CHAPTER II.

EARLY HISTORY--THE PURSUIT--THE BATTLE--THE VICTORY.

“Hark to the trump and the drum, And the mournful sound of the barbarous horn, And the flap of the banners that flit as they’re borne, And the neigh of the steed, and the multitude’s hum, And the clash, and the shout, ‘They come! they come!’” LORD BYRON.

Ferguson’s foes heard, on October 4, of his retreat, but were doubtful of its direction. Following his footsteps, they made little progress that day, for men and horses were weary. Maj. Candler, with thirty of Clarke’s refugees from Georgia, joined them; also, in the march on the 5th, Maj. Chronicle, with twenty men from the Catawba River. Col. Lacey arrived that night at their camp on Green River, from an encampment of four hundred and thirty Whigs, in Rutherford County, two hundred and seventy of whom were South Carolinians under Colonels Lacey and Hill, and one hundred and sixty were North Carolinians--one hundred commanded by Col. Williams, and sixty by Colonels Graham and Hambright. Lacey gave the mountaineers definite information concerning Ferguson, and it was agreed that they and the forces Lacey represented should meet at the Cowpens and combine. The same night, about seven hundred of the troops commanded by Col. Campbell and his compatriots, whose horses were in condition for rapid movement were selected, and on the next day they marched to the Cowpens, leaving seven hundred men under command of Maj. Herndon to follow more slowly.

At the Cowpens, a junction of forces as pre-arranged was made. The four hundred and thirty soldiers commanded by Lacey and others, were reduced by selection to two hundred and ten. These made the whole body of chosen cavalry, nine hundred and ten. At 9 P. M. October 6, they started and rode all night in a drizzling rain to overtake Ferguson, whose army, as a spy informed them, numbered fifteen hundred men. With the return of daylight, they made better speed, but still the rain fell and they could scarcely keep their guns dry. They forded the deep waters of Broad River at sunrise, halted a few minutes to breakfast from the scanty food they carried, and would have halted at noon, because of the stormy weather and their fatigue. Campbell, Sevier and Cleveland proposed to do so, but Shelby, with profane words, refused. He would brook no delay until night fell or Ferguson was found. A scout who had visited a Tory family, disguised as “a true King’s man,” brought them word that the British army was posted on King’s Mountain. When within a few miles of it, they captured from a courier a dispatch sent by Ferguson to Cornwallis, calling for help by reinforcement and declaring his purpose against the rebels in very uncourteous and profane language. It was told to the American troops, and only quickened their speed. With galloping horses they went forward in sight of the enemy’s camp.

It was early in the afternoon of the seventh of October, 1780. The rain had ceased and the clouds were rolling away before the bright shining of the sun. This was auspicious. These plain men from west of the Alleghanies may not have understood how critical was that hour of the American Revolution, even as well as did the harried Whigs from the Carolinas who were their companions in arms; but they were wide awake to the value of the rights for which their countrymen contended, and of the opportunity at hand to help them. Not one of those who were about to go into battle for the Colonies saw, as the men of to-day can see, along with the greatness of the danger to the struggle for American independence, the important consequences of their own heroic conduct. Men engaged in war are intent upon present deeds rather than thoughtful of future results.

That day’s conflict would roll away the clouds that filled the civil and political sky of the Colonies, or would make them darker and thicker. As that day went, would go the destiny, not only of the infant Republic, but with it, that of hundreds of millions of the human race. The battle might close the door or open it to “a Government of the people, by the people, and for the people,” on a mighty continent, where families of every nation and language should dwell in the faith of Christ and brotherly love. O, men of the hills, where freedom always has a home, be brave of heart and firm of hand, in the presence of such a grand possibility! And those plain, hunting-shirted riflemen were not afraid. Therefore they shall be honored by all people of right mind and true heart until time ends.

Dismounted from their horses, they formed for battle in four columns around the mountain. Two columns were on the right--one, Campbell’s regiment of Virginians, and the other, Sevier’s regiment, with McDowell’s and Winston’s battalions. Two columns were on the left--one composed of Shelby’s regiment and Williams’ command; the other of North Carolinians, under Cleveland, Chronicle and Hambright, and of South Carolinians, under Lacey and others. The chief officers briefly exhorted their men to do valiantly. Campbell, addressing each corps in turn, told those who were afraid to stand back, but no one moved. Instead, men threw their hats into the air and wrapped their heads tightly in handkerchiefs, that their quick step through the woods might be easier. Up the mountain sides they went, in the face of an equal and boastful foe.

