A gallop among American scenery / or, Sketches of American scenes and military adventure

by Augustus E. Silliman

Manning had retreated some distance from the house, when he saw his friend Captain Joyett, of the Virginia line, engaged in single combat with a British officer. The American was armed with his sword, while the Briton was defending himself with a bayonet. As the American approached, the Englishman made a thrust with the bayonet, which Joyett successfully parried with his sword, when both of them dropping the arms which they could not wield in so close an encounter, simultaneously clinched, and being men of great and nearly equal bodily strength, they were soon engaged in a desperate and deadly struggle. While thus engaged, an English grenadier seeing the danger of his officer, ran up and with his bayonet made a lounge, which luckily missing Joyett’s body, passed only through the skirts of his coat, but the bayonet becoming entangled in the folds, upon its withdrawal dragged both of the combatants together to the ground. The soldier having disengaged it, was about deliberately to transfix Joyett by a second thrust, when Manning, seeing the danger of his friend, without being sufficiently near in the crisis to assist him, called out as he hurried up in an authoritative tone, “You would not murder the gentleman, you brute!”—The grenadier supposing himself addressed by one of his own officers, suspended the contemplated blow and turned towards the speaker, but before he could recover from his surprise, Manning cut him across the eyes with his sword, while Joyett disengaging himself from his opponent, snatched up the musket, and with one blow laid him dead with the butt;—the valiant prisoner whom Manning had dragged along, and who invariably asserted that he had been captured by “Joyett, a huge Virginian,”—instead of Manning, who was a small man—standing a horror-struck spectator of the tragedy. An equally brave man was Sergeant Ord, of Manning’s company;—in the surprise of the British at Georgetown, when a company of the Legion infantry had captured a house with its enclosures, the enemy made an attempt to regain it; the commanding officer calling out to his men, “Rush on, my brave fellows—they are only militia, and have no bayonets;”—Ord placing himself in front of the gate as they attempted to enter, laid six of them in succession, dead at his feet, accompanying each thrust with—“Oh! no bayonets here—none to be sure!”—following up his strokes with such rapidity that the party were obliged to give up the attempt and retire.

But perhaps there could have been no two characters in the corps more the perfect antipodes of each other, than the two surgeons of the cavalry, Irvine and Skinner, for while Irvine was entirely regardless of his person, and frequently found engaged sword in hand, in the thickest of the fight, where his duty by no means called him, Skinner was as invariably found in the rear, cherishing his loved person from the threatened danger. Indeed he was a complete counterpart of old Falstaff;—the same fat and rotund person—the same lover of good cheer and good wine—and entertaining the same aversion to exposing his dear body to the danger of missiles or cuts;—not only was he a source of fun in himself, “but he was the cause of it in others.” He asserted that his business was in the rear—to cure men, not to kill them; and when Irvine was wounded at the charge of Quinby’s bridge, he refused to touch him, until he had dressed the hurts of the meanest of the soldiers, saying that Matthew Irvine was served perfectly right, and had no business to be engaged out of his vocation. At the night alarm at Ninety-six, Colonel Lee, hastening forward to ascertain the cause, met the Doctor in full retreat, and stopping him, addressed him, with—“Where so fast, Doctor—not frightened I hope,”—“No, Colonel,” replied Skinner—“not frightened—but I confess, most infernally alarmed.” His eccentricities extended not alone to his acts, but to every thing about him. Among other peculiarities, he wore his beard long, and unshorn, and upon being asked by a brother officer why he did so, he replied, that “that was a secret between Heaven and himself, which no human impertinence should ever penetrate.” Like Falstaff, and with similar success, he considered himself the admired of the fair sex,—“Ay!” said he, to Captain Carns, of the infantry, “Ay, Carns, I have an eye!” Yet Skinner was by no means a man to be trifled with, for he was not devoid of a certain sort of courage, as he had proved in half a dozen duels, in one of which he had killed his man. When asked how it was, that he was so careful of his person in action, when he had shown so plainly that he was not deficient in courage,—he replied, “That he considered it very arrogant in a surgeon, whose business it was to cure, to be aping the demeanour and duty of a commissioned officer, and that he was no more indisposed to die than other gentlemen, but that he had an utter aversion to the noise and tumult of battle,—that it stunned and stupified him.” On one occasion, when the Legion was passing through a narrow defile, the centre was alarmed by the drums of the infantry beating to arms in front,—Skinner, with the full sense of what was due to himself, whirled about, and giving his horse a short turn by the bridle, brought him down on his back in the middle of the defile, completely blocking it up, and preventing either egress or ingress—relief or retreat. The infantry and cavalry which had passed the gorge, immediately deployed on the hill in front, while the remainder of the Legion, galloping up, were completely severed by this singular and unexpected obstruction, until Captain Egglestone dismounting some of his strongest troopers, succeeded in dragging the horse out of the defile by main force. It turned out that the alarm was false, otherwise the doctor’s terror might have caused the destruction of one-half of the corps.

