The Campaign Against Sundusky Begins

       In May of 1782, after suffering much from the attacks upon their settlements by the British-supported Indian tribes, the enraged settlers began to assemble their forces in preparation for an attack against the perceived “hive” of the operations against them: the Indian settlement at Sandusky.  In this portion of Butterfield’s work on the subject, we catch a glimpse of what the typical volunteer looked like.

      There was much enthusiasm in the settlements, preparing for the campaign; nevertheless, there was, generally, a due appreciation of the desperate nature of the project.  A march so far into the enemy's country as was now proposed, had not been made in that direction, from the western border, during the war.  The venture, therefore, required stout hearts and steady nerves, when looked fairly in the face.  It is a tradition—nay, an established fact—that many, aside from the ordinary arrangements necessary for a month's absence—not so much, however, from a presentiment of disaster as from that prudence which careful and thoughtful men are prone to exercise—executed deeds "in consideration of love and affection;" and many witnesses were called in to subscribe to "last wills and testaments."

       It was generally understood that, when the army should begin its march from Mingo Bottom, it would press forward with all practicable speed to effect a surprise, if possible; the best horses, therefore, in the settlements were selected for the enterprise.  In their trappings, as might be expected, nothing was sacrificed to show—to mere display.  Bridles of antique appearance, and saddles venerable with age—heir-looms in not a few instances, brought over the mountains—were put in order for the occasion.  Pack-saddles also were called into requisition for carrying supplies.  These were, as a general thing, exceedingly primitive in their construction.  Some furnished themselves with extra rope halters, in expectation of returning with horses captured from the enemy.

       The volunteer, in his war-dress, presented a picturesque appearance.  His hunting-shirt, reaching half-way down his thighs, was securely belted at the waist, the bosom serving as a wallet.  The belt, tied behind, answered several purposes besides that of holding the wide folds of the shirt together.  Within it, on the right side, was suspended his tomahawk; on the left, his scalping-knife.  He wore moccasins instead of shoes upon his feet.  His equipage was very simple.  Strapped to his saddle was the indispensable knapsack, made of coarse tow cloth, in which were several small articles, placed there, perhaps, by a loving wife, or a thoughtful mother or sister.  From the pommel of his saddle was suspended a canteen—a very useful article, as the weather was unusually warm for the season. Flour and bacon constituted his principal supply of food.  His blanket, used as a covering for his saddle, answered also for a bed at night.

       Of his weapons of defense, the volunteer relied mainly upon his rifle.  Trained to its use almost from infancy, he was, of course, a sharp-shooter—frequently a dead-shot.  Taking his trusted weapon down from the hooks, where it was usually to be seen suspended beneath the cross-beams of his cabin, he carefully cleaned it, and picked the flint anew.  His powder-horn was then filled, and securely fastened to a strap passing over his left shoulder and under the right.  His leather pouch, either fastened to his belt or thrust into his bosom, was first filled with bullets, bullet-patches, and extra flints.  The edge of his tomahawk was made a little keener than usual; and his scalping-knife was carefully examined before being thrust into its leathern sheath.

       The moment of leaving was, in many cases, a trying one to the volunteer.  There are many incidents still lingering in the memory of the aged, who, in their youth, were told the tales of these parting scenes. "My father was one of the volunteers," writes Joseph Paull, a citizen of Fayette county, Pennsylvania, "and at that time was young and unmarried.  When he determined on going he told his widowed mother.  She was greatly distressed.  'Why, James, said she, 'you are not well enough to go; you are sick.'  'I can ride,' was the response, 'and I can shoot.'  'But,' interrupted the mother, 'suppose you lose your horse?'  'Well,' said James, 'I have made up my mind to go.'  And go he did, leaving grandmother in great grief, as he embraced her and bid her good-bye.  He was very sad when he mounted his horse and rode away.  Once with his comrades, however, his sadness soon wore off."  Usually, however, the soldier took, leave of home without ceremony.  A common mode was to step out of the door of the cabin, discharge his rifle, and immediately march off, without looking back or saying a word.  Hand-shaking, parting words, and kisses were too trying to his feelings!

