Donald McElroy, Scotch Irishman
Page 26
CHAPTER XXVI
Buford's strength had been so burnt out with fever, and so wasted fromthe suppuration of his wound, that he was but the pale, limp outline ofa man when I laid him gently on one of my mother's snowy beds. Had hebeen more than Tory, more than British officer, my dear mother wouldhave received him kindly in his present state, and laid aside all otherduties to care for him. It was good to see her hovering over him withgentle touch and to hear her say: "They were good to you, son, when youwere in like condition. I am proud you brought him to me; he shall haveevery care, every comfort."
"Oh, brother, were you as ill as this, when he took you from thePhiladelphia prison?" said Jean, tender commiseration on her face.
"Weaker, I think, only I had passed the stage of delirium into which heslipped only a few days ago. But look at me now! See how robust I am!"and I lifted her by the elbows to the level of my face, kissed her andset her upon her feet again, adding: "Buford will soon be as sound, withyours and mother's nursing."
"His mother and sister nursed you?"
"They had me well-cared for. I was over the worst when they found me."
"We'll nurse him carefully, dear Donald, you may be satisfied of that.Is he, though, really a Tory? He looks like a gentleman," glancingtoward him as she spoke, as if she half suspected Buford of possessinghidden tusks and horns like some fabled monster.
"And gentleman he is, only his opinions do not agree with ours";whereupon I laughed so merrily at Jean's shocked face that mother signedto us to leave the room, lest we disturb her patient. "Aye, littlesister," I continued, "prejudice is a most strange thing! 'Tis like apestilence in the air, poisoning even the most innocent andpure-hearted. Heaven, Jean, I doubt not, is a place where thought is asfree as God's smile, and conviction untrammeled, save by love andknowledge of truth. Such state would almost be heaven, methinks, withoutother concomitants."
Jean, though the sweetest of little women, and well endowed with commonsense, and all needful womanly reason, cared not, like Ellen, to followthe twistings and wanderings of thought, so she took me straight back toour subject.
"And if Captain Buford gets well, Donald, will they hang him because heis a Tory?"
"Do you suppose, innocent one, that we but fatten him for the halter?Either he'll be exchanged, paroled, or discharged."
"Then he'll go back to fight more against us? Oh! Donald, I'm afraid Ishall hate the poor man when he begins to get stronger, though he looksnow so pitiable."
"It would be very hard to hate Buford, Jean. You'll forget he's in asense our enemy. But, don't bother your little head about all this yet;perhaps Generals Greene and Washington may make peace with the Britishby the time Buford is strong enough to shoulder arms again. A few morevictories like King's Mountain and Cowpens and it's done."
"What would then become of Captain Buford?" persisted Jean.
"He would be released, and could go back to Philadelphia, or to England,as he pleased. Perhaps his estate would be confiscated, and he mightsuffer other persecutions. There is much bitterness everywhere againstthe Tories," I responded.
"Poor gentleman!" she sighed; "perhaps we ought not to want him to getwell."
"Nonsense, little Jean! Of course we want him to get well, and if hecould be consulted he himself would choose to get well, you may be sure.A man worth the name wants to see the end of the play--to finish thegame--to keep up life's battle while muscle and wind are left him tofight with. Do all you can to cure him, Jean, and leave his future inhis own hands."
"And God's," she added reverently.
* * * * *
All this conversation I repeated to Ellen, during the few brief hours Ihad to spend with her. Then we went back to the subject of prejudice,and I talked out the convictions which Jean had not encouraged me toexpress. Ellen was broad-minded, open-souled--one of God's chosentransmitters from generation to generation of ever-widening truth. Thistalk between us upon the subject of prejudice, as to which we werealready agreed, led on to a less general discussion, and gave meopportunity to drive, I hoped, another wedge between superstition andconsecration. Presently I made the enquiry I almost dreaded to have heranswer:
"Tell me of your daily life with Aunt Martha, Ellen; is each day still atrial to you, exercising all your fortitude and patience?" Her answergave me my first heart's ease for weeks.
"No, Donald, I wonder, indeed, if it was ever so bad as I thought, or ifmy stubborn will and set defiance magnified the hardships I underwent,as a child, under Aunt Martha's discipline. However that may have been,I find her, now, disposed to give me full liberty, and to exact fewduties. Indeed, it is of my own will that I relieve her of such dutiesas she will trust me to perform; and since her health fails more andmore, she is obliged to let others do many things she once took uponherself."
"And she never asks you to go to church?"
"No, but twice I have offered to go. Father Gibault granted meabsolution beforehand--as Elisha did Naaman--should I think it best toattend the Protestant meetings which my relatives frequented. And I havefound the quiet church a better place to repeat my litany and aves thaneven my own room; the preacher's voice I can imagine to be the priest'sintoning, and if I shut my eyes, I can see the candles, and smell theincense."
I smiled at this naive confession. "But you make no signs, I hope," Isaid in pretended seriousness, which for a moment deceived her.
"I am careful to do so only under my tippet; and see! I wear my beadsbeneath my gown," and Ellen drew forth a small ebony cross and held itout for my inspection.
