The author congratulates his dear country on her late glorious victories — recapitulates British cruelties, drawing after them, judicially, a succession of terrible overthrows.
Happy Carolina! I exclaimed, as our late victories passed over my delighted thoughts; happy Carolina! dear native country, hail! long and dismal has been the night of thy affliction: but now rise and sing, for thy "light is breaking forth, and the dawn of thy redemption is brightening around."
For opposing the curses of slavery, thy noblest citizens have been branded as `rebels', and treated with a barbarity unknown amongst civilized nations. They have been taken from their beds and weeping families, and transported, to pine and die in a land of strangers.
They have been crowded into midsummer jails and dungeons,* there, unpitied, to perish amidst suffocation and stench; while their wives and children, in mournful groups around the walls, were asking with tears for their husbands and fathers!
—* All Europe was filled with horror at the history ofthe one hundred and twenty unfortunate Englishmen that were suffocatedin the black hole of Calcutta. Little was it thought thatan English nobleman (lord Rawdon) would so soon have repeated that crime,by crowding one hundred and sixty-four unfortunate Americansinto a small prison in Camden, in the dogdays.—
They have been wantonly murdered with swords and bayonets,* or hung up like dogs to ignominious gibbets.
—* A brother of that excellent man, major Linning, of Charleston, was takenfrom his plantation on Ashley river, by one of the enemy's galleys,and thrust down into the hold. At night the officers beganto drink and sing, and kept it up till twelve o'clock,when, by way of frolic, they had him brought, though sick, into their cabin,held a court martial over him, sentenced him to death,very deliberately executed the sentence by stabbing him with bayonets,and then threw his mangled body into the river for the sharks and crabsto devour.—
They have been stirred up and exasperated against each other, to the most unnatural and bloody strifes. "Fathers to kill their sons, and brothers to put brothers to death!"
Such were the deeds of Cornwallis and his officers in Carolina! And while the churches in England were, everywhere, resounding with prayers to Almighty God, "to spare the effusion of human blood," those monsters were shedding it with the most savage wantonness! While all the good people in Britain were praying, day and night, for a speedy restoration of the former happy friendship between England and America, those wretches were taking the surest steps to drive all friendship from the American bosom, and to kindle the flames of everlasting hatred!
But, blessed be God, the tears of the widows and orphans have prevailed against them, and the righteous Judge of all the earth is rising up to make inquisition for the innocent blood which they have shed. And never was his hand more visibly displayed in the casting down of the wicked, than in humbling Cornwallis and his bloody crew.
At this period, 1780, the western extremities were the only parts of the state that remained free. To swallow these up, Cornwallis sent Col. Ferguson, a favorite officer, with fourteen hundred men. Hearing of the approach of the enemy, and of their horrible cruelties, the hardy mountaineers rose up as one man from Dan to Beersheba. They took their faithful rifles. They mounted their horses, and with each his bag of oats, and a scrap of victuals, they set forth to find the enemy. They had no plan, no general leader. The youth of each district, gathering around their own brave colonel, rushed to battle. But though seemingly blind and headlong as their own mountain streams, yet there was a hand unseen that guided their course. They all met, as by chance, near the King's mountain, where the ill-fated Ferguson encamped. Their numbers counted, made three thousand. That the work and victory may be seen to be of God, they sent back all but one thousand chosen men.
A thousand men on mountains bred,With rifles all so bright,Who knew full well, in time of need,To aim their guns aright.
At parting, the ruddy warriors shook hands with their returning friends, and sent their love. "Tell our fathers," said they, "that we shall think of them in the battle, and draw our sights the truer."
Then led on by the brave colonels Campbell, Cleveland, Shelby, Sevier, and Williams, they ascended the hill and commenced the attack. Like Sinai of old, the top of the mountain was soon wrapped in smoke and flames; the leaden deaths came whizzing from all quarters; and in forty minutes Ferguson was slain, and the whole of his party killed, wounded or taken.
To avenge this mortifying blow, Cornwallis despatched colonel Tarleton with thirteen hundred and fifty picked troops, against Morgan, who had but nine hundred men, and these more than half militia. At the first onset, the militia fled,* leaving Morgan with only four hundred to contend against thirteen hundred and fifty, rushing on furiously as to certain victory. What spectator of this scene must not have given up all for lost, and with tears resigned this little forlorn, to that unsparing slaughter which colonel Tarleton delighted in? But, contrary to all human expectation, the devoted handful stood their ground, and, in a short time, killed and captured nearly the whole of their proud assailants!
