The Battle of King's Mountain, Pt. 2

       In my last post, we looked at the Battle of King’s Mountain from its start right until it reached its zenith.  We’ll now follow Draper’s narrative as he relates to us the circumstances surrounding the closing scenes of the battle.

       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.

The Battle of King's Mountain, Pt. 1

       In my last couple of posts, we examined the characteristics of the opposing forces arrayed at King’s Mountain in October of 1780.  Now we’ll take a detailed look at the battle as it begins in earnest.  I apologize that this is so long... but I just couldn't bear to cut anything out!

       It was an erroneous idea of the South Carolina historian, Ramsay, that Cleveland's men, who had been compelled to make something of a circuit to reach their appointed position in the arrangement for the onslaught, were the first to commence the action, and the first to receive a bayonet charge from the enemy. The official report, to which Cleveland gave the sanction of his signature, states that Shelby and Campbell's regiments began the attack. Such was the nature of the ground, and the thick, intervening foliage of the trees, that the Whigs were not discovered till within a quarter of a mile of Ferguson; when the enemy's drums beat to arms, and the shrill whistle of their commander was distinctly heard, notifying his followers to repair to their places in the ranks, and be ready for hot work, for they well knew that no child's play was in reserve for them.

       A select party of Shelby's men undertook to surprise a picket of the enemy, of whose position they had previous knowledge, and accomplished their purpose without firing a gun or giving the least alarm. This exploit seems to have occurred some distance from the mountain, and was hailed by the army as a good omen.  Orders had been given to the right and left wings, that when the center columns were ready for the attack, they were to give the signal by raising a regular frontier war-whoop, after the Indian style, and rush forward, doing the enemy all the injury possible; and the others hearing the battle-shout and the reports of the rifles, were to follow suit. The first firing was heard on the north side of the mountain — evidently made by the enemy upon Shelby's column, before they were in position to engage in the action.  It was galling in its effect, and not a little annoying to the mountaineers, some of whom, in their impatience, complained that it would never do to be shot down without returning the fire.  Shelby coolly replied, "press on to your places, and then your fire will not be lost."

       But before Shelby's men could gain their position, Colonel Campbell had thrown off his coat, and while leading his men to the attack, he exclaimed at the top of his voice, — "Here they are, my brave boys;  shout like h —l,  and fight like devils!''  The woods immediately resounded with the shouts of the line, in which they were heartily joined, first by Shelby's corps, and then instantly caught up by the others along the two wings.  When Captain De Peyster heard these almost deafening yells — the same in kind he too well remembered hearing from Shelby's men at Musgrove's Mill,—he remarked to Ferguson: "These things are ominous — these are the d—d yelling boys!"  And when these terrific shouts saluted Ferguson's ears, he expressed fears for the result.

       About the time the Virginians advanced to the conflict. Major Micajah Lewis, with his brother, Captain Joel Lewis, both of the Wilkes and Surry troops, with Captain Andrew Colvill, of the Virginia regiment, had been designated by Colonel Campbell to make a dash on horseback upon the British main guard, half way up the spur of the mountain; and having swept them out of the way, to fall back, dismount, and join the others in the general advance.  Here the first heavy firing took place between the contending parties, the guard commencing it.  The mountaineers raised the Indian war-whoop and rushed upon the foe, who soon retreated, leaving some of their men to crimson the earth with their blood.

       One of the mountaineers came within rifle shot of a British sentinel before the latter perceived him; on discovering the American, he discharged his musket, and ran with all his speed towards the camp on the hill. This adventurous Whig, who had pressed forward considerably in advance of his fellows, quickly dismounted, leveled his rifle, firing at the retreating Briton, the ball striking him in the back of the head, when he fell and expired.  Among the slain of the Virginians was Lieutenant Robert Edmondson, and John Beatty, the ensign of Colvill's company, while Lieutenant Samuel Newell, also of Colvill's corps, was wounded. Retiring down the hill, Newell passed Colonel Campbell and Major Edmondson hurrying on the regiment into action.

       But Newell was too good a soldier to give up at the very commencement of the fight; and returning some distance, he came across a horse, mounting which he rode back to the lines to perform his share in the conflict.

       What terse, patriotic utterances were made by the several Whig leaders to their heroic followers, have been mainly lost to history. Such words had their intended effect at the time: but all were too intent on the exciting scenes before them, to treasure up in their memories these outbursts of patriotism. Cleveland and his men, while passing around to the left of the mountain, were somewhat retarded by a swampy piece of ground then saturated with water; but, getting clear of this, Cleveland discovered an advance picket of the enemy, when he made the following characteristic speech to his troops—not, under the circumstances, in a very formal manner we may well conclude, but, most likely, by piece-meal, as he rode along the lines:

       "My brave fellows, we have beaten the Tories, and we can beat them again.  They are all cowards: if they had the spirit of men, they would join with their fellow-citizens in supporting the independence of their country.  When you are engaged, you are not to wait for the word of command from me.  I will show you, by my example, how to fight; I can undertake no more.  Every man must consider himself an officer, and act from his own judgment.  Fire as quick as you can, and stand your ground as long as you can.  When you can do no better, get behind trees, or retreat; but I beg you not to run quite off.  If we are repulsed, let us make a point of returning, and renewing the fight; perhaps we may have better luck in the second attempt than the first.  If any of you are afraid, such shall have leave to retire, and they are requested immediately to take themselves off."  But a single man, John Judd, intimated a preference to remain behind—" to hold the horses," as he expressed it; while, to redeem the honor of the family, his brother, Rowland Judd, went forward, and acted the part of a brave soldier in the trying conflict.  The distance that Cleveland's men had to march, with the swampy nature of their route, delayed them some ten minutes in reaching the place assigned them.  But they nobly made amends for their delay by their heroic conduct in the action.  The picket that they attacked soon gave way, and they were rapidly pursued up the mountain.

       Doctor Moore asserts, that it has always been the tradition in the King's Mountain region, that inasmuch as Colonel Lacey rode the express, and gave the patriots at Green river the true situation of Ferguson, Colonel Campbell gave him the honor of commencing the battle—the friends of Campbell, Shelby, Sevier, Winston, and Roebuck have for each also claimed the same honor; that Lacey led on his men from the north-western and most level side of the mountain, engaging the attention of the foe, while Cleveland and the other leaders marched to their respective places of assignment, completely encircling Ferguson's army.   Judging from the official report, this tradition has no substantial foundation; yet Lacey, no doubt, anticipated Cleveland, and perhaps some of the other regimental and battalion commandants, in engaging the attention of the enemy, and taking part in the conflict.

       Where Campbell's men ascended the mountain to commence the attack was rough, craggy, and rather abrupt—the most difficult of ascent of any part of the ridge; but these resolute mountaineers permitted no obstacles to prevent them from advancing upon the foe, creeping up the acclivity, little by little, and from tree to tree, till they were nearly at the top—the action commencing at long fire.  The Virginians were the first upon whom Ferguson ordered his Rangers, with doubtless a part of his Loyalists, to make a fixed bayonet charge.  Some of the Virginians obstinately stood their ground till a few of them were thrust through the body; but being unable, with rifles only, to withstand such a charge, they broke and fled down the mountain—further, indeed, than was necessary.  In this rapid charge, Lieutenant Allaire, of Ferguson's corps, overtook an officer of the mountaineers, fully six feet high; and the British Lieutenant being mounted, dashed up beside his adversary, and killed him with a single blow of his sword.  But the British chargers did not venture quite to the bottom of the hill, before they wheeled, and quickly retired to the summit.  Campbell's men ran across the narrow intervening valley to the top of the next ridge.  Colonel Campbell and Major Edmondson, about half way between their men and the enemy, were loudly vociferating to their Virginians to halt and rally; and Lieutenant Newell, now mounted, joined them in this effort.  The men were soon formed, and again led up by their heroic commander to renew the contest.   It was during this attack that Lieutenant Robert Edmondson, the younger, of Captain David Beattie's company—for there were two Lieutenants of the Virginians of that name—was wounded in the arm.  He then sheltered himself behind a tree, with one of his soldiers, John Craig, who bandaged up his limb. By this time Campbell's men were successfully rallied, and were returning to the charge, when Edmondson exclaimed, "Let us at it again!"  Of such grit was Campbell's Holston soldiers composed; and as long as there was any fighting to be done for their country, and they could stand upon their feet, they never failed to share largely in it.

       Colonel Shelby has briefly stated his knowledge of this heroic movement of Campbell and his men. "On the first onset," says Shelby, "the Washington militia attempted rapidly to ascend the mountain; but were met by the British regulars with fixed bayonets, and forced to retreat.  They were soon rallied by their gallant commander, and some of his active officers, and by a constant and well-directed fire of our rifles we drove them back in our turn, and reached the summit of the mountain."  Or, as cited by Haywood, and understood to be also from a statement by Shelby: "Campbell, with his division, ascended the hill, killing all that came in his way, till coming near enough to the main body of the enemy, who were posted upon the summit, he poured in upon them a most deadly fire.  The enemy, with fixed bayonets, advanced upon his troops, who gave way and went down the hill, where they rallied and formed, and again advanced.  The mountain was covered with flame and smoke, and seemed to thunder.''

       While Ferguson's Rangers were thus employed in their dashing bayonet charge against Campbell's column, Shelby was pressing the enemy on the opposite side and southwestern end of the mountain; so that the Provincials found it necessary to turn their attention to this body of the mountaineers. "Shelby, a man of the hardiest make, stiff as iron, among the dauntless singled out for dauntlessness, went right onward and upward like a man who had but one thing to do, and but one thought—to do it."  But brave as he and his men were, they, too, had to retreat before the charging column, yet slowly firing as they retired.  When, at the bottom of the hill, Shelby wanted to bring his men to order, he would cry out—"Now, boys, quickly re-load your rifles, and let's advance upon them, and give them another h—l of a fire!”