       The volunteers were mostly of Irish or Scotch-Irish descent—young, active, and generally spirited.  Many were from the Youghiogheny and around Beesontown (Uniontown), in Westmoreland county.  Most of these came on to Redstone Old Fort (Brownsville), on the Monongahela, where they were joined by many from the settlements around, and from the "forks of Yough."  They then proceeded to Catfish (Washington), in Washington county.  After the accession of a considerable number from this vicinity and Ten-mile, the whole moved westward, adding a few to their numbers in "Pan-handle" Virginia.

       As the volunteers threaded their way toward the Ohio, along the bridle-paths, their course was mostly through dense forests; only here and there was there a lonely cabin, or, perchance, a fort or stockade.  As they passed these, they were sure to be cordially greeted by the borderer; and matrons, in linsey petticoats, with home-made handkerchiefs as the only adornment for their heads and necks, standing barefoot in front of their doors, waved onward the cavalcade with many a "God speed you, my brave lads!"  Many, however, were dilatory in their arrival at the Ohio; so that all were not gathered opposite Mingo Bottom when the crossing began—indeed, some crossed the river above and others below the appointed place, traveling along the west bank of the stream until they reached the site of the old Mingo town. ¹

Christ, not man, is King!

Dale

1)      C.W. Butterfield, An Historical Account of the Expedition Against Sandusky (Cincinnati, OH: Robert Clarke & Co., 1873), p. 64-8.

Border Warfare During the War for Independence

       One aspect of the American War for Independence that often gets overlooked in the popular histories of the time period is the border war between the white settlers and the British-allied Indian tribes.  This short passage excerpted here gives a little insight into the kind of savage warfare that was taking place even after the surrender of Cornwallis, where both sides were employed in the attempted extermination of their opponents.

      The expedition of [Col. David] Williamson to the Muskingum [the massacre of the Moravian Indians at Gnadenhutten, March 8 & 9, 1782] did not allay the excitement upon the frontier; it was now prevailing all along the border.  On the 24th of March, a party of borderers attacked a few friendly Delawares who were living on a small island at the mouth of the Allegheny—known as Smoky or Killbuck's island, since gone—just opposite Fort Pitt.  Several of the Indians were killed, including two who held commissions in the service of the government; the remainder effected their escape into the fort, except two who ran into the woods and succeeded in eluding their pursuers.  Even the life of Colonel [John] Gibson was in jeopardy, who, it was conceived, was a friend to the Indians—so great was the agitation throughout the western country. And it is not to be wondered at— savages were making their way into the settlements; the settlers were threatened, on all sides, with massacres, plunderings, burnings, and captivities. There was alarm and dismay in every quarter.

       The people of the border were forced into forts which dotted the country in every direction. These were in the highest degree uncomfortable.  They consisted of cabins, block-houses, and stockades. In some places, where the exposure was not great, a single blockhouse, with a cabin outside, constituted the whole fort.  For a space around, the forest was usually cleared away, so that an enemy could neither find a lurking place nor conceal his approach.

       Near these forts the borderers worked their fields in parties guarded by sentinels. Their necessary labors, therefore, were performed with every danger and difficulty imaginable.  Their work had to be carried on with their arms and all things belonging to their war-dress deposited in some central place in the field.  Sentinels were stationed on the outside of the fence; so that, on the least alarm, the whole company repaired to their arms, and were ready for the combat in a moment.

       It is not surprising that there was a deep and widespread feeling of revenge against the hostile and marauding savages.  The horrid scenes of slaughter which frequently met the view were well calculated to arouse such passions.  Helpless infancy, virgin beauty, and hoary age, dishonored by the ghastly wounds of the tomahawk and scalping-knife, were common sights.  When the slain were the friends or relatives of the beholder—wife, sister, child, father, mother, brother— it is not at all a wonder that pale and quivering lips should mutter revenge.

       From Pittsburg south, including the valleys of the Monongahela and Youghiogheny, and the territory west of these to the Ohio, was a scope of country having, at this time, a considerable population; nevertheless, there were few families who had lived therein any considerable length of time that had not lost some of their number by the merciless Indians.  ¹

Christ, not man, is King!

Dale

1)      C.W. Butterfield, An Historical Account of the Expedition Against Sandusky (Cincinnati, OH: Robert Clarke & Co., 1873), p. 38-41.

