On a trip to the West Indies, which his friends put him upon for his health's sake, the little schooner in which he was embarked was suddenly attacked by some monstrous fish, probably a thorn-back whale, who gave it such a terrible stroke with his tail as started a plank. The frightened crew flew to their pumps, but in vain; for the briny flood rushed with such fury into their vessel, that they were glad to quit her, and tumble as fast as they could into their little jolly boat. The event showed that this was as but a leap "out of the frying pan into the fire"; for their schooner went down so suddenly as not to give them time to take a mouthful of food with them, not even so much as a brown biscuit or a pint of water. After three wretched days of feverish hunger and thirst, they agreed to kill a little cabin dog who had swam to them from the schooner just before she sunk. On his raw flesh they feasted without restraint; but the blood they preserved with more economy, to cool their parched lips. In a few days, however, their own blood, for lack of cooling food, became so fiery hot as to scald their brain to frenzy. About the tenth day the captain and mate leaped overboard, raving mad; and the day following the two remaining seamen expired in the bottom of the boat, piteously crying to the last for WATER! WATER! God of his mercy forgive me, who have so often drank of that sweet beverage without grateful acknowledgments! Scarcely was this melancholy scene concluded before a vessel hove in sight, standing directly for the boat, as if purposely sent to save the child that was tossing in it on the gloomy waves.
Little Marion was so weak that he could not stir hand or foot to climb up the side of the vessel. The captain, however, soon had him on board; and by means of chocolate and turtle broth, sparingly given him at first, recruited him so fast, that, by the time he reached his native shores, he was in much better health than ever. So that on his return to his friends, it was found, as is often the case, that what was at first looked on as a great misfortune, had proved a very noble blessing. His constitution seemed renewed, his frame commenced a second and rapid growth; while his cheeks, quitting their pale suet-colored cast, assumed a bright and healthy olive. According to the best accounts that I have been able to procure, Marion never thought of another trip to sea, but continued in his native parish, in that most independent and happy of all callings, a cultivator of the earth, till his twenty-seventh year.
A report then prevailing that the Cherokee Indians were murdering the frontier settlers, Marion turned out with his rifle, as a volunteer under governor Lyttleton. The affair, however, proved to be a mere flash in the pan: for the Cherokees finding that things were not exactly in the train they wished, sent on a deputation with their wampum belts and peace-talks to bury the hatchet and brighten the old chain of friendship with the whites; and the good-natured governor, thinking them sincere, concluded a treaty with them. The troops of course were dismissed, and Marion returned to his plantation.
Scarcely, however, had two years elapsed, before the perfidious Cherokees broke out again in a fresh place, killing and driving the defenceless inhabitants at a most barbarous rate. Marion instantly flew again to the governor with the tender of his services to fight for his afflicted countrymen. His excellency was so pleased with this second instance of Marion's patriotism, that he gave him a first lieutenancy in the provincial line under the brave captain William Moultrie. The reported force and fury of the Indians struck such a terror through the colony, that colonel Grant (of the British) with twelve hundred regulars, was ordered out on a forced march to succor the bleeding frontiers.
On their way they were joined at Ninety-Six, May 14, 1761, by twelve hundred provincials, all men of surest aim with the deadly rifle.
To draw off the enemy from their murderous excursions, Col. Grant wisely determined to push the war at once into their own country; which was no sooner discovered by them, than they instantly collected their whole force to oppose him. The only passage into their country was through a dark defile or gap in the mountain, which it was resolved should be forced as rapidly as possible. A forlorn hope of thirty brave fellows were ordered to explore the dangerous pass: and Marion, though but a young lieutenant, had the honor to be appointed their leader. At the head of his command he advanced with rapidity, while the army moved on to support him. But scarcely had they entered the gloomy defile, when, from behind the rocks and trees, a sheet of fire suddenly blazed forth, which killed twenty-one of his men! With the remainder, he faced about and pushed back with all speed; whereupon great numbers of tall savages, frightfully painted, rushed from their lurking places, and with hideous yells and uplifted tomahawks, pursued and gained upon them so fast, that nothing but the nearness of the advanced guard saved them from destruction. The Anglo-American army then prepared themselves for a serious and bloody conflict.
An enemy in such force, so well posted, and defending the only pass into their country, would, they well knew, fight desperately. And well aware, also what slaughter would follow upon their own defeat, they determined to yield the victory only with their lives. A long summer's day was before them, for the sun had just risen above the hills, a bright spectator of the coming fight. Then, in high spirits, with justice on their side, and an approving conscience, they cheerfully left the event to Heaven. The British were formed in small corps, the more promptly to support the riflemen, who led the van, and now with wide extended wings began to move. In a little time they came in sight of the enemy, who appeared flying backwards and forwards, as if not well satisfied with their ground. The provincial marksmen then rapidly advancing, flew each to his tree, and the action began. From wing to wing, quite across the defile, the woods appeared as if all on fire; while the incessant crash of small arms tortured the ear like claps of sharpest thunder. The muskets of the British, like their native bull-dogs, kept up a dreadful roar, but scarcely did more than bark the trees, or cut off the branches above the heads of the Indians. While, with far less noise, the fatal rifles continued to lessen the numbers of the enemy. The action was kept up with great spirit for nearly two hours, during which the superiority of the American riflemen was very remarkably displayed. For in that time they lost only fifty-one — whereas of the Indians there fell one hundred and three, which so disheartened them that they fled and gave up their country to the conquerors, who prepared immediately to enter it.
Colonel Grant had hoped to surprise their towns, but concluding that their swift-footed runners had given the alarm, he moved on in slow marches through the wilderness towards the settlements, thinking that by the destruction of their towns and corn-fields he should drive them into a disposition for peace.
Marion often spoke of this part of the war, as of a transaction which he remembered with sorrow. "We arrived," said he, in a letter to a friend, "at the Indian towns in the month of July. As the lands were rich and the season had been favorable, the corn was bending under the double weight of lusty roasting ears and pods of clustering beans. The furrows seemed to rejoice under their precious loads — the fields stood thick with bread. We encamped the first night in the woods, near the fields, where the whole army feasted on the young corn, which, with fat venison, made a most delicious treat.
"The next morning we proceeded by order of colonel Grant, to burn down the Indians' cabins. Some of our men seemed to enjoy this cruel work, laughing very heartily at the curling flames, as they mounted loud crackling over the tops of the huts. But to me it appeared a shocking sight. Poor creatures! thought I, we surely need not grudge you such miserable habitations. But when we came, according to orders, to cut down the fields of corn, I could scarcely refrain from tears. For who could see the stalks that stood so stately with broad green leaves and gaily tasseled shocks, filled with sweet milky fluid and flour, the staff of life; who, I say, without grief, could see these sacred plants sinking under our swords with all their precious load, to wither and rot untasted in their mourning fields?