— * While Weems' exaggerations have been left largely unremarked in this text, the disservice done to those militia who fought bravely at Cowpens compels me to note that this description is inaccurate. — A. L., 1997. —
Raging like a wounded tiger, Cornwallis destroys all his heavy baggage, and pushes hard after Morgan. The pursuit is urged with unimaginable fury: and Cornwallis gains so fast upon the Americans, encumbered with their prisoners, that on the evening of the ninth day he came up to the banks of the Catawba, just as Morgan's rear had crossed at a deep ford. Before the wished-for morning returned, the river was so swollen by a heavy rain, that Cornwallis could not pass. Adoring the hand of Heaven, the Americans continued their flight. On the morning of the third day, Cornwallis renewed the pursuit with redoubled fury, and by the ninth evening, came up to the banks of the Yadkin, just as Morgan's last rifle corps was about to take the ford. Presently the rain came rushing down in torrents, and by the morning light the furious river was impassable! Who so blind as not to acknowledge the hand of God in all this?
Soon as he could get over, the wrathful Cornwallis renewed the pursuit; but before he could overtake them at Guilford Courthouse, the Americans, joined by their countrymen, gave him battle, and killed one third of his army. Cornwallis then, in turn, fled before the Americans; and as he had outmarched them before, he outran them now, and escaped safely to Wilmington. With largely recruited force he returned to Virginia, where four hundred deluded men, (tories) under colonel Pyles, came forward to join him. On their way they fell in with Col. Lee and his legion. Mistaking them for Tarleton and his cavalry, they wave their hats and cry out, "God save the king! God save the king!" Lee encourages the mistake, until they are all intermixed with his dragoons, who at a signal given, draw their swords and hew the wretches to pieces. Only one hundred make their escape. These fall in, the next day, with colonel Tarleton, who, mistaking them for what he called "damned rebels", ordered his troops to charge, which they did; and regardless of their repeated cries, that "they were the king's best friends," put most of them to death.
Thus wonderfully did God baffle lord Cornwallis, and visit a sudden and bloody destruction upon those unnatural wretches, who were going forth to plunge their swords into the bowels of their own country.
After this, being joined by all the British troops in that quarter, he rolled on like an angry flood to Williamsburg and York, where God sent his servant Washington, who presently captured him and his fleet and army, near ten thousand strong.
The British evacuate Charleston — great joy of the citizens — patriotism of the Charleston ladies.
As when a lion that has long kept at bay the fierce assaulting shepherds, receives at last his mortal wound, suddenly the monster trembles under the deadly stroke; and, sadly howling, looks around with wistful eye towards his native woods. Such was the shock given to the British, when the sword of heaven-aided justice struck down the bloody Cornwallis. With him fell the hopes of the enemy throughout our state.
In Charleston, their officers were seen standing together in groups, shaking their heads as they talked of the dreadful news. While those who had marched up so boldly into the country, now panic-struck, were every where busied in demolishing their works, blowing up their magazines, and hurrying back to town in the utmost dismay. Hard pressing upon the rear, we followed the steps of their flight, joyfully chasing them from a country which they had stained with blood, and pursuing them to the very gates of Charleston. As we approached the city, our eyes were presented with scenes of desolation sufficient to damp all hearts, and to inspire the deepest sense of the horrors of war. Robbed of all animal and vegetable life, the neighboring plantations seemed but as dreary deserts, compared with what they once were, when, covered with sportive flocks and herds, and rice and corn, they smiled with plenteousness and joy. In the fields, the eyes beheld no sign of cheerful crops, nor in the woods any shape of living beast or bird, except a few mournful buzzards, silently devouring the unburied flesh of some poor wretched mortals, who had fallen in the late rencontres between the English and Americans. Indeed, had those days continued, no flesh could have been saved; but blessed be God, who shortened them, by chastising the aggressors (the British) as we have seen.
On the memorable 14th of December, 1782, we entered and took possession of our capital, after it had been two years seven months and two days in the hands of the enemy. The style of our entry was quite novel and romantic. On condition of not being molested while embarking, the British had offered to leave the town unhurt. Accordingly, at the firing of a signal gun in the morning, as agreed on, they quitted their advanced works, near the town gate, while the Americans, moving on close in the rear, followed them all along through the city down to the water's edge, where they embarked on board their three hundred ships, which, moored out in the bay in the shape of an immense half moon, presented a most magnificent appearance.
The morning was as lovely as pure wintry air and cloudless sunbeams could render it; but rendered far lovelier still by our procession, if I may so call it, which was well calculated to awaken the most pleasurable feelings. In front, were the humble remains of that proud army, which, one and thirty months ago, captured our city, and thence, in the drunkenness of victory had hurled menaces and cruelties disgraceful to the British name: — And close in the rear, was our band of patriots, bending forward with martial music and flying colors, to play the last joyful act in the drama of their country's deliverance; to proclaim liberty to the captive; to recall the smile on the cheek of sorrow; and to make the heart of the widow leap for joy. Numbers, who, for years, had been confined to a single room in their own elegant houses, could now throw open their long-locked doors, and breathe and walk at large in these beloved apartments, from which they had been so long excluded. Numbers, who, for years, had mourned their separation from children, wives, and sires, were now seen rushing, with trembling joy, to the long-coveted embrace. Oh! it was a day of jubilee indeed! a day of rejoicing never to be forgotten. Smiles and tears were on every face. For who could remain unmoved, when they saw the little children running with outstretched arms to embrace their long absent fathers; when they saw the aged trembling with years and affection, clasping their warrior sons, glorious in arms, and those sons, with pleasure-sparkling eyes, returning the pious embrace, and congratulating the deliverance of their fathers; while all along the streets, as we moved in clouds of joy-rolling dust, nothing was to be heard but shouts of, LIBERTY and AMERICA FOREVER; and nothing was to be seen but crowds of citizens shaking hands and thanking God for bringing them to see that happy day. And to crown all, on both sides of us, as we marched in shining rows, stood our beauteous countrywomen, mingling their congratulations. The day was precious to all, but none I believe enjoyed it so highly as did the ladies of Charleston. Being, great numbers of them at least, women of fortune and liberal education, they had early discovered the deformity of lord North's enslaving principles, "unconditional taxation", which they abhorred worse than the yaws; and hating the measure, they could not but dislike the men who were come to execute it. In common with their sex, they were sufficiently partial to soldiers of honor. But alas! they were not permitted the pleasure to contemplate the British in that prepossessing light. On the contrary, compelled to view them as mere `fighting machines', venal wretches, who for pay and plunder, had degraded the man into the brute, the Briton into the buccaneer, how could they otherwise than detest them?
Nor were the manners of the British officers at all calculated to remove those antipathies. Coming to America, under the impression that the past generation were `convicts', and the present `rebels', they looked on and treated their daughters only as `pretty Creoles', whom it was doing great honor to smile on!
But this prejudice against the British officers, founded first on their sordidness, then, secondly, fed by their insolence, was, thirdly and lastly, matured by their cruelty. To see the heads of their first families, without even a charge of crime, dragged from their beds at midnight, and packed off like slaves to St. Augustine; to see one of their most esteemed countrymen, the amiable colonel Haynes, hung up like a dog before their eyes; and to hear continually, from all parts, of the horrid house-burnings and murders committed by Rawdon, Tarleton, Weymies, and their tory and negro allies, filled up the measure of female detestation of the British officers. They scorned to be seen in the same public walks with them; would not touch a glove or snuff-box from their hands; and in short, turned away from them as from the commonest felons or cut-throats. And on the other hand, to be treated thus by `buckskin girls', the rebel daughters of convict parents, was more than the British officers could put up with. The whig ladies, of course, were often insulted, and that very grossly too; and not only often threatened, but actually thrown into the provost or bastile. No wonder then that they were highly delighted to see such rude enemies, after repeated overthrows in the country, chased back to town, and thence, covered with disgrace, embarking to leave the country for ever. No wonder that, on hearing of our line of march that morning, they had decked themselves in their richest habits, and at the first sound of our drums, flew to their doors, windows, and balconies, to welcome our return.
Never before had they appeared half so charming. Sweet are the flowers of the field at every season of the year, but doubly sweet, when, after long icy winter, they spread all their blossoms to the spring-tide sun. Even so the daughters of Charleston, though always fair, yet never seemed so passing fair as now, when after sustaining the long wintry storms of British oppression, they came forth in all their patriot charms to greet the welcome beams of returning liberty. And never shall I forget the accents of those lovely lips, which, from behind their waving handkerchiefs, that but half concealed their angel blushes, exclaiming, "God bless you, gentlemen! God bless you! welcome! welcome to your homes again!"
Marion returns to his plantation — is appointed a member of the legislature — some valuable anecdotes of him — his marriage — and retirement.
After the retreat of the British from Carolina, Marion sheathed his sword for lack of argument, and went up to cultivate his little plantation in St. John's parish, where he was born. But the gratitude of his countrymen did not long allow him to enjoy the sweets of that rural life, of which he was uncommonly fond. At the next election, he was in some sort compelled to stand as a candidate for the legislature, to which, by an unanimous voice, he was sent, to aid with his counsel, the operations of that government, to whose freedom his sword had so largely contributed. The friends of humanity were all highly pleased with his call to the legislature. From his well known generosity to his enemies, during the war, they fondly hoped he would do every thing in his power to extinguish that horrid flame of revenge, which still glowed in the bosoms of many against the tories. Nor did Marion disappoint their hopes. His face was always, and undauntedly, set against every proposition that savored of severity to the tories, whom he used to call his "poor deluded countrymen". The reader may form some idea of general Marion from the following anecdote, which was related to me by the honorable Benjamin Huger, Esq.
