All the different corps fought well at
King's Mountain. The Burke and
Rutherford battalion, under McDowell and Hampton, performed their full share in
the engagement. Among Hampton's men was
William Robertson, who during the fight was shot completely through the body,
the ball entering at one side, and passing out at the other. He fell quite helpless to the ground. His wound was apparently mortal, and chancing
to recognize one of his neighbors lying down near him, he anxiously inquired if
he, too, was wounded. The reply was,
that his gun was choked, or something of the kind, and would not fire.
Robertson then gave him his rifle. "Give
me your shot-bag, also, old fellow," he added, for his own supply was
exhausted. With his own hand the fallen
patriot delivered him his ammunition. But
God was better to the wounded hero than his fears; for in due time he
recovered, and raised a family, living near Brittain, in Rutherford County, on
the farm now occupied by William L. Twitty.
Thomas Robertson, a brother of the wounded
man, was posted behind a tree, when a Tory neighbor, named Lafferty,
discovering him, called him by name; and Robertson peering around the tree to
see, if he could, who had spoken to him, when a ball sped quickly past him,
cutting the bark of the tree near his head. Robertson instantly fired back, before his
antagonist could regain his position, mortally wounding the tricky Tory, who
was near enough to exclaim, and be heard, "Robertson, you have ruined me
I" "The d—l help you,"
responded the Whig, and then re-loading his rifle, renewed the fight for
freedom. A Tory named Branson was
wounded and fell; and seeing his Whig brother-in-law, Captain James Withrow, of
Hampton's men, begged his relation to assist him. "Look to your friends for help,"
was the response, evincive of the bitterness that existed between the Whigs and
Loyalists in those times.
All of Captain William Lenoir's company of
Cleveland's regiment, save half a dozen, remained behind with the other footmen
at Green river, while the Captain himself went forward in a private capacity,
falling into line wherever he found it most convenient—fighting "on his
own hook." He fell in immediately
behind Winston's men, in front of the right hand column, where he could see
what was going on under McDowell and Hampton.
He says he advanced the nearest way toward the enemy, under a heavy
fire, until he got within thirty paces.
He noticed the particular instance of bravery just related of William
Robertson. "About that time,"
he adds, "I received a slight wound in my side, and another in my left
arm; and, after that, a bullet went through my hair above where it was tied,
and my clothes were cut in several places." Participating in this close and
hotly-contested action, it is sufficiently evident, was no child's play to
those engaged in it.
Sevier's column at length gained the
summit of the hill, driving the enemy's left flank upon his center. But
they were not subjected to any bayonet charges—save a portion of the left, who
hastened to the support of Campbell's regiment, when hard pressed, and became
intermingled with them. Captain Robert
Sevier was mortally wounded towards the close of the action, and becoming faint
and thirsty, was assisted, by his brother, Joseph Sevier, some distance to a
hollow, where there was a spring of water.
The last time Campbell and Shelby's men were
driven down the declivity, the mountaineers learned in some way—perhaps by
deceptive shouting on the part of the enemy— that Tarleton with his horse had
come, which seemed for the moment to have a dispiriting effect; when the
officers, including Colonel Sevier, rode along the line, calling upon the men
to halt, assuring them that Tarleton was not there; and if he were, they could
also make him, like Ferguson's Rangers, turn their backs, and flee up the
mountain. This time the riflemen pressed
upon the enemy with the utmost firmness and determination.
In the beginning of the action, Colonel
Campbell's famous Bald Face, a black
horse, proving skittish, he exchanged him with his namesake, a Mr. Campbell, of
his own corps, for a bay animal; and Bald Face was sent to the rear, and placed in charge of the Colonel's servant,
John Broddy, who was a tall, well-proportioned mulatto, and in the distance
very much resembled his master. Broddy's curiosity prompted him to ride up
within two hundred yards of the raging battle, saying "he had come to see
what his master and the rest were doing."
Broddy, with his coat off, and sitting upon Bald Face, unwittingly
deceived Colonels Shelby and Sevier, Captain Moses Shelby, and perhaps others,
into the belief that it was Colonel Campbell himself, intently watching at a
respectful distance, the progress of the engagement. But Campbell was all
this time in the thickest of the fight, riding his bay horse till he became
exhausted, when he abandoned him, and was the remainder of the battle at the
head of his men, on foot, with his coat off and his shirt collar open.
