XXXIX
THE THUNDER OF THE CAPTAINS AND THE SHOUTING
The camp was astir early the next morning, and it soon became noisedabout that we were to fall back, but only so far as might be needful tofind a strong position. From this it was evident that a battle wasimminent, though as yet there were no signs of the approach of thepatriots.
From the camp talk we, Tybee and I, gleaned some better information ofthe situation. A fortnight earlier Major Ferguson had captured two ofthe over-mountain men of Clark's party and had sent them to thesettlement on the Watauga with a challenge in due form--or rather withthe threat to come and lay the over-mountain region waste in default ofan instant return of the pioneers to their allegiance to the king.
This challenge, so our scouts told us, had been immediately accepted.Sevier and Shelby had embodied some two hundred men each from theWatauga and the Holston settlements, and Colonel William Campbell, thestout old Presbyterian Indian fighter, had joined them with as many moreVirginians.
Crossing the mountain these three troops had fallen in with otherscattered parties of the border patriots under Benjamin Cleaveland,Major Chronicle and Colonel Williams, of South Carolina, until now, asthe scouts reported, the challenged outnumbered the challengers.Learning this, Ferguson, who was as prudent as he was brave, thought itbest to make his stand at some point nearer the main body of the army;and so the withdrawal from Gilbert Town had fallen into a retreat and apursuit.
From what Captain de Peyster has since told me, there would seem to belittle doubt that the major meant to fight when he had manoeuveredhimself into a favorable position; this in spite of Lord Cornwallis'scommands to the contrary. In his despatches he was continually urgingthe need for a bold push in his quarter, and asking for Tarleton and asufficient number of the legion to enable him to cope with a mountedenemy. But be this as it may, the garbled letter I had brought himturned whatever scale there was to turn. He had now with him some elevenhundred regulars and Tories, the latter decently well drilled; he hadevery reason to expect the needed help from Cornwallis; and, on thenight of my arrival, he had word that another Tory force under MajorGibbs would join him in a day or two, at farthest.
For his battle-ground Major Ferguson chose the top of a forest-coveredhill, the last and lowest elevation in the spur named that day King'sMountain.
In some respects the position was all that could be desired. There wasroom on the flat hilltop for an orderly disposition of the fightingforce; and the slopes in front and rear were steep enough to give anattacking enemy a sharp climb. Moreover, there was a plentifuloutcropping of stone on the summit, scantiest on the broad or outer endof the hill, and this was so disposed as to form a natural breastworkfor the defenders.
But there were disadvantages also, the chief of these being the heavywooding of the slopes to screen the advance of the assaulting party; andwhile the major was busy making his dispositions for the fight, I was ontenter-hooks for fear he would have the trees felled to belt thebreastwork with a clear space.
He did not do it, being restrained, as I afterward learned, by hisuncertainty as to whether or no the mountain men had cannon. Againstartillery posted on the neighboring hillocks the trees were his bestdefense, and so he left them standing.
As you would suppose, my situation was now become most trying, and poorTybee's was scarcely less so. Knowing my name and circumstance, andhaving, moreover, a high regard for my old field-marshal's genius, MajorFerguson was very willing to make use of my experience. These askingsfrom one whom I knew for a brave and honorable gentleman let me fallbetween two stools. As a patriot spy, it was my duty to turn the major'sconfidence as a weapon against him. But as an officer and a gentleman Icould by no means descend to such depths of perfidy.
In this dilemma I sought to steer a middle course, saying that I mustbeg exemption because my long hard ride had re-opened my old swordwound--as indeed it had. So the major generously let me be, thus heapingcoals of fire upon my head; and I kept out of his way, consorting withTybee, who, like myself, must be an onlooker in the coming fray.
As for the lieutenant, he was all agog to learn more than I dared tellhim, and it irked him most nettlesomely to have a fight in prospect inthe which he was in honor bound not to take a hand. Time and again hebegged me to release him from his parole; and when I would not, he wasfor fighting me a duel with his freedom for a stake.