During the furious contests in South Carolina, between the British and Americans, it was very common for men of property to play `jack of both sides', for the sake of saving their negroes and cattle. — Among these, a pretty numerous crew, was a wealthy old blade, who had the advantage of one of those very accommodating faces, that could shine with equal lustre on his victorious visitants, whether Britons or buckskins. Marion soon found him out; and as soon gave him a broad hint how heartily he despised such `trimming'; for at a great public meeting where the old gentleman, with a smirking face, came up and presented his hand, Marion turned from him without deigning to receive it. Everybody was surprised at this conduct of the general, and some spoke of it in terms of high displeasure. However, it was not long before they caught the old weathercock at one of his tricks, and, soon as the confiscation act was passed, had him down on the black list, fondly hoping, no doubt, to divide a large spoil. Marion, who was then a member of the legislature, arose to speak. The aged culprit, who also was present, turned pale and trembled at the sight of Marion, giving up all for lost. — But how great, how agreeable was his surprise, when instead of hearing the general thundering against him for judgment, he heard him imploring for mercy! His accusers were, if possible, still more astonished. Having counted on general Marion as his firmest foe, they were utterly mortified to find him his fastest friend, and, venting their passion with great freedom, taxed him with inconsistency and fickleness that but illy suited with general Marion's character.
"It is scarcely eighteen months, sir," said they, "since you treated this old rascal with the most pointed and public contempt, on account of the very crime for which we wish to punish him. And here, now, instead of taking part against him, you have declared in his favor, and have become his warmest advocate with a legislature."
"True, gentlemen," replied Marion, "but you should remember that it was war then; and therefore my duty to make a difference between the real and pretended friends of my country. But it is peace now, and we ought to remember the virtues of men, particularly of the old and timid, rather than their follies. And we ought to remember too, that God has given us the victory, for which we owe him eternal gratitude. But cruelty to man is not the way to show our gratitude to heaven."
Of the same complexion was his behavior in a large party at governor Matthew's table, just after the passage of the famous act to confiscate the estates of the tories. "Come, general, give us a toast," said the governor. The glasses were all filled, and the eyes of the company fixed upon the general, who, waving his bumper in the air, thus nobly called out — "Well, gentlemen, here's damnation to the confiscation act."
The following anecdote of Marion I have heard from a thousand lips, and every time with that joy on the countenance, which evinced the deep interest which the heart takes in talking of things that are honorable to our countrymen.
While Marion was a member of the legislature, a petition was presented to the house for an act of amnesty of all those arbitrary measures which the American officers had been obliged to adopt during the war, in order to get horses, provisions, &c. for the army. The petition was signed by the names of all the favorite officers of the state, and among the rest, by that of our hero. Some of his friends, it seemed, had done it for him, on the supposition that he needed such an act as well as the rest. But Marion, who had listened very attentively to the reading of the petition, on hearing his name mentioned as one of the subscribers, instantly arose, and insisted that his name should be struck off from that paper. He said "he had no manner of objection to the petition; on the contrary, he most heartily approved of it, and meant to vote for it; for well did he know, he said, that during the war, we had among us a world of ignoramuses, who, for lack of knowing their danger, did not care a fig how the war went, but were sauntering about in the woods, popping at the squirrels, when they ought to have been in the field fighting the British; that such gentlemen, since they did not choose to do any thing for their country themselves, might well afford to let their cattle do something; and as they had not shed any of their blood for the public service, they might certainly spare a little corn to it; at any rate he had no notion, he said, of turning over to the mercy of these poltroons, some of the choicest spirits of the nation, to be prosecuted and torn to pieces by them; but that, nevertheless, he did not like to have his name to the petition, for, thank God, he had no favors to ask of them. And if, during the war for his country, he had done any of them harm, there was he, and yonder his property, and let them come forward, if they dare, and demand satisfaction."
And I never heard of any man who ever accused him of the least injury done him during all the war.
Marion continued a member of the legislature, until orders were issued to repair and put in commission Fort Johnson, to the command of which he was appointed, with the pay of about twenty-two hundred dollars per annum. Though this salary had been voted him chiefly because of his losses during the war, yet it was not continued to him longer than two or three years, when it was reduced to less than five hundred dollars annually. Numbers of people had their feelings greatly hurt on this occasion, and, I dare say, much worse than his own. For he was a man who cared very little for money; and besides, about that time he entered into matrimony with that excellent and wealthy lady, Miss Mary Videau, who, with her affections, bestowed on him a fortune sufficient to satisfy his utmost wishes, even though they had been far less moderate than they were. Seeing now no particular obligation on him to continue longer in the public service, he gladly yielded to his sense of what he owed to a generous and beloved companion, and with her, retired to his native parish of St. John's, where, amidst the benedictions of his countrymen, and the caresses of numerous friends, he spent the short remnant of his days, participating every rural sweet with the dear woman of his choice, feasting on the happy retrospect of a life passed in fighting for THE RIGHTS OF MAN, and fondly cherishing the hopes of a better.
The author's last visit to Marion — interesting conversation on the importance of public instruction — free schools shown to be a great saving to a nation.
I often went to see Marion. Our evenings were passed as might have been expected between two old friends, who had spent their better days together in scenes of honorable enterprise and danger. On the night of the last visit I ever made him, observing that the clock was going for ten, I asked him if it were not near his hour of rest.
"Oh no," said he, "we must not talk of bed yet. It is but seldom, you know, that we meet. And as this may be our last, let us take all we can of it in chat. What do you think of the times?"
"O glorious times," said I.
