Voices of the American Revolution in the Carolinas by Ed Southern

Author:Ed Southern
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: History
Publisher: John F. Blair, Publisher
Published: 2009-09-22T04:00:00+00:00

The history of the American Revolution is a history of miracles.…

Some of our chimney-corner philosophers can hardly believe, when they read of Samson making such a smash among the Philistines with the jawbone of an ass. Then how will they believe what I am going to tell them of Marion? How will they believe that, at a time when the British had completely overrun South Carolina; their headquarters at Charleston, a victorious army at Camden; strong garrisons at Georgetown and Jacksonborough, with swarms of thievish and bloody-minded Tories, filling up all between; and the spirits of the poor Whigs so completely cowed, that they were fairly knocked under to the civil and military yoke of the British, who, I ask again, will believe, that in this desperate state of things, one little, swarthy, French-phizzed Carolinian, with only 30 of his ragged countrymen, issuing out of the swamps, should have dared to turn his horse’s head towards this all-conquering foe?

Well, Marion was that man. He it was, who, with his feeble force, dared to dash up at once to Nelson’s ferry, on the great war path between the British armies at Charleston and Camden.

“Now, my gallant friends,” said he, at sight of the road, and with a face burning for battle, “now look sharp! Here are the British wagon tracks, with the sand still falling in! And here are the steps of their troops passing and repassing. We shall not long be idle here!”

And so it turned out. For scarcely had we reached our hiding place in the swamp, before in came our scouts at half speed, stating that a British guard, with a world of American prisoners, were on their march for Charleston.

“How many prisoners do you suppose there were?” said Marion.

“Near two hundred,” replied the scouts.

“And what do you imagine was the number of the British guard?”

“Why, sir, we counted about ninety.”

“Ninety!” said Marion with a smile, “Ninety! Well, that will do. And now, gentlemen, if you will only stand by me, I’ve a good hope that we thirty will have those ninety by tomorrow’s sunrise.”

We told him to lead on, for that we were resolved to die by his side.

Soon as the dusky night came on, we went down to the ferry, and passing for a party of good loyalists, we easily got set over. The enemy, with their prisoners, having just effected the passage of the river as the sun went down, halted at the first tavern, generally called “the Blue House,” where the officers ordered supper. In front of the building was a large arbor, wherein the topers [drunkards] were wont to sit, and spend the jocund night away in songs and gleeful draughts of apple brandy grog. In this arbor, flushed with their late success, sat the British guard; and tickler [drink] after tickler swilling, roared it away to the tune of “Britannia Strike Home”: till overcome with fatigue, and the opiate juice, down they sunk, deliciously beastified, to the ground.

Just as the cock had

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