It was during that critical period of the
battle, when the final rally of the Virginians had been made, and after Colonel
Campbell's horse had given out, that the intrepid chief ascended the mountain
on foot, several paces in advance of his men; and, having reached the point of
the ridge, he climbed over a steep rock, and took a view of the position of the
enemy within a very short distance of their lines, and discovered that they
were retreating from behind the rocky rampart they had hitherto occupied with
so much security to themselves, and injury to the mountaineers, when he
rejoined his men unharmed.
Colonel Williams, who felt offended that his
merit—and his superior rank, also—had not been recognized by the other
Colonels, at first refused to take part in the battle; but he could not, after
all, when the pinch came, resist so glorious an opportunity to do his country
service, and redeem, it may be, the errors of the past. Williams wheeled chivalrously into line on the
left of Shelby, exclaiming to his followers, "Come on, my boy's—the old
wagoner never yet backed out.” Though
his numbers were few, Williams had several good and experienced partisan
officers— Brandon, Hammond, Hayes, Roebuck and Dillard among them; and their
intrepid example had an inspiring effect upon the men under their command.
Among the ''bravest of the brave'' who fought
under Williams and Brandon, was William Giles, some of whose heroic adventures
in the Union region in South Carolina, have already been related. The battle-field of King's Mountain was a fitting
scene for such a fearless spirit. During
the contest, into which he entered with his accustomed zeal, he received a ball
through the back of his neck, and fell as if dead. William Sharp, his fellow-hero, his neighbor,
his friend and relation, stopped a moment, brushed away a tear from his eye,
saying—“Poor fellow, he is dead; but if I am spared a little longer, I will
avenge his fall." After firing his
rifle several times, Sharp, to his astonishment, saw Giles raise himself up,
rest upon his elbow, and commence loading his gun. He had got creased, as it is said of horses
when shot through the upper part of the neck, and falling helpless to the
ground, after a while recover. Giles was
soon upon his feet again, fought through the battle, and lived to a good old
age. His son of the same name, in after
years represented both York and Union Counties in the South Carolina
Legislature.
Thomas Young, also under Williams and
Brandon, relates a touching incident. An
uncle of his, one McCrary, was then a prisoner with the British on Edisto
Island; and his wife, for fear her husband would be hung, compelled her
youthful son, Matthew McCrary, to turn out and join Ferguson. "Just after we had reached the top of the
hill,” says Young, "Matthew discovered me, and ran from the British line,
and threw his arms around me for joy. I
told him to get a gun and fight; he said he could not; when I bade him let me
go, that I might fight." Whether
young McCrary found a gun, and shared in the engagement, we are not informed;
but certain it is, the lad had thrown away his British rifle, and the enemy had
one less follower among their number.
"I well remember," continues
Young, "how I behaved. Ben Hollingsworth
and I took right up the side of the mountain, and fought our way, from tree to
tree, up to the summit. I recollect I
stood behind one tree, and fired until the bark was nearly all knocked off, and
my eyes pretty well filled with it. One
fellow shaved me pretty close, for his bullet took a piece out of my gun-stock.
Before I was aware of it, I found myself
apparently between my own regiment and the enemy, as I judged from seeing the
paper which the Whigs wore in their hats, and the pine twigs the Tories wore in
theirs, these being the badges of distinction.
"On the top of the mountain,"
Mr. Young adds, "in the thickest of the fight, I saw Colonel Williams
fall, and a braver or a better man never died upon the field of battle. I had seen him but once before, that day—it
was in the beginning of the action, as he charged by me at full speed around
the mountain. Toward the summit a ball struck his horse under the jaw, when he
commenced stamping as if he were in a nest of yellow jackets. Colonel Williams threw the reins over the
animal's neck—sprang to the ground, and dashed onward. The moment I heard the cry that Colonel
Williams was shot, I ran to his assistance, for I loved him as a father, he had
ever been so kind to me, almost always carrying a cake in his pocket for me and
his little son, Joseph. They carried him
into a tent, and sprinkled some water in his face. As he revived, his first words were, 'For
God's sake, boys, don't give up the hill!' I remember it as well as if it had occurred
yesterday. I left him in the arms of his
son Daniel, and returned to the field to avenge his fall."
In one of the charges on the enemy, Major
Hammond, of Williams' corps, full of his usual clash and intrepidity, broke
through the British lines with a small squad of brave followers, when the enemy
attempted to intercept their return. Seeing
his own and soldiers' perilous situation, Hammond instantly faced about,
ordering his men to join him in cutting their way back, which, by dint of the
most heroic efforts, they successfully effected.
