Sal and Amanda Take Morgan's Victory March to the Battle of Cowpens

by Mary Ann Solesbee

  “That’s it; keep pushing!” Sam yelled.

  They both pushed, and the wall suddenly turned. A small tin box hit Ben in the head and fell to the floor.

  “Ouch!” Ben cried, rubbing the top of his head.

  “Whoa, what’s that?” Sam shouted, forgetting about his cousin.

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care!” Ben snorted. “I’m getting out of here!”

  “Wait, let’s open the box!” Sam said.

  “No, I’m leaving right now!”

  “But I heard a noise downstairs! Are you going to go by yourself?” Sam taunted Ben.

  “Just hurry up!” Ben said.

  “You worry too much!” Sam answered.

  Ben glared at his cousin. “You weren’t the one trapped in that secret room!”

  Sam picked up the rusty box and lifted the lid to see inside. There was nothing there.

  “Come on, let’s go!” Sam demanded.

  “We can’t just leave it like this,” Ben answered.

  “Why not? It’s just an old box, and nobody cares!”

  Ben picked up the box and looked up at the door panel to see how to put it back. He tried to set it on the ledge above the inside of the wall where he had been, but it fell back down. When it fell, the lid unhinged, and Ben could see a secret compartment inside. He lifted the top of the compartment. There was a small leather pouch. He opened the pouch, and inside there was an old, yellowed paper.

  “Sam, wait!” he yelled, but it was too late. Sam was already heading downstairs.

  Ben stuffed the paper in his pocket. Then he slammed the box shut, shoved it up onto the top of the door and ran down the stairs as fast as he could.

  Sam shined the flashlight up the stairs at him. “You look like you saw the ghost! Did you?”

  Ben didn’t answer him, scared that his voice would quiver.

  They climbed back out the window and ran down the steps and out the front gate that was miraculously standing open.

  “Let’s go!” Sam yelled as he ran down the street.

  Ben followed, shutting the gate, which locked with a clank.

  He felt the paper in his pants pocket, but he didn’t want to tell Sam about it. He knew he should not have taken it, but he wasn’t going back into that house to return it. He did wonder what it said. Maybe it was a map to some hidden treasure! A million ideas about what the paper said raced through his mind.

  “C’mon, we need to get home! I have to be at the theater in my costume in an hour. I don’t want Mom to get mad, especially not when Grammy is here,” Sam yelled.

  Ben could feel the bump on his head pulsating as he ran after Sam. He also felt the twinges of his nagging conscience. He was now a thief!

  Grammy was sitting on the porch waiting for them. “Where have you two been?” she asked.

  “Oh, just down the street,” Sam answered. “I was showing Ben some of our historical sites.”

  “Well, hurry up and get dressed! The play starts in an hour, and both of you need a shower. Just look how sweaty you are!”

  Grammy smiled at her two grandsons. “Ben, are you OK? You look pale. Come over here and let me get a good look at you…”

  “I’m fine, Grammy!” Ben answered, trying to squirm away as she grabbed him.

  She brushed his bangs aside to feel his forehead and saw the bump. “Ben, what happened?”

  “I, uhhh, bumped into a door!” he stammered, not knowing what else to say.

  “Well, let’s put some ice on it. Go lie on the sofa,” Grammy said as she hurried into the kitchen to get an ice pack.

  Ben sat down on the sofa and eased his legs up. He propped his head on the pillow as Grammy put the ice pack on his bump.

  Grammy smiled and thought, boys will be boys, as she went out of the room.

  Ben lay there, thinking about what his great-grandpa had told him before he died. “Takes one lie to cover another; remember that, son.”

  Ben replayed the afternoon. Today turned me into a liar and a thief, and I don’t even know why. Stupid paper; why are you in my pocket?

  “Time to get dressed,” Grammy called to Ben.

  He headed to the shower, and when he started to take off his clothes, he thought about the paper. I’ll just take a peek. He unfolded it, and to his great shock, he saw that it was a letter written four days before the Battle of Cowpens. The greeting was to General Nathanael Greene!

