During or after the expedition, Cunningham had second thoughts about fighting Britain. How public he was about this isn’t known; there’s no record of his activities for the next year and a half, although Ward said “he was hunted more like a wild beast than a man.” Sometime during this period, William Ritchie, a Whig captain from the Ninety-Six area, vowed to kill Cunningham for being a traitor. In 1778, Cunningham fled to Savannah. He left the state around the time Ritchie drafted William’s lame and epileptic brother, John, into the rebel militia. When John failed to appear at muster, Ritchie and two men went to John’s house, whipped him to death, then seized his father and “dragged him over the floor by the hair, and kicked and cuffed him.”4
Cunningham quickly returned to South Carolina, enlisted a handful of sympathetic friends, went to Ritchie’s house, and shot him dead as he climbed over a fence trying to escape. For the next four years, the cycle of revenge and retaliation continued. By late 1781, Cunningham was a commissioned Loyalist major leading anywhere from one hundred fifty to five hundred men.5 Most of their homes were lost to the rebels; many of their friends and family were dead or living in fear. The British were far away in Charlestown, but Cunningham fought on.6
Greene began to receive alarming reports from the backcountry. “The Tories are getting troublesome and insolent in the neighborhood of Orangeburg, in the forks of Edisto, and even up as high as the right toward Ninety-Six,” he noted. He considered establishing a post at Orangeburg that could “check the depredation of the Tories, which are more distressing and cruel than all the rest of the British army.”7
The “depredation,” nicknamed the “Bloody Scout,” peaked in November after Cunningham escalated his revenge:
At Cloud’s Creek, twenty-four outnumbered men tried to surrender to Cunningham. During surrender negotiations, a rebel who had previously killed a Cunningham acquaintance now shot one of the Tory soldiers. According to Whig accounts, Cunningham’s men slaughtered all but two, who escaped.8 Moreover, a Whig colonel reported, “The captain’s head was cut off and one Butler, a man who had been remarkably active, was tortured with more than savage cruelty. Both his hands ware cut off while alive, and it is said many other cruelties committed on him shameful to repeat.”9
At Hayes Station, the home of Whig colonel Joseph Hayes, Cunningham’s men demanded that Hayes and his fourteen men surrender. Hayes refused. Cunningham torched the home. Hayes then surrendered, but Cunningham’s men killed them. Cunningham tried to hang Hayes after a “trial” that found him guilty of cruelty to Loyalist women and children by forcing them from their homes. A pole holding the noose broke, so Cunningham hacked him to death with a sword.10
Near Hayes Station, Cunningham captured Oliver Toles, a notorious cattle thief who had preyed on Loyalists. Cunningham hanged him.11
At Orangeburg, Cunningham defeated one hundred eighty rebel militia, the rebels “being thrown into disorder by a heavy fire from a swamp which the enemy lay in,” a Whig officer reported.12
At what is now Cross Hill, South Carolina, Cunningham went to the home of his former Whig commander, who greeted him. Cunningham shot him dead in front of his wife, then burned his home.13
At Anderson’s Mills, Cunningham burned the mill and a militia post, and continued burning and looting buildings down the Saluda River.14
At Moore’s Plantation, Cunningham killed a bedridden Whig captain and two of his men.15
At Lawson’s Fork, Cunningham destroyed an ironworks.16 Near the ironworks, he captured Whig lieutenant governor James Wood, dragged him out of his home, shot and wounded him, and as his wife begged for his life, Cunningham’s men hanged him from a dogwood tree.17
In the Long Canes region, a detachment from Cunningham’s force overran a Whig post, burned and looted homes, and escaped into Cherokee territory with a prisoner, the brother of a rebel partisan general. The men turned the prisoner over to the Cherokee, who tortured him to death.18
And so it went. By mid-December, state troops and militia focused their efforts on stopping Cunningham, and under this pressure, the men dispersed, retreating into swamps near Orangeburg. The Whigs captured one of Cunningham’s camps on the 20th, and killed twenty Tories.