       Thus were Campbell's and Shelby's men hotly engaged some ten minutes before the right and left wings reached their points of destination, when, at length, they shared in completely encompassing the enemy, and joined in the deadly fray. Ferguson soon found that he had not so much the advantage in position as he had anticipated; for the summit of the mountain was bare of timber, exposing his men to the assaults of the back-woods riflemen, who, as they pressed up the ridge, availed themselves of the trees on its sides, which afforded them protection, and which served to retard the movements of the British charging parties.  As the enemy were drawn up in close column on the crest of the mountain, they presented a fair mark for the rifles of the mountaineers, and they suffered severely by the exposure.  The famous cavalry Colonel, Harry Lee, well observed of Ferguson's chosen place for battle—it was "more assailable by the rifle than defensible with the bayonet."

       Among the keenest of the sharp-shooters under Shelby was Josiah Culbertson, so favorably noticed elsewhere in this work.  He had been selected with others to get possession of an elevated position, for which a Tory Captain and a party under him stoutly contended; but Culbertson and his riflemen were too alert for their antagonists, and pressing closely upon them, forced them to retire to some large rocks, where Culbertson at length shot their leader in the head, when the survivors fled, and soon after with their fellows were compelled to surrender.

       Captain Moses Shelby, a brother of the Colonel, received two wounds in the action—the last through his thigh near his body, disabling it, so that he could not stand without help.  He was assisted down to a branch, some distance from the foot of the mountain, and was left with his rifle for his defence, should he need it.  Seeing one of the soldiers coming down too frequently to the branch under plea of thirst, Captain Shelby admonished him if he repeated his visit he would shoot him; that it was no time to shirk duty.

       But a portion of the Tories had concealed themselves behind a chain of rocks in that quarter, from which they kept up a destructive fire on the Americans. As Campbell's and Shelby's men came in contact at the southwestern end of the ridge, Shelby directed Ensign Robert Campbell, of the Virginians, to move to the right, with a small party, and endeavor to dislodge the enemy from their rocky ramparts.  Ensign Campbell led his men, under fire of the British and Tory lines, within forty steps of them; but discovering that the Whigs had been driven down the hill, he gave orders to his party to post themselves, as securely as possible, opposite to the rocks and near to the enemy, while he himself went to the assistance of Campbell and his fellow officers in bringing the regiment to order, and renewing the contest.  These directions were punctually obeyed, and the watching party kept up so galling a fire with their well-plied rifle shots, as to compel Ferguson to order a stronger force to cover and strengthen his men behind their rocky defence; but, towards the close of the action, they were forced to retire, with their demoralized associates, to the north-eastern portion of the mountain.

       The battle now raging all around the mountain was almost terrific.  "When that conflict began," exclaimed the late eloquent Bailie Peyton, of Tennessee, "the mountain appeared volcanic; there flashed along its summit, and around its base, and up its sides, one long sulphurous blaze."   The shouts of the mountaineers, the peals of hundreds of rifles and muskets, the loud commands and encouraging words of the respective officers, with every now and then the shrill screech of Ferguson's silver whistle high above the din and confusion of the battle, intermingled with the groans of the wounded in every part of the line, combined to convey the idea of another pandemonium.

       Colonel Lacey and his gallant South Carolinians, who had seen hard service under Sumter on many a well-fought field, rushed forward to share in the contest. At the very first fire of the enemy. Colonel Lacey's fine horse was shot from under him. With a single exception these South Carolinians, mostly from York and Chester, proved themselves worthy of the high reputation they had gained on other fields. That exception was an amusing one—a man who, at heart, was as true a patriot as could be found in the Carolinas; but who constitutionally could not stand the smell of powder, and invariably ran at the very first fire.  When about going into action to fight Ferguson and his Tories, his friends, knowing his weakness, advised him to remain behind.  "No," said he, indignantly, "I am determined to stand my ground to-day, live or die.''  True to his instinct, at the very first fire he took to his heels, as usual. After the battle was over, when he returned, his friends chided him for his conduct.  "From the first fire," said he, by way of apology, " I knew nothing whatever till I was gone about a hundred and fifty yards; and when I came to myself, recollecting my resolves, I tried to stop; but my confounded legs would carry me off!"   But fortunately his associates were made up of better material, and rendered their country good service on this occasion.

       No regiment had their courage and endurance more severely tested than Campbell's.  They were the first in the onset—the first to be charged down the declivity by Ferguson's Rangers—and the first to rally and return to the contest.  Everything depended upon successfully rallying the men when first driven down the mountain.  Had they have become demoralized as did the troops at Gates' defeat near Camden, and as did some of Greene's militia at Guilford, they would have brought disgrace and disaster upon the Whig cause.  When repulsed at the point of the bayonet, the well-known voice of their heroic commander bade them "halt!—return my brave fellows, and you will drive the enemy immediately!"  He was promptly obeyed, for Campbell and his officers had the full confidence and control of their mountaineers.  They bravely faced about, and drove the enemy, in turn, up the mountain.  In these desperate attacks, many a hand-to-hand fight occurred, and many an act of heroism transpired, the wonder and admiration of all beholders; but there were so many such heroic incidents, where all were heroes, that only the particulars of here and there one have been handed down to us.  Ensign Robert Campbell, at the head of a charging party, with singular boldness and address, killed Lieutenant McGinnis, a brave officer of Ferguson's Rangers.