  “Whoa!” Ben said aloud. Sam was in the shower and did not hear him. I wonder who wrote this. He scanned the letter, and there at the bottom was General Daniel Morgan’s signature!

  He could not believe it! He started to read, “Your letters of the third and eighth instants came to hand Yesterday just as I was preparing to change…”

  His concentration was interrupted when Grammy called up the stairs, “Ben, are you in the shower?”

  “Sam’s still in there!” he yelled back down.

  “I’m coming up there right now!”

  Ben quickly folded the paper and shoved it back in his pocket. Whatever Morgan had to say would just have to wait!

  After the play, the whole family went out for ice cream sundaes to celebrate. The attention was all on Sam and his hilarious performance in the play. Ben was glad because his thoughts were running a mile a minute. Why had Morgan written this letter just a few days before the battle? Why was it in a box in an old house in Cheraw? Why did he still have it in his pocket? And what on earth was he going to do about it?

  Chapter 5

  Spirit!

  Late that night, Ben lay in the twin bed beside Sam pretending to be asleep. When he heard Sam snoring, he got up, picked up his pants from the chair and hurried into the bathroom. He locked the door and pulled the letter out of his pocket.

  Ben’s hand trembled as he tried to make sense of the strange words in the letter. His eyes scanned the page, and words jumped out at him like…

  Camp Buiss Mill on Thicheteke…General Sumpter directed…to obey no orders from me…We have to feed such a number of Horses…must soon be exhausted…nothing can be effected by my Detachment in this County…balance the Risques…No attempt to surprize us will be left…is beyond the art of man…keep the militia from straggling…request that I may be recalle…General Davidson and Colonel Pickens may be left with the militia…should you think it unadvisable…you may depend on my attempting wiry things & to provide for the Safety of the detachment.*

  Many of the words were misspelled and incorrect punctuation made it hard to read, but Ben could tell that Morgan believed going into battle was a mistake. Morgan sounded anxious and frustrated, but he was a loyal soldier and would obey orders.

  Ben leaned back against the door, thoughts tumbling through his head. Why in the world was he hiding in his cousin’s bathroom reading a letter written by the hand of one of the greatest heroes of the Revolutionary War? What was the message Morgan was conveying? What was he supposed to do now?

  He had to tell someone, but who could he trust? Not Sam. He wouldn’t recognize the importance of the letter, and there was no telling what he might do. And not Grammy, because he had taken the letter. She would be really upset and certainly punish him.

  Ben knew it was wrong to have stolen the letter, so there was just one thing to do: put it back. But they were leaving in the morning. He would have to do it now!

  Ben’s heart was pounding at the thought of going back into the house. He wasn’t sure he could do it, but he knew he had to. He put on his pants and grabbed his shirt and shoes. He reached over Sam and got the flashlight. He would surely need that. Just as he headed down the stairs, he heard the clock strike eleven.

  Ben took off down the street. He was a man on a mission. What if someone saw him? What would he say? He had grown pretty good at making up tales, so he would just say whatever came to him. Again, his great-grandfather’s words rang in his ears. “Takes one lie to cover another.”

  Most of the houses were dark as Ben walked down the sidewalk, but the streetli
ghts lit his way. He did not run because his heart was already pounding. He hoped he would not be noticed if he walked slowly. He reached in his pocket to see if the letter was still there. Somehow he hoped it had magically flown back to where he found it, but there it was inside his pocket.

  He made it to the gate of the Johnson House where he and Sam had been that afternoon. His hands shook as he reached under the latch just like he saw Sam do. The gate swung open, and Ben slowly walked in. This time, it did not clang shut behind him. Boy, that’s a relief, Ben thought as he headed up the dark steps of the front porch.

  The streetlights did not reach the house, but he was afraid to turn on the flashlight until he got inside. He walked across the porch; the boards creaked with every step. He made it to the window, which, to his surprise, was open as if someone was waiting for him. He remembered closing it that afternoon. He couldn’t stop now. He slid inside and shined the flashlight toward the floor. He felt the portraits on the wall staring at him.

