by Larry Hunt
CHAPTER FIVE
1781
One thousand seven hundred eighty-one, what a year! Scarlett has been rebuilt and is even more beautiful than it had been before the fire. The Revolutionary War has been raging for over five years, but still more years remain before the newly formed United States of America can conclusively declare herself independent from the chains of King George III of Great Britain.
The British military in the Carolinas is beginning to realize the band of rabble calling themselves Patriots, are never going to stop fighting. The countryside of both North and South Carolina did indeed foster some settlers loyal to the King of England, but their numbers, now referred to as Loyalist, are becoming fewer and fewer.
What bothered the British the most is this low-class bunch of commoners, some even brazenly referring to themselves as ‘Americans,’ will not stand up and fight like gentlemen. They hide in the trees and bushes and shoot at them like cowards. Also, bothersome to the leaders of the Kings Army: the scum called Patriots have a propensity to shoot the British officers from their horses first. To punish this band of low-life peasants, the British begin a new tactic.
In late March of this year, a week or so before Easter, a large group of British Redcoats captures the Whig governor of South Carolina, along with twenty of his staff. The British soldiers, under the command of Colonel Sir David Wilcox, were transporting their group of prisoners to British General Horace Manly’s headquarters in Greenville, South Carolina. At Greenville, the prisoners were to stand trial for ‘Treason Against the British Crown.’ Fortunately or unfortunately as the case may be, their route would take them down the road directly past Scarburg Mill.
The British Colonel does not realize B Company of the 3rd South Carolina Ranger Regiment is camped at Scarburg Mill. The Mill is a good place to stop and give a rest to the saddle-weary cavalrymen. However, from upcountry South Carolina, word rapidly spreads to the Ranger commander, Captain John Coker, of the capture of the Governor and his staff. Captain Coker is also informed of the Governor’s impending arrival, along with his Redcoat captors, at Scarburg Mill within a day or so.
Captain Coker and his men have been escorting two large wagons from Dahlonega, Georgia to General Washington’s command in New York. The wagons are so heavy laden they each need to be pulled by a team of six mules. The wagon wheels cut a deep rut in the dirt as they traverse the sorry excuse for what are called roads of northern Georgia into South Carolina. The journey, thus far, is exhausting to both the mule teams and the cavalrymen. Horse soldiers with the mission to protect the valuable cargo the wagons carry. Captain Coker and his men are enjoying a short reprieve from their past week’s vigilance of constant guard duty. They are enjoying the food, rest and ‘medicinal spirits’ from the tavern before resuming their journey northward; however, the cargo in the wagons is too important to leave unguarded. It is so valuable that Captain Coker has sentinels walking guard, at all hours, around the wagons with muskets loaded and hammers cocked, ready to fire, even during the night.
Learning of the British soldier’s advancement Captain Coker calls his Lieutenants together. The decision is made and a plan fashioned to ambush Colonel Wilcox as he approaches the Mill. They envision a surprise attack to catch the Tories off-guard. The cavalry believes they can inflict significant damage upon the Redcoats and possibly free the Whig Governor and the rest of the hostages.
The Captain sends riders to the surrounding Patriot neighbors requesting they grab their muskets and assemble at the Mill to help fight the Redcoats. Jacob Ingram hears the beat of hooves on his long drive leading up to the big house at Ingram Hill – he runs from the barn knowing the rider is bearing important news. Jacob listens intently to every word as Captain Coker’s envoy tells of the impending fight. The dispatch rider had hardly disappeared from sight when Jacob grabs his musket mounts his fastest horse and quickly rides to join the Patriot side in their fight against the British.
On Friday the 13th in April 1781, Colonel Wilcox is dressed splendidly from head to toe. He wears a gold buttoned, red British coat with gold-fringed epaulets, a white waistcoat, white lapels, and black boots that reach the knees of his white britches. His head is topped with a black, gold-trimmed, tricorne hat, which covers his stylish, white, powdered wig. A wig tied neatly in the back with a black ribbon. Behind his white, high-stepping horse walk the despondent Governor and the rest of the Colonel’s Whig captives. Unknowingly, the pompous Colonel Wilcox is walking into a trap set by the Patriots and the men of the 3rd South Carolina Rangers.
