by John V. Lane
CHAPTER XXX
RODNEY RIDES WITH THE DRAGOONS
After the battle of Camden, in which Gates was sorely defeated byCornwallis, affairs in the South looked very dubious for the Americanforces. A large part of the people in South Carolina and Georgia wereloyalists, and their relations with their Whig neighbours wereexceedingly bitter. Except for small bands of patriots under daringleaders like Marion and Sumter, "The Carolina Gamecock," as hisfollowers proudly called him, the British and their Tory allies heldpossession of Georgia and South Carolina and were planning to sweepnorthward into North Carolina and on into Virginia. Cornwallis' famewas in the ascendant.
Such were the conditions on that October day when Rodney Allisonjoined the army of Gates. Two days later came the cheering news that aforce of Tories under the command of Colonel Ferguson had been almostannihilated at King's Mountain by a body of pioneer Whigs, most ofwhom came from the border settlements over the mountains. A number ofthose captured, known to be guilty of murder, were hanged and theimpression made on other Tories in those states was very depressing.
The Americans now expected great assistance from the militia of thosestates, but the British emissaries among the Indians incited them toattack the frontier settlements, thus making it necessary for thosebrave fellows who had won the battle of King's Mountain to return hometo protect their families from the savages.
When finally General Nathaniel Greene, at Washington's request, wassent to supersede Gates, he found an army of only about two thousandmen, poorly equipped, the enemy strongly entrenched, the country sweptbare of subsistence and winter approaching.
Through the influence of General Morgan, Rodney was assigned to dutywith Colonel Washington's dragoons. It was a proud moment for the ladwhen he found himself associated with the finest body of cavalry inthe army. Those daring horsemen were the terror of the Tories andyoung Allison rode with them on many a daring exploit, a full accountof which would fill a volume. The lad had now grown to man's statureand sat his horse like a veteran. How often on those wild rides helonged to be on the back of Nat once more! Poor fellow, what hadbecome of him? The sight of the spur-scarred, hard-ridden horses ofthe British cavalry filled him with fury as he thought it probable thefate of his beloved colt had been like theirs.
Finally came the day when General Morgan was to add another to thelong list of his successes. Cornwallis and Colonel Tarleton, "thebloodhound," had planned to trap Morgan and annihilate his force. Thelatter was compelled to retreat and Tarleton was sent in pursuit. Whenhe believed Morgan was fleeing from him he threw caution to the windsand hurried his force on to what he doubted not would be the captureof the doughty leader.
Morgan has since been criticized for hazarding a battle. His force wasfar inferior to Tarleton's and did not include artillery as did thelatter's. Moreover, with Morgan were many raw militia who could not bedepended upon to face the veterans under the British leader, knowing,as they did from sad experience, that little quarter would be grantedthem if defeated. But he had the veteran Marylanders who had fought sobravely at Camden, and the support of Colonel Washington's dragoons.Furthermore, shrewd leader of men that he was, he felt that the momenthad come when he must fight. To continue his flight meant capture ordispersion of his forces. He believed that Tarleton would beover-confident and so run headlong into whatever trap he might set,and this was just what happened.
At a place called the Cowpens he found the position he desired. Herewere two small hills, one behind the other and with a river at therear; no place for a scared militiaman to escape, nothing to do butfight to his last gasp, because he knew that if he offered tosurrender he would be ruthlessly bayoneted.
The night before the battle it is said Morgan did not sleep. His men,enraged at the cruelties inflicted upon their country by the invaders,were longing for revenge. This spirit Morgan fanned to flame.Throughout the night this big, brawny man, whose fame for success inmany perilous undertakings inspired the confidence of every man whocame to know him, walked among the soldiers and talked with them. Hiswas the appearance of a man perfectly confident that the next daywould bring victory and glory to American arms. He laughed and jokedwith them. "Just hold up your heads, boys; give 'em three fires andyou are free. The Old Wagoner will crack his whip over Ben Tarleton inthe morning, sure as he lives. Think of what your wives an'sweethearts will say when you go home an' tell what ye did."
Ah! How they loved and admired the big fellow who was one of them. Hehad stormed the defences at Quebec after leading his men through analmost impassable wilderness; he had led his Rangers in wild chargesagainst the regulars under Burgoyne and driven them; he would win, andthey would help him, to the last drop of blood in their veins.
In that spirit of implicit confidence in their stalwart leader eventhe raw recruits never thought of trembling on that raw morning in themiddle of January, 1781, when the outposts came riding back with thereport that Tarleton was approaching. They had been placed down infront with the Marylanders at their backs to support them, and ColonelWashington's dragoons screened behind the hill waiting for the wordto charge. In front of the Carolina and Georgia militia, between whomMorgan had excited a spirit of rivalry as to which body should behavewith the greater bravery under fire, riflemen had been stationed.