But to recur to the incident brought to mind by the howling of the wolf. When the Legion was on its march to form a junction with Marion, on the little Pedee, it one night encamped in a large field on the southern side of a stream, with the main road in front. The night passed on very quietly, until about two or three in the morning, when the officer of the day reported that a strange noise had been heard by the picquet in front, on the great road, resembling the noise of men moving through the adjoining swamp. While he was yet speaking, the sentinel in that quarter fired his piece, which was immediately followed by the bugle calling in the horse patroles, the invariable custom upon the approach of an enemy. The drums instantly beat to arms, and the troops arranged for defence. The sentries on being questioned, all concurred in the same account, “and one patrol of horse asserted that they had heard horsemen concealing with the greatest care their advance.” Lee was in great perplexity, for he knew that he was not within striking distance of any large body of the enemy, and that Marion was at least two days distance in advance; but soon a sentinel in another direction fired, and the same report was brought in from him; and it was apparent, however unaccountable, that the enemy were present. A rapid change in the formation of the troops was made to meet the attack in this quarter, but it was hardly accomplished before the fire of a third sentinel in a different direction, communicated the intelligence of danger from another quarter. Feelings of intense anxiety were now aroused, and preparations were made for a general assault, as soon as light should allow it to be made. The picquets and sentinels held their stations, the horse patrols were called in, and the corps changed its position in silence, and with precision upon every new communication, with the combined object of keeping the fires between them and the enemy, and the horse in the rear of the infantry.

While thus engaged, another and rapid discharge by the sentinels, on the line of the great road, plainly indicated that the enemy were in force, and that with full understanding of their object, they had surrounded them. It was also evident that there must be a large body of the enemy, from their covering so large a segment of the circle around them. It was equally apparent that they could expect no aid from any quarter, and relying upon themselves, the corps awaited in extreme anxiety, the scene which the day was to usher upon them.

Lee passed along the line of infantry and cavalry, in a low tone urging upon them the necessity of profound silence, reminding them that in the approaching contest they must sustain their high reputation, and expressing his confidence, that with their accustomed bravery, they would be able to cut their way through all opposing obstacles, and reach the Pedee. His address was answered by whispers of applause, and having formed the cavalry and infantry into two columns, he awaited anxiously the break of day, to give the signal for action. It soon appeared, and the columns advanced on the great road; infantry in front, baggage in the centre, and cavalry in the rear. As soon as the head of the column reached the road, the van officer proceeding a few hundred yards received the same account that had been given from the sentinel that had fired last.

The enigma remained unexplained, and no enemy being in view, there could be but little doubt that the attack was to be from ambushment, and the column moved slowly on, expecting every moment to receive their fire. But the van officer’s attention having been accidentally attracted, he examined, and found along the road, the tracks of a large pack of wolves. The mystery was now solved; it was evident that the supposed enemy was no other than the pack of wild beasts, which, turned from their route by the fire of the sentinels, had passed still from point to point in a wide circuit, bent upon the attainment of their object. A quantity of provisions had been stored some time previously on their line of march, but having become spoiled, it was abandoned in the vicinity of the night’s encampment, and the wolves had been disturbed by the videts, in the nightly progress to their regale. The agitation instantly subsided, and wit and merriment flashed on all sides, “every one appearing anxious to shift the derision from himself upon his neighbour, the commandant himself coming in for his share; and as it was the interest of the many to fix the stigma on the few, the corps unanimously charged the officer of the day, the guards, the patrols and picquets, with gross stupidity, hard bordering upon cowardice:” nevertheless, they were none the less relieved by the happy termination of an adventure attended by so many circumstances naturally alarming, and it long passed as an excellent joke in the Legion, under the title of the “Wolf reconnoitre.”