As the Colonel and his men begin to cross the bridge at Mink Creek, a volley of musket fire from the Patriot side cut a swath of death through the British ranks. A raging battle ensue that last all day and into the early hours of the eve. Although badly outmanned, the Patriots do not allow the Redcoats to cross the creek that day. Any attempt to storm the mill results in further loss of the King’s men. The advantage the Patriots command on the opposite side of Mink Creek is too great for a frontal assault by the British soldiers. Knowing a direct assault from the front will be suicidal the Redcoats have to formulate a better battle plan. Around midnight, Colonel Wilcox dispatches twenty-five men to ford Mink Creek a mile or so above Scarburg Mill.
The following morning at first light, cloaked in a dense fog, Wilcox’s men having crossed the swift, cold, creek attack the flank of Captain Coker’s group of Patriots in and around the Mill. The maneuver allows the Redcoats to attack the Patriots from both the flank and front. The Patriots hold their ground stubbornly until close to noon, Captain Coker, grossly outnumbered, and already suffering the loss of eight or ten men, decides to order a strategic withdrawal. The British, however, did not leave the field of battle unscathed. They have roughly fifty dead or wounded, but at the end of the day the honors of the victory will be theirs. Captain Coker gives the bugler orders to sound ‘Retreat’. His remaining troopers mount their horses and flee into the nearby woods.
Jacob Ingram with blood flowing from a bullet hole through the calf of his right leg and with considerable effort manages to swing himself into his saddle and follow the Captain into the cover of the dense forest. At the time, Jacob thought little of his injury, but it is severe enough that it will cause him a slight limp for the rest of his life. It also furnishes him with innumerable tales of the Patriot’s heroic valor that he repeats many times, under the old oak tree, for years to come. As the years advance, Jacob’s part in the battle seems to become more important. Some thought the limp was to embellish these war stories of which he so eloquently speaks. Whatever the reason the men relished hearing and re-hearing the exploits of the Patriot and British fight at Scarburg Mill.
Colonel Wilcox captures the remaining Patriot combatants along with the wounded Patriots that have not withdrawn with their commander. The Redcoats are now in command of Scarburg Mill. The two wagons that had been so carefully guarded since leaving Georgia are nowhere to be seen. The two teams of mules are tied to a nearby tree, and some charred remnants of wood can be seen smoldering in a fire close-by. Identification of the pile of burnt wood is easy. The British can see it is the remains of wagons, since three of the wheels, which have not been entirely consumed by the fire, are still ablaze. The rims of the other five wheels are plainly visibly in the ashes. The valuables the wagons contain are nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the fiery flames have consumed them too.
During the fighting of the first day and continually through the fierceness of the battle the following day, John, a non-combatant, administered first aid and comfort. John without regards to his safety helped both the British and the Patriots alike. He and his family provided the wounded with water and offered care and treatment, throughout the heat of the battle. Sheets and pillowcases were torn in strips and used as bandages for the wounded of both sides.
Later, witnesses would attest that John Scarburg, over the age of seventy, and afflicted with a severe, debilitating case of rheumatoid arthritis in the joints of his knees, was regularly seen kneeling
beside mortally wounded British Redcoats. His feeble, wrinkled, arthritic, old hands lovingly holding on to the hands of the dying provided them solace during their last few moments of life. Because of John, they did not meet their Maker alone. At times, he could be seen praying with a dying soldier, not worrying whether he was a Whig or a Tory, to John he simply was a frightened, dying young man.
John Scarburg was not the only person who supplied first-aid and comfort to the soldiers who fought at the Scarburg Mill. His entire family joined him, including two of his oldest sons, his daughters, his wife Celia and Thomas’ wife Olivia.
