"And she never asks you to go to church?"
"No, but twice I have offered to go. Father Gibault granted me absolution beforehand—as Elisha did Naaman—should I think it best to attend the Protestant meetings which my relatives frequented. And I have found the quiet church a better place to repeat my litany and aves than even my own room; the preacher's voice I can imagine to be the priest's intoning, and if I shut my eyes, I can see the candles, and smell the incense."
I smiled at this naïve confession. "But you make no signs, I hope," I said in pretended seriousness, which for a moment deceived her.
"I am careful to do so only under my tippet; and see! I wear my beads beneath my gown," and Ellen drew forth a small ebony cross and held it out for my inspection.
Thinking this scene over later, Ellen's religion seemed to me not only harmless—apart from her superstitious vow—but so much a part of her as to be lovable. It would nowise affect my confidence and love were my wife always a devout Catholic. Could I be one with her, though, in her religion; could I yield my own simple and sublime faith for hers?—to that question came a not uncertain negative. My reason and feelings repelled all the dogmas and practices so sacred to Ellen, as hers did those most congenial to my spirit! No! I would make no compromise with the woman I loved—the woman I would win for my wife. She must come to me trusting all, confiding all. There must be no terms of barter between me and my heart's love.
The company of militiamen I was able to take with me to General Greene was warmly welcomed, for many of the men of King's Mountain and Cowpens had refused to enlist for regular service, and General Greene was using all the skillful tactics of which he was master to avoid a drawn battle with Cornwallis' united army, until his own was strong enough to offer some hope of another victory. Defeat could not be risked just now, for that meant a resubjugated South, and then General Washington's dislodgement from Philadelphia and New Jersey, which would be the end of our hopes and our efforts. The battle of Guilford Court House, fought on the fifth of March, was claimed by the British as a defeat for the Americans; but Charles Fox realized, as General Greene did, its true import, when he said on the floor of the British Parliament:
"Another such victory as that of Guilford would destroy the British Army."
General Greene now retreated to Troublesome Creek and there awaited the expected pursuit. We did not know until later that General Cornwallis had lost a third of his force, nor that he was so encumbered with wounded, and so needy of supplies of all kinds, as to make pursuit impossible. Slowly he fell back into the Tory Highland Settlement at Cross Creek. We followed, at first cautiously, but more and more eager to dislodge and rout our enemy as we learned of his crippled condition. Our own lack of ammunition prevented our doing so, and General Cornwallis was perforce allowed to cross Deep River, near Ramsay's Mill. Both armies crouched here—like two angry lions, pausing in prolonged combat, and waiting but for strength enough to make again at each other's throats—for some weeks, the river between, with all its fords vigilantly guarded. We Continentals fared hardly, meanwhile, subsisting on ash cakes, and the black, stringy meat of the half wild cattle, raised on the pine barrens. The damp ground was our bed, and our ragged blankets and our tattered clothes were our only protection from the vagaries of the spring weather.
A bold decision of General Greene's relieved the strained situation. He would leave Cornwallis in his rear, and advance by rapid marches to the relief of South Carolina. If Cornwallis should follow him he would turn and give him battle;—if he should decide to march on northward to coöperate with Arnold in Virginia, the militia and General Lafayette must take care of him. His, General Greene's, task was to relieve the Southern States; he would stick to his work.