Francis Marion The Swamp Fox of Snows Island by Rebecca Dunahoe

Author:Rebecca Dunahoe [Dunahoe, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: History, United States, Revolutionary Period (1775-1800)
ISBN: 9781641144483
Google: h4MuEAAAQBAJ
Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2018-01-03T00:36:05+00:00

War-Torn South

This order of Lord Cornwallis proved to South Carolina like the opening of Pandora’s box. Instantly, there broke forth a torrent of cruelties and crimes never before heard of in our simple forests. Lord Rawdon acted, as we shall see a shameful part in these bloody tragedies, and so did Colonel Tarleton. But the officer who figured most in executing the detestable orders of Cornwallis was a Major Weymies. This man, by birth, was a Scotsman; but in principle and practice, a Mohawk. So totally destitute was he of that amiable sympathy which belongs to his nation, that in sailing up Winyah Bay and the Waccamaw and Pee Dee rivers, he landed and pillaged and burnt every house he durst approach! Such was the style of his entry upon our afflicted state, and such the spirit of his doings throughout: for wherever he went, an unsparing destruction awaited upon his footsteps.

The dogs of hell were all now completely uncoupled, and every divine passion in man had its proper game.

A thievish Tory, who had been publicly whipped by a Whig magistrate or had long coveted his silver tankard, or his handsome rifle, or his elegant horse had but to point out to Major Weymies, and say, “there lives a damned rebel.” The amiable major would surround the noble building in a trice; and after gutting it of all its furniture, would reduce it to ashes. It was in vain that the poor mother and children, on bended knees, with wringing hands and tear – swimming eyes implored him to pity, and not to burn their house over their heads. Such eloquence, which has often moved the breasts of savages was all lost on Major Weymies and his banditti. They no more regarded the sacred cries of children than the Indians do the cries of the young beavers, whose house they are breaking up.

A planter, in his fields, accidently turning towards his house, suddenly discovers a vast column of smoke bursting forth and ascending in black curling volumes to heaven. “Oh my God! My house!” he exclaims, “my poor wife and children.” Then, half bereft of his senses, he sets and runs toward his house. Still, as he cuts the air, he groans out, “Oh, my poor wife and children.” Presently, he hears their cries. He sees them in a distance with outstretched arms flying toward him. “Oh, Pa! Pa! Pa!” his children tremblingly exclaim. While his wife, all pale and out of breath, falls on his bosom and feebly cries out, “The British! Oh, the British!” and sinks into a swoon.

Who can tell the feelings of a father and the husband! His wife, his property all sinking to ruin by merciless enemies! Presently, his wife, after a strong fit, with a deep sigh, comes to herself. He wipes her tears, and he embraces and hushes the children. By and by, supposing the British to be gone, arm in arm, the mournful group return. But ah, the shocking sight of their

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