A singular incident occurred, which Major
Hammond used to relate in connection with the contest. One of the men in his
command had fought in many a battle, and had always proved himself true as
steel. On the night preceding the
action—in some snatch of sleep, perhaps, while on the march—he had a
presentiment, that if he took part in the impending battle he would be killed. Before reaching King's Mountain, he concluded that he would, for
once in his life, be justifiable, under the circumstances, in skulking from
danger, and thereby, as he believed, preserve his life for future usefulness to
his country. So he stole off, and hid himself. He was missed, when an orderly went in search
of him, and finally discovered him in an out-of-the-way place, all covered up,
head and body, with his blanket. Though
taken to the front, he soon found means to absent himself again; but his
lurking place was again found, and he once more hurried to the front, just
before the final attack. He evidently
now made up his mind to do his duty, and let consequences take care of
themselves; and during the action he had posted himself behind a stump or tree,
and evidently peering his head out to get a shot, received a fatal bullet in
his forehead, killing him instantly. Subsequently
learning the cause of his singular conduct in endeavoring to evade taking part
in the contest, Major Hammond regretted that he had not known it at the time,
so that he could have respected the soldier's conscientious convictions; but, at the moment, suspecting
that he was under the cowardly influence of fear, the Major could not, and
would not, tolerate anything of the kind in his command.
And thus the battle waged with alternate
advances and repulses, the columns of Campbell and Shelby having been two or
three times driven down the mountain at the point of the bayonet—the last one
almost a rout; but the brave mountaineers had learned from experience when to
stop in their retreat, face about, and push back their assailants. In this last desperate repulse, some of the
Whig riflemen were transfixed, while others fell head-long over the
cliffs. When one column would drive the
enemy back to their starting place, the next regiment would raise the battle-cry
—"Come on, men, the enemy are
retreating;" and when the Provincials and Loyalists would make a dash upon
this party of mountain men, and would, in turn, be chased back by them, then
the other Whig riflemen, who had just before been driven down the hill, would now
advance, returning the shout—"Come on, men, the enemy are
retreating!" Thus, as one of
Campbell's men expressed it—"When the enemy turned, we turned." "Three times," says Mills' Statistics, "did the Britons charge with bayonet
clown the hill; as often did the Americans retreat; and the moment the Britons
turned then backs, the Americans shot from behind every tree, and every rock,
and laid them prostrate." It was
the happy fruition of Shelby's perpetual battle cry— "Never shoot until
you see an enemy, and never see an enemy, without bringing him down."
By this time the two wings of the
mountaineers were pressing the enemy on both sides of the mountain, so that
Ferguson's men had ample employment all around the eminence, without being able
to repair to each other's relief, however much they needed it. At length the Provincial Rangers and their
fellow chargers, led by the intrepid DePeyster, began to grow weary and
discouraged—steadily decreasing in numbers, and making no permanent inroads upon
their tireless opposers, who, when beaten down the mountain, did not choose to
stay there simply to oblige their enemies. From the south-western portion of the ridge,
the Rangers and Tories began to give way, and were doggedly driven by Campbell
and Shelby, aided by some of Sevier's men, and perhaps others, intermingled
with them.
Near the close of the action,
Lieutenant-Colonel Hambright, while encouraging his men, received a shot
through his thigh, making an ugly wound—the ball passing between the thigh bone
and his saddle, cutting some arteries, and filling his boot with blood. Discovering that the Colonel was wounded,
Samuel Moore, of York County, South Carolina, proposed to assist him from his
horse, which he declined, assigning as a reason, that it would distract the
attention of his men, and, as he did not feel sick nor faint, he preferred
to remain with them as long as he could sustain himself in the saddle. Then pressing forward, he exclaimed in his
broken German: "Huzza, my prave poys, fight on a few minutes more, and te
battle will be over!" Hearing this
encouraging shout, Ferguson, it is said, responded: "Huzza, brave boys,
the day is our own!" It was among
the last of the British leader's utterances to animate his men in a hopeless
struggle.