The music sounded merrily, and the column marched on, elate with the fun and novelty of the adventure, and of the buglers none blew a more cheery strain than little Jack Ellis the bugler of Armstrong’s troop. He was a fine boy, small and intelligent, as well as young and handsome, and a general favourite in the Legion. Poor little fellow! he met his death under circumstances peculiarly tragic and cruel, not long after. When the Southern army, under Green, was slowly making its masterly retreat before Cornwallis, the Legion formed part of the rear-guard, and was consequently almost continually in sight of the van of the enemy, commanded by Brigadier-General O’Hara. The duty devolving upon it, severe in the day, was extremely so in the night, for numerous patrols and picquets were constantly required to be on the alert, to prevent the enemy from taking advantage of the darkness to get near the main army by circuitous routes, so that one half of the troops of the rear guard were alternately put on duty day and night, and the men were not able to get more than six hours sleep out of the forty-eight. But the men were in fine spirits, notwithstanding the great fatigue to which they were subjected. They usually, at the break of day, hurried on, to gain as great a distance in advance as possible, that they might secure their breakfast, the only meal during the rapid and hazardous retreat. One drizzly and cold morning, the officers and dragoons, in pursuance of this custom, had hurried on to the front, and just got their corn cakes and meat on the coals, when a countryman, mounted on a small and meagre pony, came galloping up, and hastily asking for the commanding officer, he informed him that the British column, leaving the main line of march, were moving obliquely in a different direction, and that, discovering the manœuvre from a field where he was burning brush, he had run home, caught the first horse he could lay his hands upon, and hurried along with the information. Unwilling to believe the report of the countryman, although he could not well doubt it, and reluctant to disturb so materially the comfort of the men, as to deprive them of the breakfast for which they were waiting with keen appetites, Lee ordered Captain Armstrong to take one section of horse, accompanied by the countryman, to return on the route, and having reconnoitred, to make his report.

Circumstances, however, strengthening him in the belief that the information of the countryman was correct, he took a squadron of cavalry, and followed on to the support of Armstrong, whom he overtook at no great distance ahead. Perceiving no sign of the enemy, he again concluded that the countryman was mistaken. He therefore directed Armstrong to take the guide and three dragoons, and to advance still further on the road, while he returned with the squadron to finish their breakfast. The countryman mounted on his sorry nag, protested against being thus left to take care of himself, asserting that though the dragoons on their spirited and powerful horses were sure of safety, if pursued—he, on his jaded hack, was equally sure of being taken. Lee acknowledged the danger of the friendly guide, dismounted the little bugler, and giving the countryman his horse, he placed Ellis upon the hack, sending him on in front to report to the commanding officer. After having returned a short distance, the squadron entered the woods, on the road side, and the dragoons leisurely proceeded to finish their breakfast—but they had hardly got it out of their haversacks, when a firing of musketry was heard, and almost immediately after the clatter of horses’ hoofs coming on at full gallop. The next moment, Armstrong, with his dragoons and the countryman came in sight, pursued by a troop of Tarleton’s dragoons, at the top of their speed.

