nothing, but he paced the rounds himself, as if
dreading to seek repose. In one part of the bivouac there is a
group, all of whom we know, discoursing of the events of the
day.

“God has been too bountiful to us!” said Captain Porgy, in
his peculiar manner. “He has been too profligate of great
men. This seems to have been our curse always. Our great
men have been too numerous for our occasions always. They
are in each other's way. They rob one another of the sunshine.
They behold in each other only so many offensive shadows that
pass between them and glory. I think it would not be difficult
to prove that this has been one of the chief causes of all our disasters.
I can enumerate them from the time of Bob Howe, who
was half-witted; Charley Lee, who was only fit to head a charge
of cavalry, no more; and who, properly to be prepared even for
this performance, should have been invariably horsewhipped before
going into action. And there was old Lincoln, who might
have been a good army nurse, or chaplain, but should never
have been suffered to enter the camp in any other capacity.
Then came Gates — but the chronicle is too sickening; and it
is such blockheads as these that decry the militia. I tell you,
that the instincts of the militia nose out an imbecile in a week's
duty, and they naturally contemn and despise the authority in
which they have no confidence. I don't wish to excuse the
faults of the militia. They are improvident. That word
covers all. They waste time — take no precautions — have no
forethought; and are only worth painstaking, when you are allowed
to have 'em long enough for discipline. But, whatever
their faults, they are precisely such as most of these blundering
captains have shared along with them; with this difference,
perhaps, and in favor of the common soldiers, that they are not
troubled with that vainglorious pretension which curses too
many of their captains, and which has but too frequently been
made to cover not only incompetence, but cowardice.”

“Enough, Porgy, my dear fellow,” said Singleton — “the
subject is one of great delicacy. You hit right and left. Remember,
we are not now under the command of our own brigadier.”

“Would we had been! I don't blame Sumter; since he
never pretended to any strategy; and what he did claim to do,
and that was fighting, he always did well. Would he, think
you, have let those brave fellows, Armstrong and Carrington,
and Maham and Macaulay, risk themselves alone, to-day, in

that melêe at the bridge? Never! He'd have been first across,
I tell you. He committed some mistakes. He mistook Coates's
covering party for an attack; then suffered Coates to protract
his shows of action, without forcing it upon him. To suffer
one's-self to be amused for three hours with such mere overtures
was a great mistake.”

“Another time, Porgy,” said Sinclair.

“Yes, we shall have time enough, and provocation enough
for such discussion hereafter; but I could eat my sword with
vexation! Then, here comes the field-piece, of which such
large expectations are formed; and not an ounce of powder!”

“Plenty of bullets,” quoth the lieutenant. “Help yourselves,
gentlemen!”

“And yet,” continued Porgy, “here are hundreds of pounds
of powder taken in Dorchester, by Colonel Lee, and sent —
where? Up to General Greene, in his camp of rest, as if he
had any use for it! As if it were not wanted here! By heavens!
gentlemen, say what you will, and try to make excuses as
you may, but the blunders of this expedition are so atrocious,
that I can not but think them wilful, and designed for sinister
purposes. We can only suppose them otherwise, by assuming
for the actors such a degree of stupidity as would henceforth
assign them only to asinine associations.”

Sinclair defended Sumter.

“Oh! hush, Willie Sinclair, you know I don't mean Sumter!
D—n the fellow, I admire him! I prefer our own brigadier,
it is true; but, next to him, I hold to Sumter. But he has suffered
Lee too much independent exercise; and he himself feels
it; and if he is sore about any one thing especially to-night, it
is in not giving precedence to Maham's cavalry and his own.
And Lee would have done better had he not been spoiled by
Greene — much better in this foray, had he not had his head
turned by his unexpected success with the rear-guard, and his
capture of these d—d baggage-wagons. It was the fear of
losing these spoils that made him turn back, on the report that
Campbell was stirring up his raw recruits for mutiny; turn
back, when he was within six hundred yards of the bridge and
the enemy, leaving those brave fellows, Armstrong and Carrington,
to their fate, when everything depended upon following up