  Ben was heading toward the stairs when something flew down at him. He dropped the flashlight and fell to the floor. His heart was pounding out of his chest. As he lay there looking up, he heard a screeching noise.

  “Bats!” he muttered to himself.

  He recovered and headed toward the stairway again. The flashlight streamed straight down on each step. He did not dare look anywhere except at his feet as he ascended. When he got to the hidden door in the wall, it was slightly ajar. He was sure he had shut it tight!

  He shined the light inside the wall and up to the shelf. He could see the box. Almost there, he thought. Then I can get out of here and forget all about this stupid letter and Daniel Morgan!

  “Forget me?” a voice pierced the darkness.

  Ben froze in fear. He could not move.

  “So glad you came tonight,” the voice continued.

  “Who are you?” Ben’s voice quaked, but he knew the answer even before he asked. He felt General Daniel Morgan’s presence all around him.

  “Where are you, sir?” Ben asked.

  “I’m right here with you!” the voice responded.

  “But I can’t see you,” Ben uttered.

  “You don’t need to see me. You just need to listen. You read the letter, and you know the truth. It’s up to you to tell it now.”

  “What truth? What letter?” Ben asked.

  Ben stood there staring into the darkness; he didn’t know what to say or do.

  The strong voice continued, “I knew Tarleton was coming after me, and I did not believe I could, or should, face him. Why, I had fewer than 350 militiamen, and I did not expect them to help me should I be attacked. It was impossible for any man to contain them. They were an unpredictable bunch. Add them to my regulars and the Virginians and that gave me a total of 940 men. Not great odds!”

  “Yeah, you said in the letter that Tarleton had 1,100 to 1,200,” Ben spoke up and was shocked at his own voice. Was he really talking to a ghost?

  “I know you read the letter and will come to my aid!” the voice replied.

  “What do you mean your aid? How can I help you? You’re dead.”

  “Just listen! You will know when it is time,” the voice continued. “Yes, my scouts informed me of the location of both Tarleton and Cornwallis. I knew they would do anything to get us! And that arrogant Sumter would not come to help me even though I was in charge. It is amazing I didn’t go down there and teach him a lesson, but good sense and old age held me back!”

  “I was wondering about that when Sal and Amanda told me about how Sumter sulked when you were named commanding officer.” Ben was beginning to feel a little more at ease with the powerful voice.

  “Yes, your little amphibian friends; we need more ambassadors like them,” the spirit mused.

  Ben wondered just how General Morgan knew about Sal and Amanda, but he supposed that spirits knew everything there was to know about the living world.

  “I had all my men to look after. I grew up a hotheaded fighter, but I eventually learned to put my personal feelings on hold for the good of my men and our cause. But no one understood what I had decided to do. Why, even my own men were cursing me because they thought I was retreating. But Ben, my friend, I had to remain cool under pressure because I knew that devil Tarleton was on our tail. My intention was to cross the Broad and get into the rough, hilly country of Thicketty Mountain and wait for Tarleton and the battle!”

  “I know where that is!” Ben exclaimed.

  “Ben, you know more than most about this war, but I am going to teach you some things no one knows,” the spirit said mysteriously.

  Ben was intrigued and listened intently.

  “It was the crack of dawn, and we had just cooked our breakfast when a patrol came galloping in and yelled, ‘Tarleton’s across the Pacolet.’ We broke camp, leaving our breakfast there. Washington’s dragoons formed a protective screen around our marching men. I learned later that Tarleton rode in and ate the breakfast we had left. Their boys did not know it, but for many of them it would be their last.”

  “What happened then?” Ben asked, completely captivated with the spirit’s tale.