       Captain William Edmondson, also of Campbell's regiment, remarked to John McCrosky, one of his men, that he was not satisfied with his position, and dashed forward into the hottest part of the battle, and there received the charge of DePeyster's Rangers, discharged his gun, then clubbed it and knocked the rifle out of the grasp of one of the Britons.  Seizing him by the neck, he made him his prisoner, and brought him to the foot of the hill.  Returning again up the mountain, he bravely fell fighting in front of his company, near his beloved Colonel.  His faithful soldier, McCrosky, when the contest was ended, went in search of his Captain, found him, and related the great victory gained, when the dying man nodded his satisfaction of the result.  The stern Colonel Campbell was seen to brush away a tear, when he saw his good friend and heroic Captain stretched upon the ground under a tree, with one hand clutching his side, as if to restrain his life blood from ebbing away until the battle was over.  He heard the shout of victory as his commander and friend grasped his other hand.  He was past speaking; but he kissed his Colonel's hand, smiled, loosed his feeble hold on life, and the Christian patriot went to his reward.

       Lieutenant Reece Bowen, who commanded one of the companies of the Virginia regiment, was observed while marching forward to attack the enemy, to make a hazardous and unnecessary exposure of his person.  Some friend kindly remonstrated with him—" Why Bowen, do you not take a tree—why rashly present yourself to the deliberate aim of the Provincial and Tory riflemen, concealed behind every rock and bush before you?—death will inevitably follow, if you persist."  "Take to a tree," he indignantly replied—"no!—never shall it be said, that I sought safety by hiding my person, or dodging from a Briton or Tory who opposed me in the field."  Well had it been for him and his country, had he been more prudent, and, as his superiors had advised, taken shelter whenever it could be found, for he had scarcely concluded his brave utterance, when a rifle ball struck him in the breast. He fell and expired.

       The "red-haired Campbell—the claymore of the Argyle gleaming in his hand, and his blue eye glittering with a lurid flame," wherever he was, dashing here and there along the line, was himself a host.  His clarion voice rang out above the clash of resounding arms and the peals of successive riflery, encouraging his heroic mountaineers to victory.  And thus the battle raged with increased fury—the mountain men constantly gaining more confidence, and steadily lessening the number of their foes.

       Nor were the other columns idle.  Major Chronicle and Lieutenant Colonel Hambright led their little band of South Fork boys up the north-east end of the mountain, where the ascent was more abrupt than elsewhere, save where Campbell's men made their attack.  As they reached the base of the ridge, with Chronicle some ten paces in advance of his men, he raised his military hat, crying out— "Face to the hill!" He had scarcely uttered his command, when a ball struck him, and he fell; and William Rabb, within some six feet of Chronicle, was killed almost instantly thereafter.  The men steadily pressed on, under the leadership of Lieutenant Colonel Hambright, Major Joseph Dickson, and Captains Mattocks, Johnston, White, Espey and Martin—a formidable list of officers for so small a body of men; but they all took their places in the line, and fought with determined heroism.  Before they reached the crest of the mountain, the enemy charged bayonet—said to have been led by DePeyster—first firing off their guns, by which Robert Henry supposed that Captain Mattocks and John Boyd were killed, and William Gilmer, a brother of the noted scout, and John Chittim wounded—the latter of Captain Martin's company was shot in his side, making an orifice, through which, according to tradition, a silk handkerchief could be drawn, and yet he recovered, living to a good old age.

       One gallant young fellow, Robert Henry, then in his sixteenth year, had taken his position behind a log stretched across a hollow; and was getting ready to give the enemy another shot, when the bayonet chargers came dashing along.  One of the enemy was advancing rapidly on young Henry, who was in the act of cocking his gun, when his antagonist's bayonet glanced along Henry's gun-barrel, passing clear through one of his hands, and penetrating into his thigh.  Henry, in the melee, had shot the Tory, and both fell to the ground—the young Whig hero completely transfixed.  Henry was pretty well enveloped in powder-smoke; but sad and helpless as was his condition, he could not help observing that man of his South Fork friends were not more than a gun's length ahead of the Tory bayonets, and the farthest could not have exceeded twenty feet, when they fired, with deadly effect, upon their pursuers, and retired to the bottom of the hill, quickly re-loading, and in turn chasing their enemies up the mountain.

       William Caldwell, one of Henry's companions, seeing his situation, pulled the bayonet out of his thigh; but finding it yet sticking fast to the young soldier's hand, gave the wounded limb a kick with his boot, which loosened the bloody instrument from its hold.  Henry suffered more in the operation of extracting the bayonet, than when the Briton made the effective thrust, driving it through his hand and into his thigh.  Again upon his feet, he picked up his gun with his uninjured hand, and found it empty—how, he could not tell; but supposed, as he received the terrible bayonet thrust, that he must, almost instinctively, have touched the trigger, and discharged his rifle, and that the ball must have cut some main artery of his antagonist, as he bled profusely.

