Another quotation from Wheeler’s History, p. 264: “At day break the British army under Cornwallis, on the 1st February, 1781, entered the waters of Catawba, then swollen by heavy rains, at Cowan’s Ford. The morning was dark and rainy. The light infantry under Col. Hall entered first, followed by the grenadiers and the battalions. The piquet of Gen. Davidson challenged the enemy; receiving no reply the guard fired. This turned out the whole force of Davidson, who kept up a galling fire from the bank.”
Observe the morning was dark but not rainy. Davidson’s army was stationed three quarters of a mile from the Ford, and did not fire a gun at the British whilst in the river, nor after they came across; all the firing by the American side in the river and on the bank was done by the guard.
Now, I will give my own version of the transaction of Cornwallis crossing Catawba River at Cowan’s Ford, 1st February, 1781. Robert Beatty, a lame man, had taken up a school near the Tuckaseage Ford, and had taught two days, and was teaching the third, when news came to the School-house that Cornwallis was camped at Forney’s, about seven miles from the School-house; that Tarleton was ranging through the country catching whig boys to make musicians of them in the British army. The master instantly dismissed the scholars, directing them to go home and spread the news, and retired himself. I went home, and that night Moses Starret, Alexander Starret, George Gillespie, Robert Gillespie, and Charles Rutledge came to my father’s! We lay out that night, and shortly before day-light my brother, Joseph Henry, who had left the army to give the news, and had crossed Catawba at John Beattie’s in a canoe; and when he left the army, it was expected that Cornwallis would cross the river at Tuckaseage Ford. Early in the morning this company crossed the river at Beatties, about two miles below Tuckaseage Ford, where we hid our canoe, staid some time at Beatties’—then went up to the Tuckaseage Ford, and the army was at Cowan’s Ford, we went up the river to John Nighten’s, who treated us well by giving us potatoes to roast, and some whisky to drink. We became noisy and mischievous. Nighten said we should not have any more whisky. I proposed to go to the camp at the Ford, if any one would let me have a gun and ammunition. My brother said he would give me his; Charles Rutledge proposed also to accompany me if he had a gun and ammunition; when Moses Starret gave him his gun. When about to start, I gave Nighten a hundred dollar Continental bill for a half a pint of whisky. My brother gave another bill of the same size for half a bushel of potatoes. We dispatched the whiskey. Being thus equipped, we went to the Ford, which was about a mile and a half. When we arrived, the guard that was there, thirty in number, made us welcome; the officer of the guard told us that Cornwallis would certainly attempt to cross that night or early in the morning; that each one of the guard had picked their stands to annoy the British as they crossed, so that when the alarm was given they would not be crowded, or be in each other’s way—and said we must choose our stands. He accompanied us—Charles Rutledge chose the uppermost stand, and I chose the lowest, next the getting out place of the Ford; the officer observed, that he considered that Davidson had done wrong, for that the army should have been stationed at the Ford—instead of which it was encamped three-fourths of a mile off, and that some person acquainted in the neighborhood of Forney should watch the movements of Cornwallis’ army, and immediately when they would attempt to march, to hasten to the river and give the alarm; then that Davidson’s army might be in readiness to receive them; the river being in the situation that it was then in, and the army thus prepared to receive them, said that Cornwallis and a million of men could not cross without cannon as long as our ammunition would last. This I thought was a large expression; but since I think he was correct.[[2]] He mentioned to each man of the guard to go to his stand again and examine it, so that when the alarm was given, that there should be no mistakes then made. I went to mine, and was well pleased with it—for in shooting, if I would miss my first aim, my lead would range along the British army obliquely and still do damage, and that I could stand it until the British would come to a place the water was riffling over a rock, then it would be time to run away. I remember that I looked over the guard to see if there was any person with whom I was acquainted, and found none but Joel Jetton, and my lame school-master, Robert Beatty, with my comrade, Charles Rutledge.
Gen. Joseph Graham’s name is mentioned by Wheeler. I was acquainted with him; but he was not there. Shortly after dark a man across the river hooted like an owl, and was answered; a man went to a canoe some distance off, and brought word from him that all was silent in the British camp. The guard all lay down with their guns in their arms, and all were sound asleep at day-break, except Joel Jetton, who discovered the noise of horses in deep water. The British pilot, Dick Beal being deceived by our fires, had led them into swimming water. Jetton ran to the Ford, the sentry being sound asleep, Jetton kicked him into the river, endeavored to fire his gun, but it was wet: Having discovered the army, ran to our fires, having a fine voice, cried “the British! the British!” and fired a gun—then each man ran to his stand; when I got to my stand, I saw them red, but thought from loss of sleep my eyes might be mistaken, threw water into them; by the time I was ready to fire, the rest of the guard had fired. I then heard the British splashing and making a noise as if drowning. I fired, and continued firing until I saw that one on horse-back had passed my rock in the river, and saw that it was Dick Beal moving his gun from his shoulder, I expected, to shoot me. I ran with all speed up the bank, and when at the top of it, William Polk’s horse breasted me, and Gen. Davidson’s horse, about twenty or thirty feet before Polk’s horse, and near to the water’s edge. All being silent on both sides, I heard the report of a gun, at the water’s edge, being the first gun fired on the British side, and which I thought Dick Beal had fired at me. That moment Polk wheeled his horse, and cried “fire away, boys; there is help at hand.” Turning my eye round, designing to run away, I saw my lame school-master, Beatty, loading his gun by a tree; I thought I could stand it as long as he could, and commenced loading. Beatty fired, then I fired, the heads and shoulders of the British being just above the bank; they made no return fire; silence still prevailed. I observed Beatty loading again; I ran down another load—when he fired, he cried “it’s time to run, Bob.” I looked past my tree, and saw their guns lowered, and then straightened myself behind my tree. They fired and knocked off some bark from my tree.
In the meantime Beatty had turned from his tree, and a bullet hit him in the hip, and broke the upper end of his thigh bone; he fell, still hallowing for me to run. I then ran at the top of my speed about one hundred yards, when a thought struck me that the British had no horsemen to follow me, and that Davidson’s army would be down at the river, and a battle would take place. Whereupon I loaded my gun, and went opposite to the Ford, and chose a large tree, sat down by it, and fired about fifty yards at the British. They fired several guns toward the place where I was; but their lead did not come nearer to me than about two rods.
I will now account for the great difference between the number of the British killed and those wounded, as stated by Wheeler. The water at the Ford was fully waist-band deep, and in many places much deeper, with a very heavy pressing current, and when a man was killed or badly wounded, the current immediately floated him away, so that none of them that were killed or badly wounded were ever brought to the shore; and none but those slightly wounded reached the bank; Col. Hall fell at the bank—I account for the three British that were killed as stated by Wheeler, in this way: Beatty, the lame schoolmaster, an excellent marksman, fired twice, at a distance of not more than twenty yards, at the British, after they had ascended the high bank, as before stated; and I fired twice about the same distance. I therefore think Beatty being the best marksman killed two, and I killed one.
Wheeler states that on the American side there were two killed: I observe, if there was any one killed that it was not at the river, for the British did not fire a gun whilst in the river, and when they arose the high bank, all were gone but Beatty and myself; that if any were killed, it was at Davidson’s camp, three quarters of a mile from the Ford of the river. But I never heard of any one either killed or wounded of the Americans except Robert Beatty on that occasion.
I will give an account of the balance of my route after firing the last time, as heretofore stated. I went down the river to John Beattie’s, where we had left our canoe; there I found my company, the two Starrets, the two Gillespies, my brother Joseph, and my comrade Charles Rutledge. I returned the gun to my brother after counting the cartridges—found seven missing—therefore I had fired seven times, as I supposed. The company remained at Beattie’s until the next morning; when we took our canoe to cross the river to the Lincoln side, it was proposed that we would go to James Cunningham’s fish-trap, and see if there were any fish in it. When we arrived at the trap, there were fourteen dead men lodged in it, several of whom appeared to have no wound, but had drowned. We pushed them into the water, they floated off, and went each to his own home. This is my version of that transaction.
Now, I will give the common report of it. I will begin with the report of Nicholas Gosnell, one of our neighbors, a Tory, who was in Cornwallis’ army when they crossed the Catawba at Cowan’s Ford. It was frequently repeated from the extraordinary language he used, and from his manner of expression—it is therefore better imprinted on my memory. I will endeavor to give it in his own language: “His Lordship chose Dick Beal for his pilot, as he well know’d the Ford, and a durned pretty pilot he was, for he suffered himself to be led astray by the Rebel fires, and then had to go down to the Ford afterwards; but if he did bad one way, he did good another, for he killed their damned Rebel General. The Rebels were posted at the water’s edge—there wan’t many on ’em; but I’ll be durned if they didn’t slap the wad to his Majesty’s men suicidally! for a while; for I saw ’em hollerin and a snortin and a drownin—the river was full on ’em a snortin, a hollerin and a drownin until his Lordship reached the off bank; then the Rebels made straight shirt tales, and all was silent—then I tell you his Lordship was Bo sure Super gille cristilum [?],[[3]] and when he rose the bank he was the best dog in the hunt, and not a rebel to be seen.” This is the Tory version of Cornwallis crossing Catawba at Cowan’s Ford.
The following is the report of every person who lived at or near the river between Cowan’s Ford and Tuckaseage Ford: That a great number of British dead were found on Thompson’s fish-dam, and in his trap, and numbers lodged on brush, and drifted to the banks: that the river stunk with dead carcases; that the British could not have lost less than one hundred men on that occasion.