The Aftermath of King's Mountain

       In my last post, we looked at the waning moments of the Battle of King’s Mountain.  We’ll now look at the aftermath of the battle.

      The fall of Ferguson is represented by Lieutenant Allaire as having occurred "early in the action;" and Captain Ryerson, another of his corps officers, only states that DePeyster, after the loss of Ferguson, maintained his ground as long as it was possible to defend it.  Tarleton states, that when Ferguson was shot, after nearly an hour's fighting, "his whole corps was thrown into total confusion; no effort was made after this event, to resist the enemy's barbarity, or revenge the fall of their leader."  In the Memoir of General Samuel Graham, a Captain under Lord Cornwallis—a work prepared from the General's manuscripts—it is stated, that after the fall of Ferguson, and many of his men, "the remainder, after a short resistance, were overpowered, and compelled to surrender.”  A writer in the London Political Magazine,  for February, 1781, asserts that when Ferguson fell, Captain DePeyster, the next in command, " immediately hoisted the white flag —that is, his white handkerchief; an officer close by him, enraged at such timidity, made a stroke at him with his sabre, and almost cut off his hand; nevertheless the surrender went on."

       Allaire and Ryerson, his fellow officers, not only acquit DePeyster of the charge of timidity, but declare that his conduct was, in all "respects, proper;" and Captain Ryerson adds, that he "behaved like a brave good officer."  Of course, the hand-cutting incident had no foundation.  Ramsay, the South Carolina historian, states that "no chance of escape being left, and all prospect of successful resistance being at an end, the second in command sued for quarter."  Gordon, in his History, and Mackenzie, in his Strictures, adopt this view of the matter: And Ensign Robert Campbell, of the Virginia regiment observes, that as soon as Ferguson fell, "Captain DePeyster raised a flag, and called for quarters; it was soon taken out of his hand by one of the officers on horseback, and raised so high that it could be seen by our line."

       But there were other white flags or emblems displayed by the enemy, either with or without the sanction of DePeyster.  A man was mounted on horseback with a white handkerchief as a token of submission; but he was quickly shot down by the half-crazed Bowen, as already related; when another was mounted on the same horse, and set out for the display of the emblem of surrender, who soon shared the same fate, but a third met with better success— Major Evan Shelby received it, and, with others, proclaimed the surrender.  By this time white handkerchiefs were also displayed in various quarters on guns and ramrods.  "Our men," says Shelby, "who had been scattered in the battle, were continually coming up, and continued to fire, without comprehending, in the heat of the moment, what had happened."  Many of the young men, it was said for their apology, knew not the meaning of a white flag under such circumstances ; while others had become embittered, and were crying out—"Give them Buford's play !"—no quarters, as Tarleton had, the preceding May, so savagely treated Colonel Buford and his party [Battle of Waxhaws].  "When the British," says Mills' Statistics of South Carolina, "found themselves pressed on all sides, they hung out white handkerchiefs upon guns and halberds.  Few of the Americans understood the signal, and the few that did, chose not to know what it meant; so that, even after submission, the slaughter continued, until the Americans were weary of killing."  This is a sad confession, but impartial truth demands that the record be faithful, though, in this case, there is reason to believe that the latter part of Mills' statement is somewhat exaggerated.

       Among those still engaged in this work of death was young Joseph Sevier, who had heard that his father, Colonel Sevier, had been killed in the action—a false report, originating, probably, from the fact of the Colonel's brother, Captain Robert Sevier, having been fatally wounded; and the young soldier kept up firing upon the huddled Tories, until admonished to cease, when he excitedly cried out, with the tears chasing each other down his cheeks—"The d—d rascals have killed my father, and I'll keep loading and shooting till I kill every son of a b—h of them."  Colonel Sevier now riding up, his son discovered the mistake under which he had labored, and desisted.

       But the Whig leaders were active in their efforts to put a stop to the further firing of the patriots. The subdued Tories were everywhere crying "quarters!"—"quarters!"  "D—m you," exclaimed Shelby," if you want quarters, throw down your arms!"  Benjamin Sharp, of Campbell's regiment, who witnessed this scene, thus describes it: "At the close of the action, when the British were loudly calling for quarters, but uncertain whether they would be granted, I saw the intrepid Shelby rush his horse within fifteen paces of their lines, and command them to lay down their arms, and they should have quarters.  Some would call this an imprudent act; but it showed the daring bravery of the man."