       Another incident of the battle: When William Twitty, who behaved so gallantly in the defence of Graham's Fort the preceding summer, and now serving among the South Fork or Lincoln boys, discovered that his most intimate crony had been shot down by his side, he believed that he knew from the powder-smoke, from behind which tree the fatal ball had sped; and watching his opportunity to avenge the death of his friend, he had not long to wait, for soon he observed a head poking itself out from its shelter, when he quickly fired, and the Tory fell.  After the battle, Twitty repaired to the tree and found one of his neighbors, a well-known Loyalist, with his brains blown out.

       Abram Forney, a brave soldier of Captain William Johnston's company, of the Lincoln men, used in after years to relate this incident of the battle: When the contest had become warm and well-maintained on both sides, a small party of Whigs, not relishing the abundance of lead flying all around them, and occasionally cutting down some gallant comrade at their side, concluded to take temporary shelter behind an old hollow chestnut tree—a mere shell— which stood near, and from its walls to pour forth a destructive fire upon the enemy.  The British, however, presently observed the quarter whence this galling fire proceeded, and immediately returned their compliments in the shape of a few well-aimed volleys at the old shell, completely perforating it with balls, and finally shivering it in pieces.

       When Cleveland's regiment hastened to their appointed place of attack, under a heavy fire while on the way, their brave commander exclaimed, pointing significantly to the mountain, "Yonder is your enemy, and the enemy of mankind!"  They were soon hotly engaged with the Loyalists lining the brow of the eminence before them.  From the Colonel down to the humblest private they all heartily detested Tories, and fought them with a resolute determination to subdue them at all hazards. They sought all natural places of protection—trees, logs, rocks, and bushes; when Cleveland would, ever and anon, vociferously urge onward and upward his troops—"a little nearer to them, my brave men!"  And the men of Wilkes and Surry would then dart from their places of concealment, and make a dash for more advanced positions.  Occasionally one of their number would fall, which only served to nerve on the survivors to punish the Tories yet more effectually.

       In one of these bold and dashing forays, Lieutenant Samuel Johnson, of Captain Joel Lewis' company, was more adventurous than prudent, and found himself and men in a most dangerous and exposed position, which resulted in the loss of several of his soldiers, and receiving himself a severe wound in the abdomen.  Three bullet holes were made in one skirt of his coat, and four in the other.  After Lieutenant Johnson had fallen, and while the contest was yet fiercely raging around him, he repeatedly threw up his hands, shouting— "Huzza, boys!"  The salvation of his life was attributed to the scanty amount of food he had taken during the three days preceding the battle, so difficult had it been to obtain it.  Of his fellow officers of Cleveland's regiment who were also among the wounded, were Major Micajah Lewis, Captain Joel Lewis, Captain Minor Smith, and Lieutenant James M. Lewis; the three wounded Lewises were brothers, and a noble triumvirate they were. Daniel Siske and Thomas Bicknell were among the killed of the Wilkes regiment, as the manuscript records of that county show.

       Many a mortal combat and hand-to-hand rencontre, took place in this part of the line. Charles Gordon, apparently a young officer, made a quick, bold movement into the midst of the enemy, seizing a Tory officer by his cue, and commenced dragging him down the mountain, when the fellow suddenly drew and discharged his pistol, breaking Gordon's left arm; whereupon the latter, with his sword in hand, killed the officer outright.  The whole affair was but the work of a moment, and was regarded at the time as an intrepid act—a prodigy of valor.  David Witherspoon, also of Cleveland's regiment, in getting into close quarters, discovered one of the enemy prostrate on the ground, loading and firing in rapid succession.  Witherspoon drew his rifle on him and fired, when the Red Coat, wounded, pitched the butt of his gun, in submission, towards his antagonist, throwing up his hands imploring mercy; and when Witherspoon reached him, he found his mouth full of balls, chewing them so as to make them jagged, and render the wounds they might inflict more fatal.

       Early in the engagement, Colonel Cleveland's noble steed, "Roebuck," received two wounds, and he had to dismount; yet, unwieldly as he was, he managed under the excitement surrounding him, to keep fully up with his men, and, with rifle in hand, gallantly fulfilling all the duties of the occasion; until he was at length remounted, one of his men bringing him another horse.  An incident occurred, near the close of the contest, of an exciting character, and which very nearly cost the heroic Colonel his life. Charles Bowen, of Captain William Edmondson's company, of Campbell's regiment, heard vaguely that his brother, Lieutenant Reece Bowen, had been killed, and was much distressed and exasperated in consequence.  On the spur of the moment, and without due consideration of the danger he incurred, he commenced a wild and hurried search for his brother, hoping he might yet find him in a wounded condition only.  He soon came across his own fallen Captain Edmondson, shot in the head, and dying; and hurrying from one point to another, he at length found himself within fifteen or twenty paces of the enemy, and near to Colonel Cleveland, when he slipped behind a tree.

       At this time, the enemy began to waver, and show signs of surrendering.  Bowen promptly shot down the first man among them who hoisted a flag; and immediately, as the custom was, turned his back to the tree, to re-load, when Cleveland advanced on foot, suspecting from the wildness of his actions that he was a Tory, and demanded the countersign, which Bowen, in his half-bewildered state of mind, had, for the time being, forgotten.  Cleveland, now confirmed in his conjectures, instantly levelled his rifle at Bowen's breast, and attempted to shoot; but fortunately it missed fire.  Bowen enraged, and perhaps hardly aware of his own act, jumped at and seized Cleveland by the collar, snatched his tomahawk from his belt, and would in another moment have buried it in the Colonel's brains, had not his arm been arrested by a soldier, named Buchanan, who knew both parties.  Bowen, now coming to himself, recollected the countersign, and gave it—"Buford;" when Cleveland dropped his gun, and clasped Bowen in his arms for joy, that each had so narrowly and unwittingly been restrained from sacrificing the other. Well has a noble South Carolina orator, a grandson of the illustrious Campbell, described him—"Cleveland, so brave and yet so gentle!"

       What will happen next?  Lord willing we’ll look at the conclusion of this battle 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. 246-63.

The Presbyterian "Rebels"

       In my last post, we took a look at a description of the Tories (the American-born men who fought for the British) who comprised the bulk of the forces of Patrick Ferguson at the battle of King’s Mountain.  Let us now turn our attention to a description of the Patriot forces that are beginning to close the noose around Ferguson’s neck!

       In the confronting ranks was a very different class of men. Those from the Holston, under Campbell, were a peculiar people—somewhat of the character of Cromwell's soldiery. They were, almost to a man, Presbyterians. In their homes, in the Holston Valley, they were settled in pretty compact congregations; quite tenacious of their religious and civil liberties, as handed down from father to son from their Scotch-Irish ancestors. Their preacher, Rev. Charles Cummins, was well fitted for the times; a man of piety and sterling patriotism, who constantly exerted himself to encourage his people to make every needed sacrifice, and put forth every possible exertion in defense of the liberties of their country. They were a remarkable body of men, both physically and mentally. Inured to frontier life, raised mostly in Augusta and Rockbridge Counties, Virginia, a frontier region in the French and Indian war, they early settled on the Holston, and were accustomed from their childhood to border life and hardships ; ever ready at the tap of the drum to turn out on military service; if, in the busiest crop season, their wives, sisters, and daughters could, in their absence, plant, and sow, and harvest. They were better educated than most of the frontier settlers, and had a more thorough understanding of the questions at issue between the Colonies and their mother country. These men went forth to strike their country's foes, as did the patriarchs of old, feeling assured that the God of battles was with them, and that He would surely crown their efforts with success. They had no doubts nor fears. They trusted in God—and kept their powder dry. Such a thing as a coward was not known among them. How fitting it was, that to such a band of men should have been assigned, by Campbell's own good judgment, the attack on Ferguson's choicest troops—his Provincial Rangers. It was a happy omen of success—literally the forlorn hope—the right men in the right place.

       Lacey's men, mostly from York and Chester Counties, South Carolina, and some of those under Shelby, Sevier, Cleveland, Williams, Winston, and McDowell, were of the same character—Scotch-Irish Presbyterians; but many of them, especially those from the Nolachucky, Watauga, and lower Holston, who had not been very long settled on the frontiers, were more of a mixed race, somewhat rough, but brave, fearless, and full of adventure. They were not a whit less patriotic than the Virginians; and were ever ready to hug a bear, scalp an Indian, or beard the fiercest Tories wherever they could find them. Such, in brief, were the salient characteristics of the mountaineers, and the men of the up-country of the Carolinas, who were about to engage in deadly conflict with Ferguson and his motley followers.

       The decisive moment was now at hand, and the mountaineers were eager for the fray. Campbell and his corps commanders had arranged their forces into two divisions, as nearly equal as they could conveniently form them, each party to attack opposite sides of the mountain.   Campbell was to lead his Virginians across the southern end of the ridge, and south-east side, which Shelby designates as the column of the right center; then Sevier's regiment, McDowell's and Winston's battalions, were to form a column on the right wing, north-east of Campbell, and in the order named, under the command of Lieutenant-Colonel Sevier. Of these, Winston had, it will be remembered, made a detour some distance to the south of Ferguson, in order the more promptly to gain the position assigned him, and per-adventure lend a helping hand in retarding the enemy, should they conclude that a hasty retreat was the better part of valor.

       Shelby's regiment was to take position on the left of the mountain, directly opposite to Campbell, and form the left center—Campbell's left and Shelby's right coming together; and beyond Shelby were respectively Williams' command, including Brandon, Hammond, and Candler ; then the South Carolinians under Lacey, Hathorne, and Steen, with the remainder of the Wilkes and Surry men under Cleveland, together with the Lincoln troops under Chronicle and Ham-bright, all under the direction of Colonel Cleveland. By this disposition was the patriot force arranged in four columns—two on either side of the mountain, led respectively by Colonels Campbell and Sevier on the right, and Shelby and Cleveland on the left. It is reasonable to presume that, as Winston had been detached, when a mile away, to gain his assigned position on the right, that Chronicle and Ham-bright were also early ordered to gain the extreme left portion of the mountain, so that these two parties should meet each other, and thus encompass the enemy on that end of the ridge.

       Before taking up the line of march, Campbell and the leading officers earnestly appealed to their soldiers—to the higher instincts of their natures, by all that was patriotic and noble among men, to fight like heroes, and give not an inch of ground, save only from the sheerest necessity, and then only to retrace and recover their lost ground at the earliest possible moment. Campbell personally visited all the corps; and said to Cleveland's men, as he did to all, "that if any of them, men or officers, were afraid, to quit the ranks and go home; that he wished no man to engage in the action who could not fight; that, as for himself, he was determined to fight the enemy a week, if need be, to gain the victory.''  Colonel Campbell also gave the necessary orders to all the principal officers, and repeated them, so as to be heard by a large portion of the line, and then placed himself at the head of his own regiment, as the other officers did at the head of their respective commands.  Many of the men threw aside their hats, tying handkerchiefs around their heads, so as to be less likely to be retarded by limbs and bushes when dashing up the mountain.

       At length the several corps started for the scene of conflict, marching two men deep, led on by their gallant officers. Both the right and left wings were somewhat longer in reaching their designated places than had been expected. When Winston's party had marched about a mile, they reached a steep hill, losing sight of the other columns, and evidently of King's Mountain also. Some men riding in view directed them to dismount from their horses, and march up the hill, which was immediately done, with the anticipation of meeting the enemy on its summit; but, before they had advanced two hundred paces, they were again hailed, disabused of their error, and directed to re-mount their horses and push on, as King's Mountain was yet a mile away. They now ran down the declivity with great precipitation to their horses, and, mounting them, rode, like so many fox hunters, at an almost break-neck speed, through rough woods and brambles, leaping branches and crossing ridges, without a proper guide who had a personal knowledge of the country. But they soon fell upon the enemy, as good luck would have it, at the very point of their intended destination.  ¹

       Kind of exciting, isn’t it?  Props to those Presbyterians!  No wonder the British called the War for Independence a “Presbyterian rebellion.”  I love Draper’s description of these men; mostly all Presbyterians but some more educated, some more “rough.”   No matter what their respective socio-economic conditions, all were united in their common belief that Christ was King and that to resist tyrants was to obey God.  How will it all turn out?  Lord willing we’ll look at the conclusion of this battle 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. 242-6.

A Look At The Tories

       In my last post, we took a look at Patrick Ferguson’s plea/address to the people in the surrounding communities to come to the aid of his force.  Just as an aside, and before we wrap up this look at the battle of King’s Mountain, I thought it might be helpful to examine Draper’s description of the composition of the opposing forces.  In this post, we’ll take a look at the Tory troops on the British side.

       It is fitting, in this connection, to speak of the character of these Loyalists, here arrayed on King's Mountain, and about to engage in a memorable conflict against their common country—for they were all, or nearly all, save Ferguson himself, natives of the Colonies. Now that Dunlap was separated from them, Ferguson's corps of Rangers seem to have been quite as unobjectionable a class of men as the temptations and unrestrained recklessness of war ordinarily permit the military to be; and, though they had fled before Captain Hampton in their retreat from Earle's Ford of North Pacolet, and had recoiled before the galling fire of Shelby and Clarke near Cedar Spring, the summer preceding, yet they were experienced soldiers, and were by many accounted as brave and reliable as any British troops in America.

       But who were the Tories proper? They were made up of different classes of citizens who sympathized with, or took up arms for the King, and fought against their fellow-citizens who were bravely contending for the liberties of their country. Those of them who remained after the war, in their old localities, were sadly abused and villified as long as they lived. They hardly dared to offer an apology for their conduct. They were numerous in many of the States, and have left many descendants, not a few of whom are among the most worthy and respected in the communities where they reside ; yet none of them boast of their relationship to the Loyalists. It has been the fashion to stigmatize the Tories without stint and without discrimination, heaping all manner of reproaches upon them and their class generally.  The issue of the war, and the general verdict of the Whigs, who had suffered not a little in the seven years' conflict, seemed to justify these severe judgments. No one now supposes that he would have been a Tory, had it been the will of Providence that he should have been an actor in the scenes of the Revolution a century ago. As he reads the history of the stirring events connected with the war, he concludes, that had he been there, he would, as a matter of course, have been on the right side, periling life and fortune at every hazard in the cause of freedom.