"Consider of it, Captain Ireton," he pleaded. "For God's sake, putyourself in my place. Here am I, in the camp of my friends, gagged andbound by my word to you whilst your infernal plot, whatever it may be,works out to the _coup de grace_. Ye gods! it would have been far moremerciful had you run me through in our wrestling match last night!"
"Mayhap," said I, curtly. "'Twas but the choice between two evils.Nevertheless, in time to come I hope you may conclude that this is thelesser of the two."
"No, I'm damned if I shall!" he retorted, fuming like a disappointedboy, and minding me most forcibly of my hot-headed Richard Jennifer. Andthen he would repeat: "I thought you were my friend."
"So I am, as man to man. But this matter concerns the welfare of a causeto which I have sworn fealty. Take your own words back, my lad, and putyourself in my place. Can I do less than hold you to your pledge?"
"No, I suppose not," he would say, grumpily. "Yet 'tis hard; mostdevilish hard!"
"'Tis the fortune of war. Another day the shoe may be upon the otherfoot."
The baggage wagons had been massed across the broad end of the hill toeke out the stone breastwork, and the last of these arguing colloquiestook place beneath one of the wagons whither we had crept for shelterfrom the rain, which was now pouring again. In the midst of our talk,Major Ferguson dived to share our shelter, dripping like a waterspaniel.
"Ha! ye're carpet soldiers, both of ye!" he snorted, and then he beganto swear piteously at the rain.
"'Twill be worse for the enemy than for us," said Tybee. "We can atleast keep our powder dry."
"Damn the enemy!" quoth the major, cheerfully. "So the weather does notput the creeks up and hold Tarleton and Major Gibbs back from us, 'tis asmall matter whether the rebels' powder be dry or soaked."
"You have made all your dispositions, Major?" Tybee asked.
The major nodded. "All in apple-pie order, no thanks to either of ye.'Tis a strong position, this, eh, Captain Ireton? I'm thinking not allthe rebel banditti out of hell will drive us from it."
"'Tis good enough," I agreed; and here the talk was broken off by themajor's diving out to berate some of his Tory militiamen who werepreparing to make a night of it with a jug of their vile country liquor.
The rain continued all that Friday night and well on into the forenoonof the Saturday. During this interval we waited with scouts out for theupcoming of the mountain men. At noon Major Ferguson sent a finalexpress to Lord Cornwallis, urging the hurrying on of thereinforcements, not knowing that his former despatch had beenintercepted, nor that Tarleton had not as yet started to the rescue. Alittle later the scouts began to come in one by one with news of theapproaching riflemen.
There was but a small body of them, not above a thousand men in all, sothe spies said, and my heart misgave me. They were without cannon andthey lacked bayonets; and moreover, when all was said, they were butmilitia, all untried save in border warfare with the Indians. Could theysuccessfully assault the fortified camp whose defenders--thanks to themajor's ingenuity--had fitted butcher-knives to the muzzles of theirguns in lieu of bayonets? Nay, rather would they have the courage totry?
'Twas late in the afternoon before these questions were answered. Therain had ceased, and the chill October sunlight filtered aslant throughthe trees. With the clearing skies a cold wind had sprung up, and on thehilltop the men cowered behind the rock breastwork and waited instrained silence. At the last moment Major Ferguson sent Captain dePeyster to me with the request that I take command of the Tory force setapart to defend the wagon barricade--this if my weariness would permit.I went with the captain to make my
excuses in person.
"Say no more, Captain," said this generous soldier, when I began somelame plea for further exemption; "I had forgot your sword-cut. Takeshelter for yourself, and look on whilst we skin this riffraff alive."
And so he let me off; a favor which will make me think kindly of PatrickFerguson so long as I shall live. For now my work was done; and had heinsisted, I should have told him flatly who and what I was--and paid thepenalty.