Cunningham escaped to Charlestown. He appears to have limited his activities to the Charlestown area with a couple of exceptions.
In May, Whig colonel Maham was recuperating from an illness at his home in St. Stephens about fifty miles north of the city. Some of Cunningham’s men went to St. Stephens, found Maham unguarded except for a lieutenant, and captured them. But Maham’s illness was serious enough that the Tory leader of the detachment immediately paroled him. He was honor-bound to sit out the rest of the war. Maham praised Cunningham’s men, “as we expected nothing else than to be tortured in the most horrid manner.”19
In September, Cunningham returned to the Ninety-Six area, whose defenses had been weakened by diversion of militia to fighting the Cherokees. James Butler, the son of the Whig militia captain whom Cunningham had killed the previous November, collected men to hunt him down. Butler forced a Cunningham relative to lead the group to the Tory camp, which they immediately attacked. The twenty Tories immediately scattered. Cunningham himself mounted his horse, and Butler immediately chased him. But Cunningham’s horse was faster, and Butler lost him. Returning to the camp, Butler found that his men had captured a few Tories, but one prisoner was executed. Butler’s men justified the execution by saying the Tory had once whipped his mother.20
The next month, with the evacuation of Charlestown imminent, Cunningham and five of his men on horseback managed to avoid Whig patrols, and made their way to the safety of British-occupied East Florida.
Few historians agree about what Cunningham did then. One source said he married just before he left, and his bride went to Britain. Another says the Spanish deported him to Cuba after a dispute with neighbors. A third says he rendezvoused with his wife in Britain and lived on the half-pay pension of a British major. A fourth says he died in the Bahamas in 1787, while a final historian says he “lived to a good old age and died quietly in his own bed in the West Indies.”21
Shortly before Cunningham’s last skirmish, Marion fought his last fight. He and his men were camped on a plantation near Monck’s Corner on Wadboo Creek. A foraging party of more than one hundred British and Loyalist white and black dragoons under Major Thomas Fraser were also near Monck’s Corner, following Leslie’s orders to secure “some fresh meat for the use of the general hospital.”22
Marion and Fraser apparently learned of each other’s presence about the same time on the morning of August 29. The accounts now diverge. Fraser felt the only way he could secure his retreat was to chase away Marion’s pickets and threaten an attack. Marion was “deceived by this resolute appearance,” said the British report. The rebels “confined themselves within the protection of some buildings” from where they generated a “heavy fire” that killed two Loyalists and wounded five others.23
Marion saw the battle differently. Most of his cavalry were out on patrol, so his mobility was limited. His defensive positions were deliberate and well thought-out: in an “avenue of trees,” with some of his men “under cover of three small houses,” he said. The British “several times endeavored to come round me, but found I changed front and took advantage of the house and fences. They dared not come within reach of our muskets.” Fraser charged several times, and his men took casualties. “There must have been a good many men wounded as a great deal of blood was seen along the road they went,” Marion said. Marion praised his militia, the largest number of whom were “new-made Whigs”—former Tories led by Major Micajah Ganey, who had signed a treaty with Marion the previous June. Ganey’s men “behaved with great spirit. Not one offered to give way, but wished to pursue them in the open field, but that would have given the enemy too great an advantage.”24
Despite his casualties, Fraser claimed a victory. They captured an ammunition wagon that a panicked rebel had unknowingly
driven into the British ranks. He later captured ten of Marion’s men. And he delivered one hundred cattle and fifty sheep that helped feed Charlestown.
Marion experienced what many experienced during the war. Both sides plundered his plantation, and the British burned it. Half his slaves ran away. With the war’s end, he was destitute, and borrowed money to make repairs. But he continued to represent his neighbors in the South Carolina Senate. There, he supported conciliation with former Tories—an unpopular view—and remained a pro-Washington federalist. His finances improved in 1786 when he married a wealthy woman: his first cousin. She was forty-nine; he was fifty-four. He is buried near what is now called Lake Marion, eleven miles from Francis Marion National Forest.