the rush of the first two sections, by others, in prompt succession,
his legion cavalry, by ours, and all together overwhelming
all opposition. The British never could have rallied. They
must have been crushed under the first rush of the horses.
There was no room for display, for a single evolution, and any
efforts would only have ended in their being cut to pieces and
trampled under foot! And this chance was lost — on what pretence?
This rear-guard was beginning to mutter and resume
their arms. And if they were, was not Marion and Sumter
with an overwhelming force, coming down upon them at a trot?
And might they not have been left to our tender mercies, Lee
knowing exactly where we were, how nigh, and never doubting,
I fancy, that we were perfectly competent to the management
of these raw Irishmen? No! no! It was the baggage that he
feared to lose. He is famous for securing the baggage. I have
no doubt, when he hurried back, that he took a peep into the
wagons to see if the fingers of plunder had not been busy in his
ten or twenty minutes absence.”

“Porgy, Porgy, you are unjust. Lee is a good soldier —
fights well and bravely.”

“But that's not enough for a good soldier.”

“Keeps his legion in admirable discipline.”

“I grant you; but is disposed to sacrifice everything for his
legion. It is that which causes our mischiefs. He would strip
every other command in the army, of its rights, resources, securities,
to keep his legion in handsome order.”

“Allow the fact as a fault, still, my dear fellow, it should not
be permitted to decry his other merits. He has done good service,
has fought bravely, has been always active and vigilant;
is never to be caught napping, and is rarely to be found wanting.
I grant you that he has committed some serious faults,
especially in this campaign; but these, I suspect, really arise
from a jealousy of his reputation. He is greedy after glory,
and loves not to see any one preferred to himself.”

“In other words, in his greed of glory, he would sooner see
his superior officer defeated or embarrassed, than successful in
any achievement beyond his own.”

“Shocking, Porgy, shocking. Do not speak in this manner.
Do not think thus,” said Singleton.

“It is the thought of the whole army, let me tell you. He
has got Greene by the ear. He is an earwig. He whispers
him to the disparagement of Sumter, Marion, and in fact everybody;
and Greene, unfortunately listens to him. This is what
even the common soldiers see and say. His legion is petted
and patted on all occasions, and to the neglect and disparagement
of other commands. All others must be sacrificed, while
the legion is to be economized and kept in bandbox condition
for state occasions — great shows and solemnities. And here,
taking large bodies of stores at Dorchester, powder included, he
packs it all off direct to Greene, as if to say `see what I have
done,' and to keep us from all share in the things which our
ragged, half-starved people need. Who has a better right to
these stores than we? To whom should he have despatched
them but Sumter, under whose immediate command he was
serving? and why send off to an army in camp that has no present
need of these things, the very munitions of war which are
absolutely necessary to our present purposes?”

“No more of it, my dear Porgy; we have causes enough of
vexation without diving after them.”

“But if by diving after them we can bring up the truth — by
the locks — rescue it from drowning — we may have some reasonable
prospect hereafter of curing these causes of vexation.”

“Ah! my fat friend,” quoth Singleton — “the naked, barefaced
truth would be indecently exposed just now, and would
only afford new causes of vexation. Think no more of this
matter — at all events, speak no more of it. Your language,
such as you now use, can only do mischief, if put in circulation.”

“In circulation! Bless you, it's the talk of all the camp;
and if Lee does not himself hear of it, it's only because of a
continued deafness, such as he caught when he encountered one
of the Spanns, at the time the legion served with us against
Georgetown.”

“What happened then?”

“Why Lee, whose insolent haughtiness of manner was always
employed to humble the common soldiers, sitting on a log with
his coat off, and sleeves rolled up, and seeing our Lieutenant
Spann, dipping up a bucket of water from a branch, cried to
him, `Hark ye, my man, bring me a bucket of that water.'

Spann was in homespun, and Lee did not notice the epaulette
on his shoulder. The answer of Spann was as quick as a pistol
bullet. `You be d—d! Wait on yourself, as your betters
have to do!' Lee became deaf on the instant, and fortunately,
for he might have heard a thousand such speeches, but for this
profitable infirmity. He will probably be compelled to hear of
them after this affair, unless his deafness is absolutely incorrigible.”

“Now, hark ye, Porgy,” said Singleton, “I see what your
humor is; but for the sake of the service, and of our own general,
do not you make any such speeches in Lee's hearing or in
that of anybody else.”

“And do you think, Colonel Bob Singleton, that I care a
straw whether he hears me or not?”