       Andrew Evins, a member of Captain William Edmondson's company, of the Virginia regiment, was, with others, still firing on the demoralized Tories, when Colonel Campbell came running up, and knocked up the soldier's gun, exclaiming—"Evins, for God's sake, don't shoot!  It is murder to kill them now, for they have raised the flag!"  Campbell, as he rushed along, repeated the order—"Cease firing!—for God's sake, cease firing!"  Thus was Colonel Campbell mercifully engaged in saving the discomfited Loyalists from further effusion of blood—no officer could have acted more tender or humane; and he passed on around the prisoners, on foot, still seeking to promote their safety and protection.

       Captain DePeyster, who had succeeded Ferguson in the command, sitting on his grey horse, expostulated with Colonel Campbell, referring to the firing on his flag—"Colonel Campbell, it was d—d unfair," and then repeated it; but Campbell, probably thinking it no time to bandy words with the British leader, simply ordered him to dismount; and called out, "officers, rank by yourselves; prisoners, take off your hats, and sit down."  The enemy at this time had been driven into a group of sixty yards in length, and less than forty in width.  The mountaineers were ordered to close up in surrounding the prisoners, first in one continuous circle, then double guards, and finally four deep.  Colonel Campbell then proposed to his troops three huzzas for Liberty, which were given in hearty acclaim, making the welkin ring, and the hills resound, with their shouts of victory.

       An occurrence now transpired, that, for a few moments, changed the whole scene in that quarter; and threatened, for a brief period, the most tragic consequences.  It is known, as a British account relates it, that "a small party of the Loyal militia returning from foraging, unacquainted with the surrender, happening to fire on the Rebels, the prisoners were immediately threatened with death, if the firing should be repeated."  Whether it was the volley from this party, who probably scampered off; or whether from some of the Tories in the general huddle, exasperated perhaps that proper respect was not instantly paid to their flag, now fired upon, and mortally wounded Colonel Williams, who was riding towards the British encampment; and, wheeling back, said to William Moore, one of Campbell's regiment—"I'm a gone man !"

       Colonel Campbell was close at hand when this unhappy event transpired ; and doubtless reasoned, that if the fatal firing proceeded from an outside party, it was the precursor of Tarleton's expected relief; if from the surrendered Tories, at least some considerable portion of them were inclined to spring a trap on the Whigs, shoot down their leaders, and make a bold attempt to escape, when the patriots were measurably off their guard, and least prepared for it; and acting on the spur of the moment, he resolved on stern military tactics to quell the intended mutiny, by instantly ordering the men near him—the men of Williams and Brandon's command—to fire upon the enemy.  The order was quickly obeyed by the soldiers who had been so treacherously deprived of their intrepid leader; "and," said Lieutenant Joseph Hughes, one of Brandon's party, "we killed near a hundred of them."  But the probabilities are, that those who fired, and those who suffered from it, were not very numerous.  It was, however, a sad affair; and in the confusion of the moment, its origin and its immediate effects were probably little understood by either party; and doubtless Colonel Campbell himself deeply regretted the order he had given to fire upon an unresisting foe.

       The firing upon the British and Tories was at length suppressed. Colonel Shelby, fearing that the enemy might yet, perhaps, feel constrained, in self-defence, to resume their arms, and which they could with such facility snatch up as they lay before them, exclaimed: “Good God! what can we do in this confusion?"  '' We can order the prisoners from their arms" said Captain Sawyers. ''Yes," responded Shelby, "that can be done''; and the prisoners were accordingly forthwith marched to another place, with a strong guard placed around them.

       The surviving British leaders were prompt to surrender their swords to the first American officer that came near them. Ferguson's sword was picked up on the ground; and, according to one account, it passed into Colonel Cleveland's possession; but with more probability, according to others, it fell into the hands of Colonel Sevier.  Captain DePeyster delivered his sword, as some assert, to Colonel Campbell; while others declare it was to Major Evan Shelby.  Captain Ryerson, who was wounded, tendered his sword to Lieutenant Andrew Kincannon, of Campbell's regiment, who was, at that moment, endeavoring to check the firing on the surrendered Tories; but not regarding himself as the proper officer to receive this tender of submission, the Lieutenant, without due reflection, courteously invited the British Captain to be seated; who looking around, and seeing no seat, promptly squatted himself upon the ground, Kincannon entering into conversation with him.   Adjutant Franklin, of Cleveland's regiment, now coming up, received Ryerson's sword, the latter remarking: "You deserve it, sir!"  Colonel Campbell was stalking around among the enemy in his shirt sleeves, and his collar open, and when some of the Americans pointed him out as their commander, the British, at first, from his unmilitary plight, seemed to doubt it, but a number of officers now surrendered their swords to him, until he had several in his hands, and under his arm.

       It is proper to advert briefly to Ferguson's conduct in the battle.  It was that of a hero.  He did all that mortal man could have done, under the circumstances, to avert the impending catastrophe.  He was almost ubiquitous—his voice, his presence, and his whistle everywhere animated his men, either to renew their bayonet charges, or maintain a firm stand against the steadily encroaching mountaineers.  But he trusted too much to the bayonet against an enemy as nimble as the antelope.  "He had," says Doctor Ferguson, " two horses killed under him, while he remained untouched himself; but he afterwards received a number of wounds, of which, it is said, any one was mortal, and dropping from his horse, expired, while his foot yet hung in the stirrup."  This, if we may credit Lee's Memoirs of the War in the South,  and Burk's History of Virginia, happened after fifty minutes' fighting; or some ten or fifteen minutes before the final close of the action; and about three minutes before the flag was displayed for surrender, according to Thomas Maxwell, one of Shelby's men.

       As long as Ferguson lived, his unyielding spirit scorned to surrender.  He persevered until he received his mortal wounds.  His fall very naturally disheartened his followers.  For some time before that fatal event, there was really nothing to encourage them, save the faintest hope which they vainly cherished of momentary relief from Tarleton.  Animated by the brave example of their heroic leader, and, still confiding in his fruitful military resources, they had maintained the unequal contest under all disadvantages.  Losing his inspiration, they lost all—with him perished the last hope of success.

       Colonel Ferguson not only made a sad mistake in delaying a single moment at King's mountain with a view to a passage at arms with his pursuers; but he committed, if possible, a still more grievous error in the supposed strength of his position.  “His encampment," says the South Carolina historian, Ramsay, "on the top of the mountain was not well chosen, as it gave the Americans an opportunity of covering themselves in their approaches.  Had he pursued his march on charging and driving the first party of the militia which gave way, he might have got off with the most of his men; but his unconquerable spirit disdained either to flee or to surrender.”  The historian, Gordon, takes the same view: "Major Ferguson was overseen in making his stand on the mountain, which, being much covered with woods, gave the militia, who were all riflemen, the opportunity of approaching near, with greater safety to themselves than if they had been upon plain, open ground.  The Major, however, might have made good his retreat, if not with the whole, at least with a great part of his men, had he pursued his march immediately upon his charging and driving the first detachment; for though the militia acted with spirit for undisciplined troops, it was with difficulty that they could he prevailed upon to renew their attack, after being charged with the bayonet.  They kept aloof, and continued popping; then gathered round, and crept nearer, till, at length, they leveled the Major with one of their shots."

       General Simon Bernard, one of the most distinguished engineers, and aids-de-camp of the great Napoleon, and subsequently in the United States engineer service, on examining the battle-ground of King's Mountain, said: "The Americans, by their victory in that engagement, erected a monument to perpetuate the brave men who had fallen there; and the shape of the hill itself would be an eternal monument of the military genius and skill of Colonel Ferguson, in selecting a position so well adapted for defence; and that no other plan of assault but that pursued by the mountain-men, could have succeeded against him."

       One of our best historical critics, General DePeyster, observes: "Ferguson set an inordinate value on the position which he had selected, which, however strong against a regular attack, was not defensible against the attacks which were about to be directed upon it.  How grievously he erred as to the intrinsic availability of King's Mountain as a military position, was evinced by his remark that 'all the Rebels from h—l  could not drive him from it.'  It is true, he was not driven from it; but its bald, rocky summit merely served, like the sacrificial stone of the Aztecs, for the immolation of the victims."

       The historian, Lossing, who visited the battle-field thirty odd years ago, justly observes: "It was a strange place for an encampment or a battle, and to one acquainted with the region, it is difficult to understand why Ferguson and his band were there at all."

       It is useless to speculate on what might have changed the fate of the day; yet a few suggestions may not be out of place in this connection.  Trivial circumstances, on critical occasions, not unfrequently [sic] produce the most momentous consequences.  Had Tarleton, for instance, suddenly made his appearance before or during the battle—had the detachment at Gibbs' plantation, near the Cowpens, or Moore's foraging party, vigorously attacked the mountaineers in the rear, during the progress of the engagement, and especially during the confusion consequent upon the repulses of Campbell's and Shelby's columns; or had Ferguson chosen suitable ground on the plains, and in the woods, where his men could have availed themselves of shelter for their protection, and fought on an equality with their antagonists, the result might have been very different, and Ferguson have been the hero of the hour—and, it may be, the fate of American Independence sealed.  But in God's good Providence, such a fatal blow was not in store for the suffering patriots.

       Most of the accounts represent that the British Colonel was killed out-right.  He is said to have received six or eight bullet holes in his body—one penetrating his thigh, another re-shattering his right arm just above the elbow; and yet he continued to raise his sword in his left hand, till a rifle ball piercing his head, put an end to further fighting or consciousness.  In falling from his horse, or while being conveyed to the rear, a silver whistle dropped from his vest pocket, which was picked up by one of his soldiers, Elias Powell, who preserved it many years;  and Powell, and three others, as John Spelts relates, were seen, at the close of the surrender, bearing off, in a blanket, their fallen chief to a spring near the mountain's brow, on the southern side of the elevation; and there gently bolstered him up with rocks and blankets.  One of the Tories, who had just grounded his gun, taking in the situation, and true to his plundering instincts, ran up, and was in the act of thrusting his hand into the dying man's pockets, when the unfeeling intruder was repelled by one of the attendants, who, rudely pushing him away, exclaimed with a sarcastic oath—"Are you going to rob the dead? "  A little after, Colonel Shelby rode up, and thinking perhaps that Ferguson might yet be sensible of what was said to him—though he evidently was not—exclaimed: "Colonel, the fatal blow is struck—we've Burgoyned you?"  The life of this restless British leader soon ebbed away.  Some of the more thoughtless of the Whig soldiery, it is said, committed an act which we would fain be excused from the pain of recording.  "The mountaineers, it is reported, used every insult and indignity, after the action, towards the dead body of Major Ferguson."

       So curious were the Whigs to see the fallen British chief, that many repaired to the spot to view his body as it lay in its gore and glory.  Lieutenant Samuel Johnson, of Cleveland's regiment, who had been severely disabled in the action, desired to be carried there, that he, too, might look upon the dying or lifeless leader of the enemy whom he had so valiantly fought; when Colonel Cleveland, and two of the soldiers, bore the wounded Lieutenant to the place of pilgrimage; and even the transfixed Robert Henry, amid his pains and sufferings, could not repress his curiosity to take a look at Ferguson.  It was probably where he was conveyed, and breathed his last, that he was buried—on the south-eastern declivity of the mountain, where his mortal remains, wrapped, not in a military cloak, or hero's coffin, but in a raw beef's   hide, found a peaceful sepulture.

       The tradition in that region has been rife for more than fifty years, that Ferguson had two mistresses with him, perhaps nominally cooks—both fine looking young women.  One of them, known as Virginia Sal, a red haired lady, it is related, was the first to fall in the battle, and was buried in the same grave with Ferguson, as some assert; or, as others have it, beside the British and Tory slain; while the other, Virginia Paul, survived the action; and after it was over, was seen to ride around the camp as unconcerned as though nothing of unusual moment had happened.  She was conveyed with the prisoners at least as far as Burke Court House, now Morganton, North Carolina, and subsequently sent to Lord Cornwallis' army.