Dr. Ramsay, in his History of Tennessee,
asserts that the Tories had begun to show
flags in token of surrender, even before Ferguson was disabled, seeing which,
he rode up, in two instances, and cut them down with his sword. It was suggested to him by some of his
officers, that it was useless to prolong the contest, and throw their lives
away. The slaughter was great, the
wounded were numerous, and further resistance would be unavailing. But Ferguson's proud heart could not think of
surrendering; he despised his enemies, and swore "he never would yield to
such a d—d banditti." Captain
DePeyster, his second in command,
having the courage of his convictions, and "convinced from the first of
the utter futility of resistance at the point selected, advised a surrender, as
soon as he became satisfied that Ferguson would not fall back upon the
(supposed) rapidly advancing relief. He
appears to have urged the only course which could have saved the little army,
viz: a precipitate, but orderly, retreat upon less exposed points, for the
purpose of assisting the General-in-Chief in his attempt to re-inforce the
detachment—so important to future and ultimate success—by drawing back, nearer
to some point, which alone, re-inforcements could reach, and where, alone, they
could be made available. This advice was
founded on what the event proved: that the British were about to be slaughtered
to no purpose, like 'ducks in a coop,' without inflicting any commensurate
loss. The event proved the justice of
this counsel."
At length, satisfied that all was lost, and
firmly resolving not to fall into the hands of the despised "Back-Water
men," Ferguson, with a few chosen friends, made a desperate attempt to
break through the Whig lines, on the south-eastern side of the mountain, and
escape. The intrepid British leader made a bold dash for life and freedom, with
his sword in his left hand, cutting and slashing till he had broken it. Colonel Shelby mentions the sword incident,
and Benjamin Sharp corroborates it; while several others unite in testifying to
the fact that he spurred his horse, and rushed out, attempting to escape. Before the action commenced, it was well known that Ferguson
wielded his sword in his left hand, and that he wore a light or checked duster
or hunting-shirt for an outer garment, and the admonition had gone from soldier
to soldier—"Look out for Ferguson with his sword in his left hand, wearing
a light hunting-shirt!"
One of Sevier's men, named Gilleland, who
had received several wounds, and was well-nigh exhausted, seeing the advance of
Ferguson and his party, attempted to arrest the career of the great leader, but
his gun snapped; when he called out to Robert Young, of the same regiment—
" There's Ferguson—shoot him!''
"I'll try and see what Sweet-Lips can do," muttered Young, as
he drew a sharp sight, discharging his rifle, when Ferguson fell from his
horse, and his associates were either killed or driven back. Several rifle bullets had taken effect on
Ferguson, apparently about the same time, and a number claimed the honor of
having shot the fallen chief—among them, one Kusick, another of Sevier's
sharp-shooters. Certain it is, that
Ferguson received six or eight wounds, one of them through the head. He was unconscious
when he fell, and did not long survive. It was in the region of Sevier's column that
he received his fatal shots; and not very far, it would seem, from where
Colonel Shelby had posted Ensign
Robert Campbell to watch the motions of the enemy so strongly ensconced behind
the range of rocks.
Ensign Campbell gives us some further
insight into Ferguson's attempt at flight.
It was, as he represents, when Colonels Campbell and Shelby were
pressing the enemy from the south-western extremity of the mountain, and
Ferguson's men were falling fast on every hand. He had sent DePeyster with the Provincial
Rangers to strengthen the front; and in reaching the point assigned him, he had
to pass through a blaze of riflery, losing many of his men in the effort. Ferguson's small cavalry corps, under
Lieutenant Taylor—consisting of twenty men, made up from his Rangers—were
ordered to mount, and press forward to aid DePeyster in his heroic purpose; but
as fast as they mounted, they were mostly picked off by the Whig marksmen. Driven to desperation, Ferguson endeavored to
make his escape, accompanied by two Loyalist Colonels, all mounted, who charged
on that part of the line which they thought was most vulnerable—" in the
quarter where Sevier's men were," as related by James Sevier, one of their
number, and Benjamin Starritt, derived from his two brothers-in-law, who served
in Sevier's regiment; and, as Ensign Campbell stated, "on that part of the
line defended by his party." As
soon as Ferguson reached the Whig front, he fell; and the other two officers,
attempting to retreat, soon shared the same fate. One of these Tory officers killed was,
doubtless, Colonel Vezey Husband, and the other—not a Colonel, as Ensign
Campbell supposed— but Major Daniel Plummer.
Some accounts represent that Colonel
Williams sought, a personal encounter with Ferguson, determined to kill him, or
die in the attempt. This is more
romantic than probable. It could hardly
have been so, since Ferguson was shot some distance from where Williams must
have received his wounds, and on the opposite side of the hill; and the
accounts pretty well agree, that Williams was wounded at the very close of the
conflict, when the enemy had begun to exhibit their white flags, while Ferguson
was shot from his horse some little time before. The suggestion made by Colonel Hill, in his
manuscript narrative, that Colonel Williams was shot by some of Lacey's men,
who were inimical to him, and had sworn to take his life, is hardly credible;
and, for the honor of humanity, we are constrained to discard so improbable and
unpatriotic a supposition.