"Yes, thank God!" replied he. "They are glorious times indeed; and fully equal to all that we had in hope, when we drew our swords for independence. But I am afraid they won't last long."
I asked him why he thought so.
"Oh! knowledge, sir," said he, "is wanting! knowledge is wanting! Israel of old, you know, was destroyed for lack of knowledge; and all nations, all individuals, have come to naught from the same cause."
I told him I thought we were too happy to change so soon.
"Pshaw!" replied he, "that is nothing to the purpose. Happiness signifies nothing, if it be not known, and properly valued. Satan, we are told, was once an angel of light, but for want of duly considering his glorious state, he rebelled and lost all. And how many hundreds of young Carolinians have we not known, whose fathers left them all the means of happiness; elegant estates, handsome wives, and, in short, every blessing that the most luxurious could desire? Yet they could not rest, until by drinking and gambling, they had fooled away their fortunes, parted from their wives, and rendered themselves the veriest beggars and blackguards on earth.
"Now, why was all this, but for lack of knowledge? For had those silly ones but known the evils of poverty, what a vile thing it was to wear a dirty shirt, a long beard, and ragged coat; to go without a dinner, or to sponge for it among growling relations; or to be bespattered, or run over in the streets, by the sons of those who were once their fathers' overseers; I say, had those poor boobies, in the days of their prosperity, known these things as they NOW do, would they have squandered away the precious means of independence and pleasure, and have brought themselves to all this shame and sorrow? No, never, never, never.
"And so it is, most exactly, with nations. If those that are free and happy, did but know their blessings, do you think they would ever exchange them for slavery? If the Carthagenians, for example, in the days of their freedom and self-government, when they obeyed no laws but of their own making; paid no taxes, but for their own benefit; and, free as air, pursued their own interest as they liked; I say, If that once glorious and happy people had known their blessings, would they have sacrificed them all, by their accursed factions, to the Romans, to be ruled, they and their children, with a rod of iron; to be burdened like beasts, and crucified like malefactors?
"No, surely they would not."
"Well, now to bring this home to ourselves. We fought for self-government; and God hath pleased to give us one, better calculated perhaps to protect our rights, to foster our virtues, to call forth our energies, and to advance our condition nearer to perfection and happiness, than any government that was ever framed under the sun."
"But what signifies even this government, divine as it is, if it be not known and prized as it deserves?"
I asked him how he thought this was best to be done?
"Why, certainly," replied he, "by free schools."
I shook my head.
He observed it, and asked me what I meant by that?
I told him I was afraid the legislature would look to their popularity, and dread the expense.
He exclaimed, "God preserve our legislature from such `penny wit and pound foolishness'! What sir, keep a nation in ignorance, rather than vote a little of their own money for education! Only let such politicians remember, what poor Carolina has already lost through her ignorance. What was it that brought the British, last war, to Carolina, but her lack of knowledge? Had the people been enlightened, they would have been united; and had they been united, they never would have been attacked a second time by the British. For after that drubbing they got from us at fort Moultrie, in 1776, they would as soon have attacked the devil as have attacked Carolina again, had they not heard that they were `a house divided against itself'; or in other words, had amongst us a great number of TORIES; men, who, through mere ignorance, were disaffected to the cause of liberty, and ready to join the British against their own countrymen. Thus, ignorance begat toryism, and toryism begat losses in Carolina, of which few have any idea.
"According to the best accounts, America spent in the last war, seventy millions of dollars, which, divided among the states according to their population, gives to Carolina about eight millions; making, as the war lasted eight years, a million a year. Now, it is generally believed, the British, after their loss of Burgoyne and their fine northern army, would soon have given up the contest, had it not been for the foothold they got in Carolina, which protracted the war at least two years longer. And as this two years' ruinous war in Carolina was owing to the encouragement the enemy got there, and that encouragement to toryism, and that toryism to ignorance, ignorance may fairly be debited to two millions of loss to Carolina.
"Well, in these two extra years of tory-begotten war, Carolina lost, at least four thousand men; and among them, a Laurens, a Williams, a Campbell, a Haynes, and many others, whose worth not the gold of Ophir could value. But rated at the price at which the prince of Hesse sold his people to George the Third, to shoot the Americans, say, thirty pounds sterling a head, or one hundred and fifty dollars, they make six hundred thousand dollars. Then count the twenty-five thousand slaves which Carolina certainly lost, and each slave at the moderate price of three hundred dollars, and yet have seven millions five hundred thousand. To this add the houses, barns, and stables that were burnt; the plate plundered; the furniture lost; the hogs, sheep, and horned cattle killed; the rice, corn, and other crops destroyed, and they amount, at the most moderate calculation, to five millions.