I had scarce rejoined Tybee at the wagons when the long roll of thedrums broke the silence of the hilltop, and a volley fire of musketryfrom the rock breastwork on the right told us the battle was on. Tybeegave me one last reproachful look and stood out to see what could beseen, and I stood with him.
"Your friends are running," he said, when there was no reply to theopening volley; and truly, I feared he was right. At the bottom of theslope, scattering groups of the riflemen could be seen hastening toright and left. But I would not admit the charge to Tybee.
"I think not," I objected, denying the apparent fact. "They have cometoo far and too fast to turn back now for a single overshot volley."
"But they'll never face the fire up the hill with the bayonet to cap itat the top," he insisted.
"That remains to be seen; we shall know presently. Ah, I thought so;here they come!"
At the word the forest-covered steep at our end of the hill sprang alivewith dun-clad figures darting upward from tree to tree. Volley aftervolley thundered down upon them as they climbed, but not once did thedodging charge up the slope pause or falter. Unlike all other irregularsI had ever seen, whose idea of a battle is to let off the piece and run,these mountain men held their fire like veterans, closing in upon thehilltop steadily and in a grim silence broken only by the shoutingencouragements of the leaders--this until their circling line wascompleted.
Then suddenly from all sides of the beleaguered camp arose a yell toshake the stoutest courage, and with that the wood-covered slopes beganto spit fire, not in volleys, but here and there in irregular snappingsand cracklings as the sure-shot riflemen saw a mark to pull trigger on.
The effect of this fine-bead target practice--for it was naughtelse--was most terrific. All along the breastwork, front and rear,crouching men sprang up at the rifle crackings to fling their arms allabroad and to fall writhing and wrestling in the death throe. At our endof the hill, where the rock barrier was thinnest, the slaughter wasappalling; and above the din of the firearms we could hear the bellowedcommands of the sturdy old Indian fighter, Benjamin Cleaveland, urginghis men up to still closer quarters. "A little nearer, my brave boys; alittle nearer and we have them! Press on up to the rocks. They'll be asgood a breastwork from our side as from theirs!"
You will read in the histories that the Tory helpers of Ferguson foughtas men with halters round their necks; and so, indeed, a-many of themdid. But though they were most pitiless enemies of ours, I bear themwitness that they did fight well and bravely, and not as men who fightfor fear's sake.
And they were most bravely officered. Major Ferguson, boldly conspicuousin a white linen hunting-shirt drawn on over his uniform, was here andthere and everywhere, and always in the place where the bullets flewthickest. His left hand had been hurt at the first patriot gun fire, butit still held the silver whistle to his lips, and the shrill skirling ofthe little pipe was the loyalist rallying signal. Captain de Peyster,too, did ample justice to the uniform he wore; and when Campbell'sVirginians gained the summit at the far end of the hilltop, 'twas dePeyster who led the bayonet charge that forced the patriot riflemensome little way down the slope.
But these are digressions. No man sees more of a battle than that littlecircle of which he is the center; and the fighting was hot enough at thewagon barricade to keep both Tybee and me from knowing at the time whatwas going on beyond our narrow range of sight or hearing. You mustpicture, therefore, for yourselves, a very devils' pandemonium let looseupon the little hilltop so soon as the mountain men gained their vantageground at the fronting of the rock breastwork; cries; frantic shouts of"God save the king!" yells fierce and wordless; men in red and men inhomespun rushing madly hither and yon in a vain attempt to repel a frontand rear attack at the same instant. 'Twas a hell set free, with noquarter asked or given, and where we stood, the Tory defenders of thewagon barrier were presently dropping around us in heaps and windrows ofdead and dying, like men suddenly plague-smitten.
In such a time of asking you must not think we stood aloof and looked oncoldly. At the first fire Tybee stripped off his coat and fell to workwith the wounded, and I quickly followed his lead, praying that now mywork was done, some one of the flying missiles would find its mark in meand let me die a soldier's death.