Lee saw Armstrong with his small party well in front and hard in hand, and felt no anxiety about them, as he knew that their horses were so superior to those of the enemy that they were perfectly safe, but the danger of the bugler, who could be but little ahead, immediately caused him serious uneasiness. Wishing however, to let the British squadron get as far from support as possible, he continued in the woods for a few moments, intending to interpose in time to save the boy. Having let them get a sufficient distance, and assuring himself that there was nothing coming up to their support, he put the squadron in motion and appeared on the road, but only in time to see the enraged dragoons overtake and sabre the poor little suppliant, as he in vain implored for quarter. Infuriated at the sight, he gave orders to charge, and the English officer had barely time to form, when Lee’s squadron was upon them like a whirlwind—killing, prostrating, and unhorsing almost the whole of the force in an instant, while the captain, and the few left unhurt endeavoured to escape. Ordering Lieutenant Lewis to follow on in pursuit, with strict orders to give no quarter, an order dictated by the sanguinary act that they had just witnessed, he placed the dying boy in the arms of two of the dragoons, directing them to proceed onwards to the camp, and immediately after pushed on to the support of Lewis, whom he soon met returning with the English captain and several of his dragoons, prisoners—the officer unhurt, but the men severely cut in the face, neck, and shoulders. Reprimanding Lewis on the spot for disobedience of orders, he peremptorily charged the British officer with the atrocity that they had just witnessed, and ordered him to prepare for instant death. The officer urged that he had in vain endeavoured to save the boy, that his dragoons were intoxicated, and would not obey his orders, and he begged that he might not be sacrificed, stating that in the slaughter of Lt. Col. Buford’s command, he had used his greatest exertions, and succeeded in saving the lives of many of the Americans. This, in some measure mollified Lee, but just then overtaking the speechless and dying boy, expiring in the arms of the soldiers, his bright and handsome face, changed in the ghastly agony of death, he returned with unrelenting sternness to his first decision and informed the Englishman that he should execute him in the next vale through which they were to pass, and furnishing him with a pencil and paper, desired him to make such note as he wished to his friends, which he pledged him his word should be sent to the British General. The ill-fated soldier proceeded to write, when the British van approaching in sight, the prisoner was sent on to Col. Williams in front, who, ignorant of the murder, and of Lee’s determination to make an example of him, in his turn, forwarded him on to head quarters—thus luckily saving his life. Eighteen of the British dragoons fell in the charge, and were buried by Cornwallis as he came up, but the American’s had time to do no more than lay the body of the poor little bugler in the woods on the side of the road, trusting to the charity of the country people to inter it, when they were obliged to resume their retreat. It should be borne in mind that Lee’s humane disposition could only be excited to such summary vengeance by the cruel and unwarrantable murder that they had just witnessed, and by the frequent acts of atrocity which had been repeatedly enacted by this same corps.

Perhaps the fated destiny which frequently appears to await the soldier, hanging over him like a shield while he passes through the most desperate danger, until the appointed hour arrives, was never more apparent than in the case of Lt. Col. Webster, of the British army in this same retreat. When the rear of the American army, composed as has been observed principally by the Legion, had passed the Reedy Fork, the British van under the command of Webster, endeavoured to ford the river and bring them into action, a point which Cornwallis was anxious to attain, but which was entirely foreign to the plan of Greene, whose object was to wear out his pursuers. Under the cover of a dense fog, the British had attained a short distance of the Legion before they were discovered. They made their appearance on the opposite bank of the river, and after halting a few moments, descended the hill and approached the water, but receiving a heavy fire of musketry and rifles, they fell back and quickly reascending, were again rallied on the margin of the bank. Col. Webster rode up, calling upon the soldiers in a loud voice to follow, and rushing down the hill, at their head, amid a galling fire poured from the Legion troops, he plunged into the water. In the woods occupied by the riflemen, was an old log schoolhouse, a little to the right of the ford. The mud stuffed between the logs had mostly fallen out, and the apertures admitted the use of rifles with ease. In this house Lee had posted five and twenty select marksmen from the mountain militia, with orders to forego engaging in the general action, and directions to hold themselves in reserve for any particular object which might present. “The attention of this party being attracted by Webster, as he plunged into the water, they singled him out as their mark. The stream being deep, and the bottom rugged, he advanced slowly, the soldiers, some of them, holding on by his stirrup-leathers,—and one by one they discharged their rifles at him, each man sure of knocking him over, and, having re-loaded, eight or nine of them, emptied their guns at him a second time, yet strange to relate, neither horse nor rider received a single ball. The twenty-five marksmen were celebrated for their superior skill, and it was a common amusement for them to place an apple on the end of a ramrod and hold it out at arm’s length, as a mark for their comrades to fire at, when many balls would pass through the apple, yet the British officer, mounted on a stout horse, slowly moving through a deep water course, was singled out and fired at thirty-two or three times successively, and yet remained untouched, and succeeded in effecting a lodgment on the bank, where he formed his troops under a heavy fire.” This gallant officer, and polished gentleman, the favourite of Cornwallis, subsequently fell at the battle of Guilford Court-House, not more regretted by his brother soldiers, than admired by those of the American army.