       That almost envenomed hate which the mountaineers cherished towards Ferguson and his Tory followers, nerved them to marvellous endurance while engaged in the battle.  They had eaten little or nothing since they left the Cowpens some eighteen hours before—much of the time in the rain, protecting their rifles and ammunition by divesting themselves of their blankets or portions of their clothing; and they had been, since leaving Green river, for over forty hours, without rest or repose.  "I had no shoes," said Thomas Young, "and of course fought in the battle barefoot, and, when it was over, my feet were much lacerated and bleeding."  Others, too, must have suffered from the flinty rocks over which they hurriedly passed and re-passed during the engagement.  As an instance of the all-absorbing effect of the excitements surrounding them, when the next morning the mountaineers were directed to discharge their guns, "I fired my large old musket," said Young, "charged in time of the battle with two musket balls, as I had done every time during the engagement; and the recoil, in this case, was dreadful, but I had not noticed it in the action."

       Taking it for granted that the Loyalist force under Ferguson at King's Mountain was eight hundred, it may be interesting to state what little is known of the respective numbers from the two Carolinas.  In Lieutenant Allaire's newspaper narrative, he refers to the North Carolina regiment, commanded by Colonel Ambrose Mills, as numbering "about three hundred men."  A Loyalist writer in the London Political Magazine, for April, 1783, who apparently once resided in the western part of North Carolina, asserts that the Loyalists of the Salisbury district—which embraced all the western portion of the North Province—who were with Ferguson, numbered four hundred and eighty.  Deducting the absent foraging party under Colonel Moore, who was a North Carolinian, and whose detachment may be presumed to have been made up of men from that Province, we shall have about the number mentioned by Allaire remaining.  This would suggest that about three hundred and twenty was the strength of the South Carolina Loyalists.

       As the North Carolina Tories were the first to give way, according to Allaire, and precipitate the defeat that followed, it only goes to prove that they were the hardest pressed by Campbell and Shelby, which is quite probable ; or, that the South Carolinians had been longest drilled for the service, and were consequently best prepared to maintain their ground.  It is not a little singular, that so few of the prominent Loyalist leaders, of the Ninety Six district, were present with Ferguson—only Colonel Vesey Husband, of whom we have no knowledge, and who, we suppose, was in some way associated with the South Carolina Tories, together with Majors Lee and Plummer.  Where were the other Loyalist leaders of that region—Colonels Cunningham, Kirkland, and Clary, Lieutenant-Colonels Philips and Turner, and Majors Gibbs, Hill, and Hamilton?  Some were doubtless with the party whom the Whigs had passed at Major Gibbs' plantation, near the Cowpens, or possibly with Colonel Moore's detachment; others were scattered here and there on furlough; but they were not at King's Mountain, when sorely needed, with all the strength they could have brought to the indefatigable Ferguson. That freebooter, Fanning, with his Tory foragers, who were beating about the country, fell in with Ferguson five days before his defeat; but preferring their independent bushwhacking service, they escaped the King's Mountain disaster.

       Paine, in his American Crisis, berated the Loyalists as wanting in manhood and bravery, declaring: "I should not be afraid to go with an hundred Whigs against a thousand Tories.  Every Tory is a coward, for a servile, slavish, self-interested fear is the foundation of Toryism; and a man under such influence, though he may be cruel, can never be brave."  Yet, it must be confessed, that the Loyalists evinced no little pluck and bravery at King's Mountain.  But they had been specially fitted for the service, and under the eye of a superior drill-master, as few Americans had been in either army; and it had been justly said, that, on this occasion, they fought with halters around their necks; and they, too, were expert riflemen. ¹

       Providence had, indeed, given the victory to the Patriot arms.  The British and Tories were, at least on paper, endowed with all of the advantages that should have secured the victory for their side.  Certainly Ferguson had over-played his hand, and it was his haughtiness and Tarleton’s cruelty that were the prime motivators in rallying the Patriot forces that assembled at King’s Mountain.  The “over mountain” men were bringing the harvest that the British and their Tory allies had sown in murder and destruction amongst their Whig victims in the South.  The southern theatre, which once seemed securely in British hands, now began to slip away from their grasp and Cornwallis eventually retreated to Yorktown where he met his fate in just a few short months. 

Christ, not man, is King!

Dale

1)      Lyman C. Draper, King’s Mountain and Its Heroes (Cincinnati, OH: Peter G. Thomson, 1881), p. 280-94.