       It is easy enough for us to imagine, when we read of deeds of humanity, generosity, and noble daring, that we, too, would have acted in a similar manner had we been in the same situation as those persons were who performed them. Few know, till they are tried, what they would do under certain circumstances. One's associations, surroundings, and temptations oftentimes exert an overpowering influence. Let us judge even the Tories with as much charity and leniency as we can. Some of them were cajoled into the British service, and not a few forced into it under various pretenses and intimidations.

       Rev. James H. Saye, who has spent his life of over seventy years in Georgia and South Carolina, and had much intercourse with the survivors of the Revolution in his day, made the various classes of Tories a special subject of study and inquiry, including the influences that prompted their unhappy choice, and grouped them into six principal divisions:

       I. There were some men in the country conscientiously opposed to war, and every sort of revolution which led to it, or invoked its aid. They believed that they ought to be in subjection to the powers that be; and hence they maintained their allegiance to the British crown. The Quakers were of this class. They were then far more numerous in the Carolinas than now. They were, religiously, non-combatants; and the weight of their influence naturally fell on the wrong side.

       2.  There were many persons who really knew nothing of the questions at issue in the contest. The world has always been cursed with too large a stock of men of this class, whose days are passed in profound ignorance of everything which requires an exertion of intellect, yet often the most self-conceited beings that wear the human form—perfect moles, delighting in nothing so much as dirt and darkness. This class followed their cunning and intriguing leaders in the Revolution, and were easily and naturally led into the camp of the Loyalists.

       3.  Another class thought the Government of George the Third too good to exchange for an uncertainty. They practically said: "Let well enough alone; a little tax on tea won't hurt us; and as for principles and doctrines, leave them to the lawyers and parsons."

       4. Another class thought that, however desirable the right of self-government might be, it was then quite out of the question, unless his most gracious Majesty might be pleased to grant it; and they believed that the fleets and armies of Great Britain were perfectly invincible, while defeat and utter ruin to all engaged in it must follow rebellion against the King.

       5.  There was another class who claimed no little credit for shrewdness and management; who prided themselves on being genteel and philosophical. If they ever had scruples of conscience, they amounted to very little; if any religious principles, they imposed no self-denial, and forbade no sensual gratification. If they had a spark of patriotism or love for their King, it could only be kindled by fuel from the Government coffers. The needle is no truer to the pole than were these people to the prospect of gain. War is usually a great distributor of money; they wanted a liberal share, and wanted to acquire it easily. On the fall of Charleston, when Sir Henry Clinton issued his proclamation, these money-worshipers discovered in it a bow of promise.  Pardon was offered to all rebels with one exception; and that exception embraced many persons of large estates, and a still greater number possessing comfortable means. Here the shadow of a golden harvest flitted before their longing eyes. The excepted Whigs had property enough to make many rich, if informed against by the zealous advocates of the crown; or, if plundered and appropriated without taking the trouble of making any report of the matter. Feelings of humanity and tenderness were not cultivated or regarded—it was enough that the proscribed Whigs had well-cultivated farms, negroes, horses, cattle, or other desirable property, and that they had, in their estimation, justly forfeited all by rebelling against the King and his Government. This class became the sycophants to Royal authority, and the army of plunderers during the war; and once hardened in pillaging, they soon became reckless of life and virtue.

       6. There was yet another class which had a large following among the Tories—a class, too, which either on account of its numbers, industry, or general influence, gave character to a large portion of the whole fraternity. When a Revolutionary soldier was asked, "What sort of men were the Tories?" The almost invariable reply was, "A pack of rogues." An eminent example of this class was found in the person of Plundering Sam Brown, already described, a notorious robber years before the war commenced; yet, like other men who had wealth or the means of acquiring it, he had numerous friends and followers. He had the shrewdness to perceive that the field was well suited to his tastes and habits; and accordingly rallied his retainers, joined Ferguson, and for a time proved an efficient ally. Though he had been an outlaw for many years, yet few brought to the Royal standard a larger share of talent for cunning and inhumanity for the position assigned him. He now enjoyed the liberty of plundering under the sanction of law and authority, and of arresting, for the sake of reward, those who had long been known as the stanch defenders of honesty and justice. The notorious Captain David Fanning, Bloody Bill Bates, and Bloody Bill Cunningham were men of the same infamous character—unfeeling, avaricious, revengeful, and bloody.

       Here, then, were the conscientious class of Loyalists; an ignorant class; an indifferent class; a cowardly class; a covetous, money-making class; and a disappointed, roguish, revengeful class. It must not be supposed that these characteristics were never combined. Several of them had a natural affinity for each other, and were almost invariably found united in the same person. The non-combatants, the cowards, and the indifferent were not found among those arrayed on King's Mountain ; but Ferguson's force, aside from the young men who had enlisted under his standard, and a few worthy but misguided people, was largely made up of the worst characters which war evolves from the dregs of mankind.

       Lord willing, in the next post, we’ll take a look at the character of the men who comprised the Patriot forces arrayed against Ferguson.

Christ, not man, is King!

Dale

1)      Lyman C. Draper, King’s Mountain and Its Heroes (Cincinnati, OH: Peter G. Thomson, 1881), p. 238-42.