He was so unfortunate, on one occasion, as to be taken prisoner by a party of Indians while on a hunting excursion. Separated from his companions, he was surprised and surrounded before he was aware of his danger, and when he did become aware of his critical situation, he saw how futile it was to contend, and how reckless and fatal it must be to himself, should he kill one of his antagonists. He knew full well that the blood of his enemy would be washed out in his own, and that, too, at the stake; whereas, if he surrendered peaceably, he stood a chance of being adopted by the Indians as one of themselves. Revolving these things in his mind, he quietly delivered up his rifle to his captors, who rejoiced exceedingly over their prisoner. Bareheaded, with his arms bound tightly behind him, without a coat, and barefooted, he was driven forward some two hundred miles toward the Indian towns, his inhuman captors urging him on when he lagged, with their knives, and tauntingly reminding him of the trials which awaited him at the end of his journey. Nothing daunted, however, by their threats and menaces, he marched on in the weary path which led him further and further from his friends, perfectly tractable, so far as his body was concerned, but constantly busy in his mind with schemes of escape. He bided his time, and at length the wished-for moment came.
As the distance from the white settlements increased, the vigilance of the Indians relaxed, and his hopes strengthened. As the party passed along the edge of a precipice, some twenty feet high, at the foot of which ran a mountain torrent, he, by a powerful effort, broke the cords which bound his arms, and made the leap. The Indians, whose aim was to take him alive, followed him, and then commenced a race for life and liberty, which was rendered the more exciting by the fact that his pursuers were close upon him, and could at any moment have dispatched him. But such was not their desire, and on, on he sped, now buoyed up by hope as his recent captors were lost to sight, and anon despairing of success as he crossed an open space which showed them almost at his heels. At length, taking advantage of a thicket, through which he passed, and which hid him from their sight for a moment, he darted aside and essayed to leap a fallen tree which lay across his path. The tangled underbrush and leaves which grew thickly around and almost covered the decaying trunk, tripped him as he leaped, and he fell with considerable force on the opposite side. For an instant he was so stunned by the fall as to lose his consciousness, but soon recovered it to find that the Indians were searching every nook in his immediate vicinity, and that he had fallen almost directly upon a large rattlesnake which had thrown itself into the deadly coil so near his face that his fangs were within a few inches of his nose. Is it possible for the most vivid imagination to conceive of a more horrible and terrifying situation?
The pursuit of his now highly exasperated and savage enemies, who thirsted for his recapture that they might wreak upon him an appalling revenge, which of itself was a danger calculated to thrill the nerves of the stoutest system, had now become a secondary fear, for death in one of its most terrifying and soul-sickening forms was vibrating on the tongue, and darting from the eye of the reptile before him, so near, too, that the vibratory motion of his rattle as it waved to and fro, caused it to strike his ear. The slightest movement of a muscle—a convulsive shudder—almost the winking of an eyelid, would have been the signal for his death. Yet, in the midst of this terrible danger, his presence of mind did not leave him, but like a faithful friend did him good service in his hour of trial. Knowing the awful nature of his impending fate, and conscious that the slightest quivering of a nerve would precipitate it, he scarcely breathed, and the blood flowed feebly through his veins as he lay looking death in the eye. Surrounded thus by double peril, he was conscious that three of the Indians had passed over the log behind which he lay without observing him, and disappeared in the dark recesses of the forest. Several minutes—which to him were as many hours—passed in this terrifying situation, until the snake, apparently satisfied that he was dead, loosed his threatening coil, and passing directly over his body, was lost to sight in the luxuriant growth of weeds which grew up around the fallen tree. Oh! what a thrill—what a revulsion of feeling shook his frame as he was relieved from this awful suspense. Tears—tears of joyous gratitude coursed down his cheeks as he poured out his heart to God in thankfulness for his escape. "I had eaten nothing," said he to his companions, after his return, "for many days; I had no fire-arms, and I ran the risk of dying with hunger before I could reach the settlements; but rather would I have died than have made a meal of that generous beast."[[1]] He was still in imminent danger from the Indians, who knew that he had hidden in some secluded spot, and were searching with the utmost zeal every nook and corner to find him. He was fortunate enough, however, to escape them, and after a weary march through the wilderness, during which he suffered intensely from hunger, he reached the settlements.
[1]. It was no unusual thing for hungry hunters, like the Indians, to dine upon broiled rattlesnake!
COLONEL HORRY, OF "MARION'S BRIGADE."
It is much to be regretted that the chronicles of the war of the Revolution in the South are so meager in personal incidents. There can be but one reason for this: the want of a local historian to gather up and preserve in print the details of the contest, ere the actors of those stirring scenes had passed from the stage—for the wild and stirring adventures of "Marion's Men," and of others in North and South Carolina, must have been as full of romance as the heart of the historian could desire.
It is fortunate that one of Marion's officers did wield the pen a little, as well as the sword. Colonel Horry served under General Marion. His adventures were numerous and some of them amusing. He left a manuscript memoir, giving the particulars of some of his exploits, among others the one illustrated in our engraving.
He was brave, and ambitious of distinction. This ambition led him to desire a command of cavalry rather than of infantry. But he was no rider—was several times unhorsed in combat, and was indebted to the fidelity of his soldiers for his safety. On one occasion his escape was more narrow from a different cause. Crossing the swamp at Lynch's Creek, to join Marion, in the dark, and the horse swimming, he encountered the bough of a tree, to which he clung while his horse passed from under him. He was no swimmer, and but for timely assistance from his followers would have been drowned.
Another story is told of him which places him in a scarcely less ludicrous attitude:
He was ordered by Marion to await, in ambush, the approach of a British detachment. The duty was executed with skill: the enemy was completely in his power. But he labored under an impediment in his speech, which we may readily suppose was greatly increased by anxiety and excitement. The word "Fire!" stuck in his throat, as "amen" did in that of Macbeth. The emergency was pressing, but this only increased the difficulty. In vain did he make the attempt. He could say: "Fi—fi—fi!" but he could get no further; the "er" was incorrigible. At length, irritated almost to madness, he exclaimed: