Finally came the day when General Morgan was to add another to the long list of his successes. Cornwallis 281 and Colonel Tarleton, “the bloodhound,” had planned to trap Morgan and annihilate his force. The latter was compelled to retreat and Tarleton was sent in pursuit. When he believed Morgan was fleeing from him he threw caution to the winds and hurried his force on to what he doubted not would be the capture of the doughty leader.
Morgan has since been criticized for hazarding a battle. His force was far inferior to Tarleton’s and did not include artillery as did the latter’s. Moreover, with Morgan were many raw militia who could not be depended upon to face the veterans under the British leader, knowing, as they did from sad experience, that little quarter would be granted them if defeated. But he had the veteran Marylanders who had fought so bravely at Camden, and the support of Colonel Washington’s dragoons. Furthermore, shrewd leader of men that he was, he felt that the moment had come when he must fight. To continue his flight meant capture or dispersion of his forces. He believed that Tarleton would be over-confident and so run headlong into whatever trap he might set, and this was just what happened.
At a place called the Cowpens he found the position he desired. Here were two small hills, one behind the other and with a river at the rear; no place for a scared militiaman to escape, nothing to do but fight to his last gasp, because he knew that if he offered to surrender he would be ruthlessly bayoneted.
The night before the battle it is said Morgan did not 282 sleep. His men, enraged at the cruelties inflicted upon their country by the invaders, were longing for revenge. This spirit Morgan fanned to flame. Throughout the night this big, brawny man, whose fame for success in many perilous undertakings inspired the confidence of every man who came to know him, walked among the soldiers and talked with them. His was the appearance of a man perfectly confident that the next day would bring victory and glory to American arms. He laughed and joked with them. “Just hold up your heads, boys; give ’em three fires and you are free. The Old Wagoner will crack his whip over Ben Tarleton in the morning, sure as he lives. Think of what your wives an’ sweethearts will say when you go home an’ tell what ye did.”
Ah! How they loved and admired the big fellow who was one of them. He had stormed the defences at Quebec after leading his men through an almost impassable wilderness; he had led his Rangers in wild charges against the regulars under Burgoyne and driven them; he would win, and they would help him, to the last drop of blood in their veins.
In that spirit of implicit confidence in their stalwart leader even the raw recruits never thought of trembling on that raw morning in the middle of January, 1781, when the outposts came riding back with the report that Tarleton was approaching. They had been placed down in front with the Marylanders at their backs to support them, and Colonel Washington’s dragoons screened behind the hill waiting for the 283 word to charge. In front of the Carolina and Georgia militia, between whom Morgan had excited a spirit of rivalry as to which body should behave with the greater bravery under fire, riflemen had been stationed.
Soon the American sharpshooters in front began firing and falling back toward the militia, who never wavered. They had been ordered to hold their fire and they obeyed implicitly.
Now the solid wall of British infantry is almost upon them, and a sheet of flame spurts out along the American line; then another and another, and those raw soldiers only retreat before overwhelming numbers when it is apparent they can resist no longer, and then, like veterans, slowly and under orders.
Over behind the hill Rodney Allison’s knees grip his horse. This waiting is worse than fighting, waiting for that soul-stirring word, “Charge!” Now it rings out and echoes through the ranks, and like a whirlwind they sweep right through the lines of Tarleton’s cavalry forming for a charge, and, wheeling about, come riding and slashing back through them again. Colonel Howard is skilfully handling the troops and the gallant Pickens rallying the militia. The British ranks waver and become disorganized, the Americans charge and the British throw down their arms and sue for mercy or flee from the field.
Tarleton is trying to rally his shattered horsemen when down upon them come Washington’s dragoons, with Colonel Washington far ahead of his men.