  “The road we followed was a muddy mess leading through swamps. My men believed I was avoiding battle. I knew I had to keep them intact for an eventual reunion with General Greene and the main army. But how was I to best do this? By taking a great risk and crossing a raging river just ahead of the closing enemy or by choosing a position, resting, feeding the troops and taking time to prepare for the battle? I was left alone to make my decision. I decided to regroup and rest near a landmark known by all backcountry people, the cow pens. This was a place other troops would know and could join us. Not my first choice, but as circumstances would have it, it was the right choice.”

  Ben quietly interrupted. “We have a national park there now to commemorate this battle and a march to honor you and your men. I’m going to march in it in January!” Ben could not help letting Morgan know that he, too, would honor the battle.

  Morgan continued, “The next day, militia began to join us, including Pickens and the main militia. These men were full of spirit and tales of the cruelty of Tarleton. The partisans were ready to take care of Bloody Ban. I spent most of the night going from campfire to campfire explaining to the militia what I expected of them. I had already told the officers, but I wanted my men to know the plan. I was one of them, and I knew as I saw their courage my own fire would be ignited. I needed that, Ben.”

  “I know, but you were the bravest leader ever!” Ben exclaimed, trying to remind Morgan what a hero he had been.

  “Brave? I had to be brave for my men, but you must remember, war is horrific and there is not a man living or dead who is not afraid in battle. I was afraid too, but as I spirited up my men, they spirited me up! I wanted them to know that we could do this. I even pulled up my shirt and showed them the scars on my back from the British whip over twenty-five years before. I told them to keep up their spirits and the day would be ours!”

  “Wow! That’s what it means when the history books say you ‘spirited up the people’!” Ben exclaimed.

  “Yes, and it was with great resolve that I woke the men that morning with, ‘Boys, get up, Benny’s coming!’”

  Ben leaned against the wall, surrounded by the presence of greatness.

  “And when it was all over, I lifted my nine-year-old drummer boy and kissed him on the cheek. Two days later, when I wrote my war report to General Greene, I said, ‘I gave that Tarleton a devil of a whipping!’”

  Ben sat in the dark for a few minutes, and then he heard, “But Ben, folks don’t understand that it was not just me that day. It was the spirit of liberty and justice! I was against terrible odds, and I was afraid. We were all moving toward a destiny, a turning point that would change the course of history forever. It was the beginning of the end for the British. We did it, my men and me. They spirited me as much as I spirited them. Now, you must tell others this truth!”

 
A silence filled the room.

  “What do you want me to do?” Ben asked. But there was no response.

  Silence…

  Frantically, Ben pleaded to thin air. “Please don’t go! I have so many questions!” Defeated, he sat there for a long time trying to understand what had happened, but he knew he had to get home or he would be in serious trouble. He placed the letter back in the leather pouch, gently laid the pouch in the tin box and lifted it back up to the ledge. As he turned to go, the wall shut behind him.

  Ben walked down the stairs, no longer afraid of the spirit in the house but very afraid of what it had said to him. He hurried out the window, down the steps and out the gate, which closed behind him. He ran all the way back to Sam’s house and crept in the front door that he had left unlocked, hurried into the bedroom and jumped into bed.

  What a night this had been! He finally fell asleep, and the next morning when he awoke, he lay in bed trying to decide if he had been dreaming. Had there really been a letter? Had he really talked with the spirit of Daniel Morgan? It seemed too real to be a dream, but he knew no one would believe him. It was his secret for now.

  * A copy of the transcription of the original letter can be read in the appendix.

  Chapter 6

  To Tell the Truth

  Back home in Cowpens, Ben was sitting on the couch trying to focus on his speech. On their ride home from Cheraw, Grammy had tried to talk with Ben about the speech contest, but he had been lost in thought. How could he possibly focus on a speech when he had actually spoken to a spirit? He had done nothing but think about this strange encounter, but he had told no one. What had General Morgan meant when he said it was up to me to tell the story?

  Ben didn’t hear Jen come in.

  “Glad you’re back! It was no fun without you here. I haven’t seen Sal and Amanda either. Did you have fun with Sam?” Jen asked.

  “I wouldn’t exactly say…fun,” Ben answered.