But, as fate willed it, the Catawba rose rapidly during the night; and, to Cornwallis’ consternation, was impassable for two days.
Greene now took command of Morgan’s division in person; Tom was sent out with a party to watch the movements of the enemy who, as soon as they could cross the river, were once more in hot pursuit. It was a race for the Yadkin, now; the Americans were weighted down with baggage and their progress was slow; the British carried nothing, practically, but their arms, and their march was made at great speed.
The rear-guard of the patriots was about crossing the Yadkin when the van of the British came up. Greene had put Tom in charge of a small party which was detailed to protect some baggage wagons; the wagons got stuck in the soft and badly cut ford and the enemy galloped forward with cheers to cut them off.
“Stand, men!” called Tom, calmly. “Steady! Don’t give an inch! We’ll make these fellows pay dearly for the baggage. Hold your fire until I give the word.”
So he talked to them as they stood, waist deep, in the stream; the British rode forward firing their pieces and then plunged into the ford. The rear-guard at the word from Marion’s young scout raised their rifles and poured a steady volley into them which emptied many saddles. General Greene rode down to the edge of the stream about this time.
Tom saluted.
“I’m afraid we cannot save the wagons, general.”
“Get more horses,” ordered Greene, who disliked leaving behind supplies of which his soldiers were so much in need.
Fresh horses were hitched to the wagons, the teamsters cracked their whips and shouted like madmen; but it was no use.
“The wheels are too deeply sunk in the mud, general,” reported Tom.