Part 10 (1/2)

Now Shelby's men swarm up on the other side. Again the bayonets drive these new foes down the rocky cliffs. No sooner do the redcoats retire, than up comes Shelby again at the head of his men, nearer the top than before.

Meanwhile the riflemen, behind every tree and every rock, were picking off the redcoats. Clad in a hunting s.h.i.+rt, and blowing his silver whistle, the brave Ferguson dashes here and there to rally his men. He cuts and slashes with his sword until it is broken off at the hilt. Two horses are killed under him.

Some of the Tories raise a white flag. Ferguson rides up and cuts it down. A second flag is raised elsewhere. He rides there and cuts that down.

Now he flies at Sevier's riflemen, who had just made their way to the top of the hill. At once they recognize their man. In an instant, half a dozen bullets strike the gallant officer, and he falls dead from his horse. No longer is the shrill whistle heard.

{103} Colonel De Peyster, the next in command, bravely keeps up the fight, but the deadly rifles have done their work. The British are hemmed in and there is no escape. At the head of their men the several colonels arrive at the top of the hill about the same time.

The Tories are now huddled together near the baggage wagons.

”Quarter! quarter!” they cry everywhere.

”Remember Buford!” madly shout the victorious patriots.

”Throw down your arms, if you want quarter!” cries Shelby.

In despair, De Peyster at last raises a white flag, and white handkerchiefs are waved from ramrods. Some of the younger backwoodsmen did not know what a white flag meant, and kept on firing. The colonels ordered them to stop, and then made the Tories take off their hats and sit down on the ground.

There had been fierce and b.l.o.o.d.y work this beautiful autumn afternoon, on the crest of that rocky hill. Friends, neighbors, and relatives, in their bitter hatred, taunted and jeered one another, as they shot and stabbed in the desperate struggle.

Ferguson had about eleven hundred men in the action. Of these about four hundred were killed, wounded, or missing, and some seven hundred made prisoners. Of the patriots, twenty-eight were killed and about sixty wounded.

{104} Under bold and resolute leaders, the backwoods riflemen had swept over the mountains like a Highland clan. Their work done, they wished to return home. They knew too well the dangers of an Indian attack on those they had left in their distant log cabins.

After burying their dead, and loading their horses with the captured guns and supplies, the victors shouldered their rifles, and, carrying their wounded on litters made of the captured tents, vanished from the mountains as suddenly as they had appeared.

Such was the defeat of the red dragoons at King's Mountain. It proved to be one of the decisive battles of the Revolution, and was the turn of the tide of British success in the South. The courage of the Southern patriots rose at a bound, and the Tories of the Carolinas never recovered from the blow.

{105}

CHAPTER VIII

FROM TEAMSTER TO MAJOR GENERAL

On July 3, 1775, under the great elm on Cambridge Common, Was.h.i.+ngton took command of the patriot army. During the siege of Boston, which followed, his headquarters were in that fine old mansion, the Craigie house, where, from time to time, met men whose names became great in the history of the Revolution.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Was.h.i.+ngton taking Command of the American Army, at Cambridge]

Hither came to consult with the commander in chief three men who died hated and scorned by their countrymen. The first was Horatio Gates, a vainglorious man, given to intrigue and treachery. Next came tall and slovenly Charles Lee of Virginia, a restless adventurer, who, by his cowardice in the battle of Monmouth, stirred even Was.h.i.+ngton to anger. Then there was a young man for whom Was.h.i.+ngton had a peculiar liking on account of his great personal bravery, who afterward became the despised Benedict Arnold.

But here were also gathered men of another stamp,--men whom the nation delights to honor. From the granite hills of New Hamps.h.i.+re, came rough and ready John Stark, who afterwards whipped the British at Bennington. From little Rhode Island, came Nathanael Greene, a young Quaker, who began life as a blacksmith, {106} but who became the ablest general of the Revolution except Was.h.i.+ngton.

Into this group of patriot leaders came also Daniel Morgan of Virginia. Little is known of the early life of this remarkable man.

He would rarely say anything about his family. It is believed that he was born of obscure Welsh people, in New Jersey, about the year 1737.

At seventeen, Morgan could barely read and write. He was rude of speech and uncouth in manners, but his heart was brave, and he scorned to lie.

The next two years did wonders for this awkward boy. He grew to be over six feet tall, with limbs of fine build, and with muscles like iron. In some way he had found time to study, and was regarded by the village people as a promising young fellow.