The following morning, the 15th of April, Easter Sunday, the creek is again covered in a dense fog as the British drummer boy beats “Assembly” to the remainder of the British soldiers. The fog gives the whole area around the Mill a strange, macabre look. The Redcoats fall into formation. They watch in hushed silence as John Scarburg along with his two oldest sons, William and Isaac, are escorted from the Mill by armed Redcoats. All three have their arms bound behind their backs. Neither of the three fired a shot during the entire battle, so it is a surprise that the British have them imprisoned.
Thomas, John’s young grandson, stands crying in the doorway of the mill. He clutches his mother’s apron as she tearfully watches her father-in-law and his two sons being marched from the Mill.
Colonel Wilcox has the three men led to the live oak tree. The old oak was, usually, a place of laughter and tall tales expressed by many under its spreading limbs, but not today. The proceedings this day are somber. There is no gaiety here.
The assembled soldiers, who had been standing at attention in a perfect military formation, slowly break ranks and begin to form a semi-circle around the men at the tree. Three ropes, tied with hangman’s nooses, are thrown over the largest limb closest to the ground. John, wearing a hat with a black ostrich feather, and his sons are ordered to step up on the bench. Their British guards place the grotesque nooses about his and his two sons necks. The three men offer no resistance.
John directs a question to Colonel Wilcox. The assembled soldiers close to the bench hear the exchange. John requests a few words with his grandson Thomas. Colonel Wilcox, an accomplished adversary, is not without compassion. He grants John’s request.
Motioning to one of his red-coated soldiers Thomas is brought to his grandfather.
“My son, you have to be brave, you will now be the man of the family.” As his grandfather talks, Thomas whimpers and sniffles trying hard not to cry. “Come closer son, I have something to tell.”
Thomas walks forward, steps up on the bench beside his grandfather and his two uncles. John bends over placing his mouth close to Thomas’ ear, he speaks softly. Young Thomas nods his head and answers, “Yes, Pappy, I hear you, but I don’t understand. Is it the big Bible?”
“It is, but don’t worry my son, someday what I have told you will make sense to you. Promise me you will never forget. Keep this black ostrich plume to remember me by, and someday you will find it will benefit you in a way you cannot possibly understand now. One other thing Son, today I am going to be with the Lord. It is Easter, but it is my Resurrection Sunday. Every year on this day, remember me.”
For a moment, he hugs his grandfather’s leg and refuses to let go. A Redcoat steps forward and removes the small lad from the hangman’s bench.
John watches helplessly as Thomas, head bowed walks slowly back toward the Mill to his mother. He stops, turns and says in a voice loud enough for all to hear, “Yes, Pappy, I promise, I will remember. I won’t ever forget!
A wet tear slowly fills the corner of the old man’s eye, and slowly rolls down his cheek, and drips upon the dirt where so many happy tales have been told. From this moment on, this day will forever be tarnished by this barbaric act, which is about to unfold.
The young drummer boy, not much older than young Thomas, hesitantly but obediently, begins to beat his drum slowly, ‘Rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat’...
Addressing the prisoners, “Dost any request a last word?”
John looking upward toward the heavens says, “Resurrection Sunday, how fitting!”
The Colonel gives the signal, a couple of Redcoats kick the bench, and the three Scarburg men are left dangling at the end of their ropes. A number of the soldiers turn their heads as the hanged men kick silently for a few moments. Soon the thrashing and struggling cease, the last breath of life extinguished, they hang there motionless - they are dead.
What is the purpose of the execution of these three men? Some say, the Colonel thinks they are Patriots who have engaged in the battle. Clearly, dozens of British soldiers watching the murder of these three innocent men can offer evidence to the contrary. Others say it is simply retaliation for the ambush that has taken place. Did the Colonel want this performance to serve as a lesson to the rebellious backwoodsman? If so, it only provides the frontiersmen with fresh resolve to defeat the Redcoats. Regardless of Colonel Wilcox’s intent, three good, honorable men, swinging gently in the breeze, are now dead. The dense river fog briefly lifts, and a ray of sunlight illuminates the big old oak and the three bodies for only a brief moment. This amazing, heavenly display did not go without notice by the assembled British soldiers.
