"Yes, but he had forty-three years to do it in," said Elsie.
"That many years before the Revolutionary War began," said her grandma, "but he was only twenty-seven when he became a soldier by joining an expedition against the Cherokees and other hostile Indian tribes on the western frontier of his State. When the Revolution began he was made a captain in the second South Carolina regiment. He fought in the battle at Fort Sullivan, on Sullivan's Island, in the contest at Savannah, and many another. He organized a brigade and became brigadier of the militia of South Carolina. After the battle of Eutaw he became senator in the Legislature, but soon went back into the army and remained there till the close of the war."
"Grandma, didn't he and his soldiers camp in the swamps a good deal of the time?" asked Elsie.
"Yes; and often had but little to eat—sometimes sweet potatoes only, and but a scant supply of them. A story is told of a young British officer from Georgetown coming to treat with him respecting prisoners, when Marion was camping on Snow's Island—at the confluence of the Pedee River and Lynch's Creek. The Briton was led blindfolded to Marion's camp. There for the first time he saw that general—a small man—with groups of his men about him, lounging under the magnificent trees draped with moss. When they had concluded their business Marion invited the Englishman to dine with him. The invitation was accepted, and great was the astonishment of the guest when the dinner was served; only some roasted potatoes on a piece of bark. 'Surely, general,' he said, 'this cannot be your ordinary fare?' 'Indeed it is,' replied Marion, 'and we are fortunate on this occasion, entertaining company, to have more than our usual allowance.'
"It is said that the young officer gave up his commission on his return, saying that such a people could not, and ought not to be subdued."
"Marion and his men must have loved their country and liberty to be
willing to live in swamps with nothing but potatoes to eat," said
Elsie; "it makes me think of the stories I've read and heard about
Robin Hood and his merry men."
"Yes," said her grandmother, "and Lossing tells us Marion's men were as devoted to him as those of Robin Hood were to their leader. Our poet Bryant has drawn a telling picture of that noble band in his
"SONG OF MARION'S MEN.
"Our band is few, but true and tried,
Our leader frank and bold;
The British soldier trembles
When Marion's name is told.
Our fortress is the good greenwood,
Our tent the cypress-tree;
We know the forest round us
As seamen know the sea.
We know its walls of thorny vines,
Its glades of reedy grass;
Its safe and silent islands
Within the dark morass.
"Woe to the English soldiery,
That little dread us near!
On them shall light at midnight
A strange and sudden fear;
When, waking to their tents on fire,
They grasp their arms in vain,
And they who stand to face us
Are beat to earth again;
And they who fly in terror deem
A mighty host behind,
And hear the tramp of thousands
Upon the hollow wind.