14. Laurens and His Glory
IF MARION WAS UNDERSTATED, JOHN LAURENS WAS, AS THE FRENCH complained, over-the-top. If Marion was a cautious commander who hid in the swamps when the odds didn’t favor him, Laurens was, his superiors complained, reckless.
But with all his faults, he was talented. Laurens and Colonel Henry “Light-Horse Harry” Lee (before his resignation) persuaded Greene to let them attack the British post on Johns Island. Greene was reluctant, but deferred to the colonels, warning them: “I am afraid you are too confident of your strength, and have too much contempt for the enemies. You are to remember the place you are going upon is an island. I hate all island[s] for military operations where we have not the command of the water.”1
The island is one of the innumerable, flat, near–sea level islands surrounded by interconnected tidal creeks and rivers. At its closest, it’s a couple of miles from Charlestown. Its farthest point is more than twenty miles away, only a couple from the ocean. The British used Johns Island (and nearby James Island) for forage and cattlegrazing, “our only hopes of supplies,” Leslie told Clinton. Craig, the former British commander in Wilmington, now commanded about five hundred men on the island.2
The night of January 12, 1782, during a low tide, Laurens, Lee, and their men attempted to ford New Cut, on the far side of the island. It turned into a failed operation. “Our plan fell through,” said an officer. “Daylight appearing and a number of the infantry could not get over the marsh. This was very hard to cross, as it was near the middle deep of mud, and the tide making fast, some of them stuck fast until they were assisted. Those who got over were up to their shoulders in water on their return.”3
They tried again on the 14th, this time attempting to cross the Stono River onto the island from the north. They were too late. Leslie had seen Craig’s vulnerability to attack and had ordered him to evacuate the night before to James Island, closer to Charlestown and with better defenses.
Lee and Laurens arrived to see the last of the British crossing the Stono River in a schooner, which also prevented the Whigs from landing on the island. The Whigs “fired a dozen of shots, three of which struck her, but the metal was too light to do her much harm. They evacuated the island. A party of our troops at low water went on it and got some small articles, which they, in their hurry, could not take off.”4
Greene was disappointed. “A few straggling prisoners were taken, and the enemy’s baggage and stores on board a schooner very narrowly escaped. . . . We have got territory, but we missed the great object of the enterprise.”5
Lee resigned at the end of the month, and Greene named Laurens to succeed him. On the surface, Laurens was an obvious choice for Greene. He was experienced, and, as a native, he knew the country. Laurens also was a fighter, although Greene admitted that Laurens “wishes to fight much more than I wish he should.”6
In practice, the marriage of Laurens with Lee’s Legion was a disaster. One officer couldn’t contain his sarcasm. “Marched at eight o’clock, and made a halt. . . . Here we lay in the woods without anything to eat or drink, and would not be allowed to cook. In this situation we remained until four o’clock, when Col. Laurens had dined and filled himself with wine. We then took up the line of march and came to Bacon’s Bridge, where we lay all night without anything to shelter us from the dew. It was so late we could not provide anything for our comfort. So much for Col. Laurens’s wild goose chase.”7
Greene himself conceded he had made a mistake, even while explaining to a colleague that Lee’s Legion “from long indulgence and from their great reputation made them not unlike the Pretorian guards difficult to govern and impatient of subordination.” In June, writing to Lee, Greene said: “I am sorry to inform you that Col. Laurens is by no means popular with the Legion. Some of your particular friends have insinuated that Laurens’s appointment was the cause of your leaving the army. Nothing, you know, was more untrue.” Later that month, a major and all the legion’s captains resigned. Greene needed to address the problem.8
He detached Laurens from the legion, assigned him a small guard, and asked him to gather intelligence from a forward-observation post near Charlestown. Laurens complained that his thirteen-man guard was “too feeble,” and that the post was “too precarious and dilatory to facilitate matters,” but he did the job.9
A typical report: “A lady in town heard a British officer say a major in your army transmitted regular intelligence to Charlestown and received sums of specie. Another: He talked with “W.,” a Whig spy, who said the Charlestown evacuation is imminent, waiting only transport ships. Tories asked the British for arms with which to defend their city from the rebels—“which they promise to undertake with the aid of Negroes.” Laurens believed the Tory plan “resembles the desperate unavailing efforts of a downing man.” His sources later told him that “the most outrageous of the [Loyalist] refugees mean to burn the town and commit other acts of vengeance at the moment of an evacuation.”10
The rumors Laurens heard were based on a public announcement Leslie made on August 7: The British would evacuate Charlestown.