The last desperate grapple between
Campbell’s men— assisted by Shelby's—and the enemy, just before the close of
the engagement, lasted twenty minutes—and within thirty or forty yards of each
other; and was the most hotly contested part of the action. Campbell was on foot at the head of his
regiment—so much advanced in front as to be in danger from the fire of his own
men; and his courageous words were—"Boys, remember your liberty! Come on!
come on! my brave fellows; another gun—another gun will do it! D—m them, we must have them out of
this!" It was one incessant peal of
fire-arms. The enemy made a firm stand;
but after a while they were forced to retire some distance along the crest of
the mountain, towards their camp at the north-eastern extremity, when they
halted again for a few moments. The
brave men of Campbell and Shelby were sensibly aided by the heroic bravery of
the left wing under Cleveland, Lacey and Williams, who pressed, with shouts of
victory, upon the Tories in that quarter, which tended to re-animate the
Virginians and the Sullivan troops, who, with re-doubled fury, fought like
tigers. They drove Ferguson's surviving
Rangers and the Tories before them to where their wagons were, behind which
they made a rally; but they were soon driven from this covert, down into a
sunken or hollow place, by which time the Rangers were mostly killed or
disabled, and the Loyalists quite demoralized.
Campbell's column was two or three times
driven down, or partly down the mountain; Shelby says he was three times repulsed—and
Doctor Ferguson, in his Memoir of his
kinsman, Colonel Ferguson, declares
that the Provincials, with their bayonets “repulsed the enemy in three several
attacks." One part of Cleveland's
line was charged once in the flank, and another portion was twice driven before
the bayonet; while Chronicle and Hambright's Lincoln men were once, at least,
forced down the hill. McDowell's
corps received a bayonet charge, as Thomas Kennedy, one of the Captains,
testifies. Sevier's column, save those
intermingled with Campbell's men, was not charged during the action; nor was
Williams' battalion; nor is it known that Lacey's or Winston's columns suffered
from these bayonet charges.
When the Provincials and Loyalists
charged the Americans down the mountain, they seem to have reserved their fire
till the termination of their pursuit; and having discharged their rifles, they
retreated with great precision, reloading as they retraced their steps —as they
had learned very skillfully to do by the example and instructions of Ferguson;
but while they were thus deliberately retiring, the sharp-sighted riflemen
below them, taking deadly aim, would pick them off at every moment. Long experience proves, that marksmen in a
valley have the advantage of those on a hill, in firing at each other, which is
probably owing to the terrestrial refraction.
The forest-hunters, though apprised of this fact, often shoot too high when
their object is below them. Be this as
it may, the English shot whistled over the heads of the Americans, rattling
among the trees and cutting off twigs, while the bullets of the mountaineers
produced dreadful effect—the British losses having been nearly three times that
of their antagonists. Lieutenant Allaire
states that the North Carolina Loyalists, seeing that they were surrounded, and
numbers being without ammunition, were the first to give way, which naturally
threw the rest of the Tories into confusion.
This may have been so, and yet the official report of Campbell and his
associates be also true, that the greater part of the enemy's guns at the
surrender were still charged.
As Robert Henry, of Hambright's and
Chronicle's party, who had been transfixed by a Tory bayonet, was making his
way at the very close of the engagement to Clarke's Branch to quench his
thirst, he unexpectedly met Colonel Graham on his large black steed,
accompanied by David Dickey, who, wielding his sword around his head, exclaimed
—“D—m the Tories!" He had heard the
firing while on his way to his sick wife, and could not resist the impulse to
return, and share in the battle. Just before
the final surrender of the enemy, when there was much intermingling of the mountaineers,
Colonel Shelby had the hair on the left side of his head scorched off, which
was noticed by Colonel Sevier, who met him at this moment—so narrowly did the
heroic Shelby escape losing his life by Tory bullets. With their men forced into a huddle near
their tents and wagons, the surviving British officers could not form half a
dozen of them together; and the demoralized Tories were being shot down like
sheep at the slaughter. 1
The battle was
now over, and Ferguson’s worst fears were realized; he had been bested by the
“barbarians.” The worst was not over,
however, for some of the Tories and Loyalists who were fortunate to survive the
actual battle. There were some reprisals
to come. Lord willing we’ll conclude our
look at King’s Mountain in my next post.
Christ, not man, is King!
Dale
1) Lyman C. Draper, King’s Mountain and Its Heroes (Cincinnati, OH: Peter G. Thomson, 1881), p. 265-80.
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