Thinking this scene over later, Ellen's religion seemed to me not onlyharmless--apart from her superstitious vow--but so much a part of her asto be lovable. It would nowise affect my confidence and love were mywife always a devout Catholic. Could I be one with her, though, in herreligion; could I yield my own simple and sublime faith for hers?--tothat question came a not uncertain negative. My reason and feelingsrepelled all the dogmas and practices so sacred to Ellen, as hers didthose most congenial to my spirit! No! I would make no compromise withthe woman I loved--the woman I would win for my wife. She must come tome trusting all, confiding all. There must be no terms of barter betweenme and my heart's love.
* * * * *
The company of militiamen I was able to take with me to General Greenewas warmly welcomed, for many of the men of King's Mountain and Cowpenshad refused to enlist for regular service, and General Greene was usingall the skillful tactics of which he was master to avoid a drawn battlewith Cornwallis' united army, until his own was strong enough to offersome hope of another victory. Defeat could not be risked just now, forthat meant a resubjugated South, and then General Washington'sdislodgement from Philadelphia and New Jersey, which would be the end ofour hopes and our efforts. The battle of Guilford Court House, fought onthe fifth of March, was claimed by the British as a defeat for theAmericans; but Charles Fox realized, as General Greene did, its trueimport, when he said on the floor of the British Parliament:
"Another such victory as that of Guilford would destroy the BritishArmy."
General Greene now retreated to Troublesome Creek and there awaited theexpected pursuit. We did not know until later that General Cornwallishad lost a third of his force, nor that he was so encumbered withwounded, and so needy of supplies of all kinds, as to make pursuitimpossible. Slowly he fell back into the Tory Highland Settlement atCross Creek. We followed, at first cautiously, but more and more eagerto dislodge and rout our enemy as we learned of his crippled condition.Our own lack of ammunition prevented our doing so, and GeneralCornwallis was perforce allowed to cross Deep River, near Ramsay's Mill.Both armies crouched here--like two angry lions, pausing in prolongedcombat, and waiting but for strength enough to make again at eachother's throats--for some weeks, the river between, with all its fordsvigilantly guarded. We Continentals fared hardly, meanwhile, subsistingon ash cakes, and the black, stringy meat of the half wild cattle,raised on the pine barrens. Th
e damp ground was our bed, and our raggedblankets and our tattered clothes were our only protection from thevagaries of the spring weather.
A bold decision of General Greene's relieved the strained situation. Hewould leave Cornwallis in his rear, and advance by rapid marches to therelief of South Carolina. If Cornwallis should follow him he would turnand give him battle;--if he should decide to march on northward tocooperate with Arnold in Virginia, the militia and General Lafayettemust take care of him. His, General Greene's, task was to relieve theSouthern States; he would stick to his work.
We advanced swiftly to Camden, held by a considerable British force, andsat down before it. Cornwallis still remained at Ramsay's Mill. Thenight before the fall of Fort Watson, which would give us Camden,General Greene sent for me to his tent. "Colonel McElroy," he began--Ihave found no opportunity to state my gradual rise in rank during myeight months of southern service,--"I wish to send important dispatchesto Governor Jefferson, and for obvious reasons prefer to have themconveyed orally. I must have a trusty and well accredited messenger, andone perfectly familiar with the country, therefore I have chosen you.Say to Governor Jefferson that I believe it to be General Cornwallis'intention to advance into Virginia in an attempt to over-run andsubjugate that state. Say to him, that I hope, with the assistance ofSumter's and Marion's rangers, without further reenforcements, torelieve the Southern States, and afterwards, if I am needed, I willgladly come to the help of Virginia. I would not have him think that Ihave deserted that noble commonwealth whose aid, more than that of anyof the others, has enabled me to do what so far it has been possible toaccomplish in this department. I know the bravery and loyalty ofVirginians, and have no fears for the result there, but theseover-ridden South Carolinians must have instant succor, if the State isnot to be given over finally to the British and the Tories. Have you afleet mount, Colonel McElroy?"
"The best that can be raised on my father's plantation, and bred fromgood English hunting stock."
"You will need to ride swiftly, and persistently. Once Cornwallis givesthe order to advance--you know his habit--there'll be no delays, nodeliberate marches."
"I fully realize that, General; I will lose no time."
"A somewhat circuitous route might be the safer: skirt the Highlandneighborhood, though your route be lengthened thereby. It might be wellto suggest to Governor Jefferson the extreme importance of guarding anyarmy stores we may have left in Virginia, though doubtless the obviousnecessity to do so will occur to him."
"Where shall I rejoin you, General?" I asked.
"I cannot say where one, two or three weeks may find me; it depends bothon Cornwallis' movements, and our successes or reverses, as we attemptto relieve South Carolina. I would suggest that you do not try to rejoinme until ordered to do so. Should Cornwallis continue his advance intoVirginia, Governor Jefferson will need you to help to raise and commandthe militia, doubtless. You may say that I but lend you to him, untilthe tide of invasion has been rolled back from your State."
* * * * *
Thanking General Greene for his confidence implied, I saluted, and wentat once to my tent to make preparations for departure early the nextmorning.
Though General Cornwallis had the advantage of two days' start, Iovertook him on the third day, and from that time distanced hisencumbered movements every hour. Part of my way was over ground he hadjust traversed, part lay parallel with it, and more than one distressingscene came under my observation. Smoldering homes, barns, and hay rickssent up a sodden smoke from all along the route, and several times I sawwomen and children sheltering, for lack of better place, under the eavesof half-burned ricks. Say the most one can for it, war at its best isbut a grim and terrible necessity.