“No! I know you too well to suppose that you do care!
I take for granted that nothing would give you more satisfaction,
in your present temper, than to make him hear.”

“You are right, by Jupiter! I feel it in my soul, to ring it in
his ears with a trumpet summons.”

“Precisely! And that is the very thing that you must not do.
You are not to suffer your private moods to stir up strife in the
army, upon a subject that is already sufficiently troublesome,
and to the defeat of the cause that we have in hand. This, by
way of warning, my dear Porgy, for I have reason to know
that the `Fox' himself has heard of some of your angry
speeches, and means to speak to you about the matter.”

“Let him speak! Nay, my dear boy, don't suppose that I
shall so consult my own humors as to do any public mischief.
It is because I am thus restrained that I feel like boiling over.
But, between us, the `Fox' knows, as well as you and I, that
what I say is true — true, every syllable!”

“Be it so! Although, I repeat, your prejudices against Lee
prevents you from doing justice to his real merits. But let us
change the subject somewhat. You have seen this afternoon's
work. Have you any idea of Coates's force in the house and
grounds?”

“Four or five hundred.”

“Six hundred regular infantry, at least. Nearly twice the
number with which we made the attack.”

“How do you arrive at the fact?”

“We found, in the captured baggage, the commissary's return
of the issues of the army for the day — nine hundred rations,
and forage for two hundred and fifty horses.”

“And that we should lose all this prey, when it only needed
that we should lay bold hands upon it!” said Porgy.

“Nay, no more growling, my dear Porgy,” said Sinclair.
“Instead of dwelling upon what we have failed to do, let us try
and console ourselves by looking to what we have done. We
have killed and wounded two hundred of the enemy at least;
we have safe in hand, bagged, more than one hundred and fifty
prisoners, not including nine commissioned officers. We have
captured a large convoy of baggage, with nearly a thousand
guineas in the army-chest—”

“Ah! these d—d baggage-wagons! It is to them we owe
it, that we havn't done everything that we should have done.
At first I thought Coates a blockhead, to put his baggage-wagons
in the rear, under a feeble guard, when he was in full
retreat from a pursuing enemy. I now suspect him of a profound
policy. I suspect he reads his bible on Sunday. He has
learned his military lessons from Scripture. He put the temptation
behind him, and before us. He knew how greedy we were.
He felt sure that we could not withstand the bait, any more
than a hungry mawmouth perch in midsummer. He was right,
and baiting us, he got off from the hook himself.”

“Well, well!” continued Sinclair. “To proceed:— We have
the bait nevertheless, the baggage and plunder. Besides, we
rescued from the flames, at Biggin, a large body of stores, captured
and destroyed four schooners at the landing, and beat
back the British bayonet at Shubrick's house. The charge was
beautifully repelled.”

“You say that the British lost two hundred men at the house
to-day — killed and wounded — how do you know the fact?”
demanded Porgy.

“We do not know it. But we have some facts which render
this a reasonable estimate. The crack riflemen of the brigade
have not been peppering away at their enemies, sometimes on
the open plain in column, sometimes at doors and windows, for
three mortal hours, without inflicting, as well as breaking pains!

Pardon the pun, my dear Porgy; its demerits are due to the
annoyances of our lee shore experience, and the rough wind,
which make even a dragoon's humor costive. I have no doubt
that Coates does not get off to-day with less than two hundred
hors de combat. At the bridge he lost one commissioned officer
and five privates killed, and four wounded.”

“And what to-morrow?”

“Sufficient for the day! — But we must go the rounds. If
Coates be at all enterprising, he may beat up some of our
drowsy sections with a warm bayonet to-night.”

“Not he! But he has that dashing young Irishman, Fitzgerald,
with him, who has spirit enough for the attempt. By
the way, St. Julien, you had a pass or two with him to-day, at
close quarters — that is to say, across the fence.”

“But a pass!” said the taciturn St. Julien. “It is the second
time that we have crossed blades unprofitably.”

“You have both reason to beware of the third passage,” said
Porgy, “I believe in the fate in threes! And so let us sip a
little of this punch, which unites the sweet, the sour, and the
strong! It would be almost justification for a man to get drunk
to-night, particularly on such liquor, after so many mortifying
disappointments to-day.”