"Now, to say nothing of those losses, which cannot be rated by dollars and cents, such as the destruction of morals and the distraction of childless parents and widows, but counting those only that are of the plainest calculations, such as,
1st. Carolina's loss in the extra two years' war. $2,000,0002d. For her four thousand citizens slain in that time, 600,0003d. For twenty-five thousand slaves lost, 7,500,0004th. For buildings, furniture, cattle, grain, &c. &c. destroyed, 5,000,000—————-$15,100,000—————-
Making the enormous sum of fifteen millions and odd dollars CAPITAL; and bearing an annual interest of nearly ten hundred thousand dollars besides! and all this for lack of a few free schools, which would have cost the state a mere nothing."
I sighed, and told him I wished he had not broached the subject, for it had made me very sad.
"Yes," replied he, "it is enough to make any one sad. But it cannot be helped but by a wiser course of things; for, if people will not do what will make them happy, God will surely chastise them; and this dreadful loss of public property is one token of his displeasure at our neglect of public instruction."
I asked him if this were really his belief. "Yes, sir," replied he, with great earnestness, "it is my belief, and I would not exchange it for worlds. It is my firm belief, that every evil under the sun is of the nature of chastisement, and appointed of the infinitely good Being for our benefit. When you see a youth, who, but lately, was the picture of bloom and manly beauty, now utterly withered and decayed; his body bent; his teeth dropping out; his nose consumed; with foetid breath, ichorous eyes, and his whole appearance most putrid, ghastly, and loathsome, you are filled with pity and with horror; you can hardly believe there is a God, or hardly refrain from charging him with cruelty. But, where folly raves, wisdom adores. In this awful scourge of lawless lust, wisdom discerns the infinite price which heaven sets on conjugal purity and love. In like manner, the enormous sacrifice of public property, in the last war, being no more, as before observed, than the natural effect of public ignorance, ought to teach us that of all sins, there is none so hateful to God as national ignorance; that unfailing spring of NATIONAL INGRATITUDE, REBELLION, SLAVERY, and WRETCHEDNESS!
"But if it be melancholy to think of so many elegant houses, rich furniture, fat cattle, and precious crops, destroyed for want of that patriotism which a true knowledge of our interests would have inspired, then how much more melancholy to think of those torrents of precious blood that were shed, those cruel slaughters and massacres, that took place among the citizens from the same cause! As proof that such hellish tragedies would never have been acted, had our state but been enlightened, only let us look at the people of New England. From Britain, their fathers had fled to America for religion's sake. Religion had taught them that God created men to be happy; that to be happy they must have virtue; that virtue is not to be attained without knowledge, nor knowledge without instruction, nor public instruction without free schools, nor free schools without legislative order.
"Among a people who fear God, the knowledge of duty is the same as doing it. Believing it to be the first command of God, "let there be light," and believing it to be the will of God that "all should be instructed, from the least to the greatest," these wise legislators at once set about public instruction. They did not ask, how will my constituents like this? won't they turn me out? shall I not lose my three dollars per day? No! but fully persuaded that public instruction is God's will, because the people's good, they set about it like the true friends of the people.
"Now mark the happy consequence. When the war broke out, you heard of no division in New England, no toryism, nor any of its horrid effects; no houses in flames, kindled by the hands of fellow-citizens, no neighbors waylaying and shooting their neighbors, plundering their property, carrying off their stock, and aiding the British in the cursed work of American murder and subjugation. But on the contrary, with minds well informed of their rights, and hearts glowing with love for themselves and posterity, they rose up against the enemy, firm and united, as a band of shepherds against the ravening wolves.
"And their valor in the field gave glorious proof how men will fight when they know that their all is at stake. See major Pitcairn, on the memorable 19th of April, 1775, marching from Boston, with one thousand British regulars, to burn the American stores at Concord. Though this heroic excursion was commenced under cover of the night, the farmers soon took the alarm, and gathering around them with their fowling pieces, presently knocked down one-fourth of their number, and caused the rest to run, as if, like the swine in the gospel, they had a legion of devils at their backs.