And now, the red-haired Campbell begins the attack, moving over the roughest ground. The shouts of his men swell on the air. Shelby’s troops respond, and then others, until the whole mountain is enveloped in sound. Ferguson and his second, Capt. De Peyster,[13] hear the outcries. Ferguson’s mind is touched with fear of defeat. De Peyster says, “These things are ominous.” Soon, Campbell, nearly at the hill-top, opens a deadly fire, and quickly the shrill notes of Ferguson’s whistle, inciting the British to battle, mingle with the roll of his drums. Campbell is forced to retreat down the mountain to its very foot, so fierce is the bayonet charge of regulars and Tories. But he rallies his men and again they ascend, driving back their enemy. Lacey and Hill, with their troops, join in the conflict. The left center, under Shelby, is almost to the summit, and pours hot volleys through the slight defences, putting Ferguson’s person in danger. De Peyster confronts the assailants, charges them with bayonets, and Shelby also is compelled down the mountain. Back from successful repulse of his foes, De Peyster returns to repel the “brave and gentle Cleveland,” Chronicle and Hambright. Chronicle is slain, and Williams dies, fighting bravely. Meanwhile, Campbell, McDowell and Shelby, on the other side of the mountain are again ascending, in conflict with Tory riflemen, shouting, “Huzza, boys!” as they advance. Sevier has gained the hill-top. He presses the British center, and is charged by the regulars but holds his ground. As the combat deepens about him, Campbell and Shelby have won to the summit. Then all the contending forces are face to face, and there is a general _melee_--firing with guns and charging with bayonets. Bailie Peyton says that at the first of the conflict “the mountain appeared volcanic; there flashed along its summit and around its base and up its sides one long sulphurous blaze.” Judge Haywood says that at a later moment “the mountain was covered with flame and smoke, and seemed to thunder.”

Soon the end of the battle is at hand, and all is a more violent storm of strife and tumult, freighted with wounds and death. Ferguson is in the midst of it, calmly courageous but restlessly active. He is here and there all over the field--wounded in his right hand, but heedless of personal danger--giving courage to others as he goes, and bearing the silver whistle, whose sharp sound quickens his men’s pulses to the fray. He orders the cavalry into action and his regulars to charge, but at last, in vain. The Americans press him on all sides into ever narrowing limits. A white flag goes up from the Tories and he pulls it down. Another is raised at a distance, and quickly he is there to level it with the dust. A surrender is suggested to him by friends, repeatedly, but he will not listen to it. He _will not_ give up his sword to men whom, with a curse, he calls “banditti”: but he will escape by cutting his way through the hostile ranks with a sword in his left hand. Two officers join him in the attempt. Dashing at a weaker point in the Whig lines, he strikes with his sword until it is broken, and falls, pierced with bullets. Instantly De Peyster surrenders. The battle is finished. It was about an hour long.

In the confusion that followed, the Whigs ceased not at once from firing. The British called for quarter, but kept their weapons. The fearless Shelby galloped up to their lines and commanded, if they wanted quarter, to lay down their arms. Perhaps animosity against the Tories would not die in some Whigs as soon as white flags were raised, for wars between neighbors are apt to be next in bitterness to religious wars. Some allowance also is to be made for the difficulty of self-restraint common to men in the heat of passion and strife. Their destructive zeal is slow to abate. Col. Campbell had to cry out to his men, “Don’t shoot!” “Cease firing!” and actively to promote mercy; but when De Peyster profanely complained to him of the unfairness, he declined with dignity, to reply, except by ordering the prisoners into position. The victory was complete. Of the soldiers composing Ferguson’s army, two-thirds were prisoners and the other third were killed and wounded in nearly equal numbers. Of the Americans, twenty-eight were killed and sixty-two wounded. Eight days after the battle the conquerors began their march westward. They had received information, which proved untrue, that Tarleton, a bold, skillful and ruthless British officer, was advancing upon them. On the contrary, Cornwallis and Tarleton were fleeing at the time from Charlotte to South Carolina, in fear that the mountaineers by thousands were about to assail them. The intention and hope of the British commander to bring North Carolina, and then Virginia, into like subjection with South Carolina and Georgia, were frustrated by the defeat of Ferguson. It disheartened Tories who had openly taken sides with the British, and deterred others from following their example. At the same time the victory of the Whigs inspirited their friends everywhere. Their revived faith in the final success of the Colonies, moved them to more hopeful effort in its behalf.

The uprising of the mountaineers--so spontaneous and yet so deliberate--their cheerful march over natural difficulties, their eager and persevering pursuit of a formidable enemy, their well-planned and swiftly executed attack on his chosen ground--all these combined, give their enterprise a high place in military annals. Add to them the great need at that time to the struggling Colonies of the victory they won and its important good results, and its title to the niche of fame it fills in the temple of American history, cannot be impeached. It turned the tide of battle. It led the way to the surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown, and then to peace with Great Britain. The king and his counselors were already discouraged by military reverses and tired of their vain efforts for seven years to conquer. They were compelled to acknowledge the independence of the United States.