So it was that I saw little more of the battle detail, and of thatfierce frenzy-time I have memory pictures only of the dead and dying;of the torn and wounded and bleeding men with whom we wrought, strivingas we might to stanch the ebbing life-tide or to ease the dying gentlydown into the valley of shadows.
And as for my prayer, it went all unanswered. Once when I had a dyingTory's head pillowed on my knee I saw a rifleman thrust his weaponbetween the wheel-spokes of the outer wagon and draw a bead on me. Iheard the crack of the Deckard, the _zip_ of the bullet singing at myear, and the man's angry oath at his missing of me. Once again arifle-ball passed through my hair at the braiding of the queue and Ifelt the hot touch of it on my scalp like a breath of flame. Anothertime a mountaineer leaped the rock barrier to beat me down with the buttof his rifle--and in the very act Tybee rose up and throttled him. I sawthe grapple, sprang to my feet and whipped out my sword.
"Stop!" I commanded; "you have broken your parole, Lieutenant!"
The freed borderer glared from one to the other of us. "Loonies!" heyelled; "I'll slaughter the both of ye!" And so he would have done, Imake no doubt, had we not laid hold of him together and heaved him backover the breastwork.
These are but incidents, points of contact where the fray touched us twoat the wagon barricade. I pass them by with the mention, as I havepassed by the sterner horrors of that furious killing-time. These lastare too large for my poor pen. As we could gather in the din andtumult, the mountain men rushed again and again to the attack, and asoften the brave major, or De Peyster, led the bayonet charges thatpushed them back. Yet in the end the unerring bullet outpressed thebayonet; there came a time when flesh and blood could no longer endurethe death-dealing cross-fire from front and rear.
I saw the end was near when the major ordered the final charge, andCaptain de Peyster formed his line and led it forward at a double-quick.The mountaineers held more than half the hilltop now, and this forlornhope was to try to drive them down the farther slopes. On it went, and Icould see the men pitch and tumble out of the line until atbayonet-reach of the riflemen there were less than a dozen afoot and fitto make the push.
De Peyster fought his way back to the wagons, gasping and bloody. Someof the Tories crowding around us raised a white flag. The major, sorelywounded now and all but disabled, swore a great oath and rode rough-shodinto the ruck of cowering militiamen to pull down the flag. Again thewhite token of surrender was raised, and again the major rode in to beatit down with his sword. At this Captain de Peyster put in his word.
"'Tis no use, Major; there is no more fight left in us! Five minutesmore of this and we'll be shot down to a man!"
Ferguson's reply was a raging oath broad enough to cover all the enemyand his own beaten remnant as well; and then, before a hand could belifted to stay him, he had wheeled his horse and was galloping straightfor the patriot line at the farther extremity of the hilltop.
What he meant to do will never be known till that great day when allsecrets shall be revealed. For that furious oath was this bravegentleman's last word to us or to any. A dozen bounds, it may be, thegood charger carried him; then the storm of rifle-bullets beat him fromthe saddle. And so died one of the gallantest officers that ever did anunworthy king's work on the field of battle.
I would I might f
orget the terrible scene which followed this killing ofthe British commander. 'Twas little to our credit, but I may not pass itover in silence. De Peyster quickly sent a man to the front with a whiteflag, and the answer was a murderous volley which killed the flag-bearerand many others. Again the flag was raised on a rifle-barrel, and oncemore the answer was a storm of the leaden death poured into thepanic-stricken crowd huddled like sheep at the wagons.
"God!" said de Peyster; and with that he began to beat his men into linewith the flat of his sword in a frenzy of desperation, being minded, ashe afterward told me, to give them the poor chance to die a-fighting.
I saw not what followed upon this last despairing effort, for now Tybeewas down and I was kneeling beside him to search for the wound. But whenI looked again, the crackling crashes of the rifle-firing had ceased.A stout, gray-headed man, whom I afterward knew as Isaac Shelby'sfather, was riding up from the patriot line to receive Captain dePeyster's sword, and the battle was ended.
The Master of Appleby Page 41