"Now, with sorrowful eyes, let us turn to our own state, where no pains were ever taken to enlighten the minds of the poor. There we have seen a people naturally as brave as the New Englanders, for mere lack of knowledge of their blessings possessed, of the dangers threatened, suffer lord Cornwallis, with only sixteen hundred men, to chase general Greene upwards of three hundred miles! In fact, to scout him through the two great states of South and North Carolina as far as Guilford Courthouse! and, when Greene, joined at that place by two thousand poor illiterate militia-men, determined at length to fight, what did he gain by them, with all their number, but disappointment and disgrace? For, though posted very advantageously behind the corn-field fences, they could not stand a single fire from the British, but in spite of their officers, broke and fled like base-born slaves, leaving their loaded muskets sticking in the fence corners!*
—* Again, as Weems has slandered a great number of brave and true militia-men,it should be noted, that being desperate to make his point,he is not entirely frank here in his descriptions of events.The "poor ditch" described below was doubtless better protectionthan "corn-field fences", nor did the militia flee the field,but only fell back on the main body. Other factors also figured,such as differences in population density and geography.Finally, a large number of the New England loyalists (tories),whose existence Weems denies, fought for the British in the Carolinas.— A. L., 1997.—
"But, from this shameful sight, turn again to the land of free schools; to Bunker's Hill. There, behind a poor ditch of half a night's raising, you behold fifteen hundred militia-men waiting the approach of three thousand British regulars with a heavy train of artillery! With such odds against them, such fearful odds in numbers, discipline, arms, and martial fame, will they not shrink from the contest, and, like their southern friends, jump up and run! Oh no; to a man they have been taught to read; to a man they have been instructed to KNOW, and dearer than life to prize, the blessings of FREEDOM. Their bodies are lying behind ditches, but their thoughts are on the wing, darting through eternity. The warning voice of God still rings in their ears. The hated forms of proud merciless kings pass before their eyes. They look back to the days of old, and strengthen themselves as they think what their gallant forefathers dared for LIBERTY and for THEM. They looked forward to their own dear children, and yearn over the unoffending millions, now, in tearful eyes, looking up to them for protection. And shall this infinite host of deathless beings, created in God's own image, and capable by VIRTUE and EQUAL LAWS, of endless progression in glory and happiness; shall they be arrested in their high career, and from the freeborn sons of God, be degraded into the slaves of man? Maddening at the accursed thought, they grasp their avenging firelocks, and drawing their sights along the death-charged tubes, they long for the coming up of the British thousands. Three times the British thousands came up; and three times the dauntless yeomen, waiting their near approach, received them in storms of thunder and lightning that shivered their ranks, and heaped the field with their weltering carcasses.
"In short, my dear sir, men will always fight for their government, according to their sense of its value. To value it aright, they must understand it. This they cannot do without education. And as a large portion of the citizens are poor, and can never attain that inestimable blessing, without the aid of government, it is plainly the first duty of government to bestow it freely upon them. And the more perfect the government, the greater the duty to make it well known. Selfish and oppressive governments, indeed, as Christ observes, must "hate the light, and fear to come to it, because their deeds are evil." But a fair and cheap government, like our republic, "longs for the light, and rejoices to come to the light, that it may be manifested to be from God," and well worth all the vigilance and valor that an enlightened nation can rally for its defence. And, God knows, a good government can hardly ever be half anxious enough to give its citizens a thorough knowledge of its own excellencies. For as some of the most valuable truths, for lack of careful promulgation, have been lost; so the best government on earth, if not duly known and prized, may be subverted. Ambitious demagogues will rise, and the people through ignorance, and love of change, will follow them. Vast armies will be formed, and bloody battles fought. And after desolating their country with all the horrors of civil war, the guilty survivors will have to bend their necks to the iron yokes of some stern usurper, and like beasts of burden, to drag, unpitied, those galling chains which they have riveted upon themselves for ever."
This, as nearly as I can recollect, was the substance of the last dialogue I ever had with Marion. It was spoken with an emphasis which I shall never forget. Indeed he described the glorious action at Bunker's Hill, as though he had been one of the combatants. His agitation was great, his voice became altered and broken; and his face kindled over with that living fire with which it was wont to burn, when he entered the battles of his country. I arose from my seat as he spoke; and on recovering from the magic of his tongue, found myself bending forward to the voice of my friend, and my right hand stretched by my side; it was stretched to my side for the sword that was wont to burn in the presence of Marion when battle rose, and the crowding foe was darkening around us. But thanks to God, 'twas sweet delusion all. No sword hung burning by my side; no crowding foe darkened around us. In dust or in chains they had all vanished away, and bright in his scabbard rested the sword of peace in my own pleasant halls on Winyaw bay.
The death of Marion — his character.
"Next to Washington, O glorious shade!In page historic shall thy name have place.Deep on thy country's memory are portrayedThose gallant deeds which time shall ne'er erase.
Ah! full of honors, and of years farewell!Thus o'er thy tomb shall Carolina sigh;Each tongue thy valor and thy worth shall tell,Which taught the young to fight, the old to die."
The next morning, I set out for my plantation on Winyaw bay. Marion, as usual, accompanied me to my horse, and, at parting, begged I would come and see him again soon, for that he felt he had not long to stay. As the reader may suppose, I paid but little heed to this expression, which I looked on as no more than the common cant of the aged. But I soon had cause to remember it with sorrow. For I had been but a few weeks at home, before, opening a Charleston paper, I found in a mourning column, "THE DEATH OF GENERAL MARION". Never shall I forget the heart-sickness of that moment; never forget what I felt when first I learned that Marion was no more. Though the grave was between us, yet his beloved image seemed to appear before me fresher than ever. All our former friendships, all our former wars returned. But alas! he who was to me the soul of all the rest; the foremost in every battle; the dearest at every feast; he shall return no more! "Oh Marion, my friend!" my bursting heart seemed to say, "and art thou gone? Shall I no more hear that voice which was always so sweet; no more see that smile which awakened up such joy in my soul! Must that beloved form be lost forever among the clods in the valley. And those godlike virtues, shall they pass away like the empty visions of the night!"