Soon the American sharpshooters in front began firing and falling backtoward the militia, who never wavered. They had been ordered to holdtheir fire and they obeyed implicitly.
Now the solid wall of British infantry is almost upon them, and asheet of flame spurts out along the American line; then another andanother, and those raw soldiers only retreat before overwhelmingnumbers when it is apparent they can resist no longer, and then, likeveterans, slowly and under orders.
Over behind the hill Rodney Allison's knees grip his horse. Thiswaiting is worse than fighting, waiting for that soul-stirring word,"Charge!" Now it rings out and echoes through the ranks, and like awhirlwind they sweep right through the lines of Tarleton's cavalryforming for a charge, and, wheeling about, come riding and slashingback through them again. Colonel Howard is skilfully handling thetroops and the gallant Pickens rallying the militia. The British rankswaver and become disorganized, the Americans charge and the Britishthrow down their arms and sue for mercy or flee from the field.
Tarleton is trying to rally his shattered horsemen when down upon themcome Washington's dragoons, with Colonel Washington far ahead of hismen.
Then it is that Tarleton tries to kill or capture his antagonist.Washington's sword is broken at the hilt and, but for the assistanceof a boy, the brave Washington would have been struck down. Now hismen are at his back and Tarleton rides away with his fleeing men asthough pursued by demons.
Then come orders to pursue and the dragoons go riding out into thecountry after the fleeing British. Most of them choose a wrong roadand only succeed in picking up a few stragglers.
Rodney had charged and wheeled and charged again. It had been hisfortune to be in the thickest of the struggle from first to last. Thenhe joined in the pursuit.
The group of horsemen with whom Rodney was riding came to forks in theroad. Rodney's training among the Indians often proved valuable andnow he declared there were but two horses of the enemy on the roadthey had come, also that they had divided at the forks, each taking adifferent road. As many of the cavalry had come to the Cowpens overthis road early the same morning, there was a confusion of tracks anda consequent confusion in the minds of the pursuers. Allison doggedlystuck to his conclusion and rode on alone.
Judging from the tracks, it was evident that the fleeing Britishcavalryman had ridden his horse at a mad gallop and Rodney urged hisown to the utmost.
On either side of the road stretched a scraggly growth of trees.Suddenly his horse shied and at the same instant a pistol shot rangout. The lad's left hand relaxed its grasp of the bridle and slippednervelessly to his side. The ball had broken his arm below the elbow.Had his horse not been frightened and shied, the ball intended for hisheart probably wo
uld have hit the mark.
A British rider came crashing through the bushes. Finding there wasbut one pursuer, and he wounded, the fellow had decided to fight. Hecertainly had Allison at serious disadvantage, but the latter,slipping the half drawn pistol back into the holster, grasped thebridle with his uninjured hand and wheeled his horse sharply to meetthe foe, who was almost upon him.
For an instant each stared in astonishment at the other. Then into theface of young Allison swept a savage fury. His gray eyes looked blackand blazing. He dropped the bridle and drew his sword, spurring hisunguided horse forward. The horse swerved and Rodney missed the blowhe aimed at the head of his antagonist. The latter was a betterswordsman on equal terms, and Rodney, unable to use his left hand, wasat a decided disadvantage.
Soon he was at his wits' end. Twice the thrust of his antagonist hadgrazed his neck. Thinking he had Rodney at his mercy, the Englishmanrose in his stirrups and swung his blade with evident intent to cuthim down. In parrying the blow Rodney's inferior blade was broken nearthe hilt, which was knocked from his hand. He struck his horse a smartblow with his right spur, reached for his pistol and cried "Down,Nat!"
Mogridge, for the Englishman was none other than the one who hadstolen Nat and nearly ridden him to death, again rose in his stirrups,confident of cutting down his foe. The look of malignant hate in hisface changed to that of consternation; the horse under him waskneeling!
Rodney draws his pistol. The foe is wickedly spurring and yanking thebridle and cursing his horse. Every thrust of the spur into Nat'sgaunt flanks pricks Rodney as well. He aims to kill and his finger ison the trigger, when, like a flash of light, he recalls Zeb's words:"Killin' even an enemy is serious, an' not pleasant to dream about."
"Dismount and surrender your arms or I'll blow out your brains," hecried.
Mogridge dared not disobey.
"You will now lead that horse back to camp. If he could ride you heshould have the chance, you cur."
"There's such a thing as courtesy even in war," replied Mogridge,though he was careful to do as he was bid.
"Not with horse thieves."
"All's fair in love and war," retorted Mogridge, and then, seeing thelook in Allison's face, he wisely decided to say no more.