Leslie then made Greene a proposal. The British would end their foraging raids and stay close to Charlestown if the Americans would supply food—for which the British would pay. It would be an agreement of “mutual advantage.” The British would get “the supply to our further necessities.” The Americans, “security from further depredation and a voluntary compensation for what the force of arms has already given us in possession.” He warned Greene, however, that if the Americans turned down the deal, it “will justify the measures I shall be forced to take.” If Greene wouldn’t sell him food, he would send his army to steal it.11
Greene referred the proposal to South Carolina’s governing council, which unanimously turned it down. Greene concurred. The proposal was more evidence that the British intended to “seduce and lull the people of this country while they operate with vigor against its allies, and until they can seize a more favorable occasion of gaining possession of the country.”12
Leslie was incredulous. It was an “unexpected refusal of a proposition so generous on our part and so evidently advantageous to the interest of the opposite party.” Now, Leslie acted to feed his troops and the Loyalist refugees in Charlestown. His orders to Fraser resulted in the skirmish with Marion on August 29—and Fraser still delivered a supply of food.13
About the same time, Leslie ordered Brereton—who had overwhelmed one of Marion’s detachments on January 2—to sail a small armada up the Combahee River, roughly fifty miles to the southwest of Charlestown. For safety from attack, Brereton would go no farther than where a ferry had operated for more than seven decades, thirteen miles from the river’s mouth as the bird flies, longer on the twisty, serpentine river.
The river was named after Indians who once lived along it. The settlers spelled it creatively. One variation was phonetic, the way locals today pronounce it: “cum-bee.” Like many low-country rivers, the Combahee flows with the tides, reversing direction four times each day for many miles. It’s an area of pine forests and live oak, rice paddies and swamps, thick brush, tall grass, tough footing. At one point along the river is a rare rise in land, the twenty- to thirty-foot-high Tar Bluff, named after the tar pitch that came from nearby
pine trees. By 1782, slaves had turned the swamps into one of the most productive rice-producing areas in the colony.14
Leslie knew this, although whether and where there was any rice to be had was a question. He told Brereton that from the plantations that provided “the great abundance of rice and other provisions . . . collect as large a quantity as possible. . . . I must, however, caution you not to remain too long on this river, more especially if you should find the enemy have detached in force . . .”15
Brereton left Charlestown on August 21 with eight hundred regulars and Loyalists, transported by about eighteen galleys, schooners, brigs, and other small boats.16
Two days later, Greene knew from his spies that Brereton was on his way. He ordered General Mordecai Gist with five hundred men to head for the Combahee, intercept the British, and attack them. “Glory attend you,” said Greene’s aide-de-camp. “If you succeed, a wreath of laurels shall be presented to you.” Gist left at daybreak on August 24.17
Gist, 40, was a Baltimore merchant and an early Whig activist. A wealthy man, he named one of his sons “Independence” and another “States Rights.” In 1775, he was elected a militia captain. The next year, he was commissioned a Continental army major, and fought in New York, Trenton, and Germantown. In 1779, Congress promoted him to brigadier general. Washington ordered Gist to South Carolina in 1780, where he fought at the Camden defeat. The next year, home in Maryland, he recruited a new force, which fought at Yorktown. He then headed South to join Greene, giving the commander another experienced general.18
At his forward post, Laurens didn’t hear from his spies about the Brereton expedition until August 24, the day Gist set out for the Combahee. Then, Laurens reported, it was just “vague intelligence.” Nonetheless, although he was feverish from a malaria recurrence, he left his bed and abandoned his post to join his immediate superior, Gist, to fight the British.19
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