From this deep gloom which strong atheistic sorrow had poured over my nerves, I was suddenly roused, as by an angel's touch, to the bright hopes of religion. The virtues of my departed friend all flashed at once upon my kindling thoughts: his countenance so stern with honor; his tongue so sacred to truth; that heart always so ready to meet death in defence of the injured; that eye ever beaming benevolence to man, and that whole life so reverential of God. The remembrance, I say, of all these things, came in streams of joy to my heart.
"O happy Marion!" I exclaimed, "thou art safe, my friend; thou art safe. No tears of mine shall doubt thy blissful state. Surely if there be a God, and that there is, all nature cries aloud through all her works, he must delight in virtue, and what he delights in must be happy."
Then it was, that I felt what a benefactor Marion had been to me. How dear his company while living; how sweet his memory when dead. Like the sun travelling in brightness, his smiles had ever been my joy, his example my light. And though now set in the grave, yet has he not left me in darkness. His virtues, like stars, are lighted up after him. They point my hopes to the path of glory; and proclaim, that, though fallen, he is not extinguished.
From the physicians and many others who attended him in his last illness, I learned that he had died as he had lived, a truly GREAT MAN. His chamber was not, as is usual with dying persons, a scene of gloom and silent distress, but rather like the cheerful parlor of one who was setting out on an agreeable journey. "Some," said he, "have spoken of death as a leap in the dark; but for my part, I look on it as a welcome resting place, where virtuous old age may throw down his pains and aches, wipe off his old scores, and begin anew on an innocent and happy state that shall last for ever. What weakness to wish to live to such ghastly dotage, as to frighten the children, and make even the dogs to bark at us as we totter along the streets. Most certainly then, there is a time when, to a good man, death is a great mercy even to his body; and as to his soul, why should he tremble about that? Who can doubt that God created us to be happy; and thereto made us to love one another? which is plainly written in our hearts; whose every thought and work of love is happiness, and as plainly written as the gospel; whose every line breathes love, and every precept enjoins good works. Now, the man who has spent life in bravely denying himself every inclination that would make others miserable, and in courageously doing all in his power to make them happy, what has such a man to fear from death, or rather, what glorious things has he not to hope from it?"
Hearing one of his friends say that the methodists and baptists were progressing rapidly in some parts of the state, he replied, "Well, thank God for that; that is good news." The same gentleman then asked him which he thought was the best religion. "I know but one religion," he answered, "and that is hearty love of God and man. This is the only true religion; and I would to God our country was full of it. For it is the only spice to embalm and to immortalize our republic. Any politician can sketch out a fine theory of government, but what is to bind the people to the practice? Archimedes used to mourn that though his mechanic powers were irresistible, yet he could never raise the world; because he had no place in the heavens, whereon to fix his pullies. Even so, our republic will never be raised above the shameful factions and miserable end of all other governments, until our citizens come to have their hearts like Archimedes' pullies, fixed on heaven. The world sometimes makes such bids to ambition, that nothing but heaven can outbid her. The heart is sometimes so embittered, that nothing but divine love can sweeten it; so enraged, that devotion only can becalm it; and so broke down, that it takes all the force of heavenly hope to raise it. In short, religion is the only sovereign and controlling power over man. Bound by that, the rulers will never usurp, nor the people rebel. The former will govern like fathers, and the latter obey like children. And thus moving on, firm and united as a host of brothers, they will continue invincible as long as they continue virtuous."
When he was near his end, seeing his lady weeping by his bedside, he gave her a look of great tenderness, and said, "My dear, weep not for me, I am not afraid to die; for, thank God, I can lay my hand on my heart and say, that since I came to man's estate, I have never intentionally done wrong to any."
These were nearly his last words, for shortly after uttering them, he closed his eyes in the sleep of death.
Thus peaceful and happy was the end of general Francis Marion, of whom, as a partisan officer, general Greene has often been heard to say, that "the page of history never furnished his equal." And if any higher praise of Marion were necessary, it is to be found in the very remarkable resemblance between him and the great Washington. They both came forward, volunteers in the service of their country; they both learned the military art in the hard and hazardous schools of Indian warfare; they were both such true soldiers in vigilance, that no enemy could ever surprise them; and so equal in undaunted valor, that nothing could ever dishearten them: while as to the still nobler virtues of patience, disinterestedness, self-government, severity to themselves and generosity to their enemies, it is difficult to determine whether Marion or Washington most deserve our admiration. And even in the lesser incidents of their lives, the resemblance between these two great men is closer than common. They were both born in the same year; both lost their fathers in early life; both married excellent and wealthy ladies; both left widows; and both died childless.
The name of Marion continues dear to the people of the south; and to this day, whenever his amiable widow rides through the country, she meets the most pleasing evidences, that her husband, though dead, is not forgotten. The wealthy, everywhere, treat her with the respect due to a mother; while the poor, gathering around her carriage, often press to shake hands with her, then looking at each other with a sigh they exclaim — "THAT'S THE WIDOW OF OUR GLORIOUS OLD MARION."