Donald McElroy, Scotch Irishman by Willie Walker Caldwell
CHAPTER XXV
The messages I bore Ellen from Aunt Martha, when I rode to Mr. White'sto bring her home, were ample in assurances of forgiveness andreconciliation, while Uncle Thomas' were full of affection andsatisfaction at her return. Aunt Martha I found much changed; she lookednot only older, but a new expression of meekness struggled with thehabitual one of self-righteousness and indomitable will. Mother, readyas ever to make excuses for the faults of those she loved, declared thatAunt Martha's whole nature had been softened by recent chastenings, andthat she had even lost her restless, bustling energy, so that one couldspend, now, a peaceful afternoon with her and not be conscious of havinginterrupted a soap boiling, a candle molding, or a quilting. It wasevident from my brief talk with her that Ellen's return was a greatsatisfaction; that she regarded it in some sense as a vindication in theeyes of husband, son, and neighbors. Thomas had just departed forLiberty Hall Academy to continue his ministerial studies, which was onereason, perhaps, that Aunt Martha could welcome Ellen sincerely.Especially had Thomas' full confession of all that had passed betweenEllen and himself softened his mother's heart toward her, and increasedher regret for past harshness.
Thomas, I found, had been most considerate, having given no hint to anyone of my feelings toward Ellen. But I told my mother, as we sattalking, late into the night, and got her blessing, with a promise ofprofound secrecy, and whatever help she might find quiet opportunity togive me. All my own affairs were for the present as I would have them,and my heart would have been as light as thistledown but for thediscouraging war news I had from my father.
The year that had given us such unbroken success, and such fruitfulvictories in the Northwest, had been one of disaster for the Americancause in the East. The British still held New York; Fort Washington hadbeen taken, Continental currency was depreciated in value till it was nolonger possible to procure necessary army supplies; the troops had notbeen paid for months, and were ragged, poorly equipped, half starved,and mutinous. Georgia had fallen, and South Carolina sorely beset byhome and foreign enemies, could not hope to hold out much longer unlessstrongly reenforced from without. Worse still, the gallant and patrioticArnold had turned traitor, and a shuddering horror and apprehension wasupon the land--since the noble and high-spirited Arnold could fall tosuch depths, might we not look for treason everywhere? On hearing allthis discouraging news, I determined at once to visit Colonel Morgan,and to urge him, despite his physical infirmities and his justly woundedpride--for Congress had not yet raised him to the rank to which his pastservices had entitled him--to call together his scattered riflemen oncemore, and go to the help of the hard-pressed patriots of the sparselysettled South. And so I told Ellen as we rode together to Uncle Thomas'.
"Shall I feel as lonely, and as friendless when you are gone, I wonder,as I did the first time you left the valley with Morgan?" said Ellenwith a light sigh.
"You were a child then," I answered, "and had few resources. Now you aresufficient to yourself. I fear you will not miss me half so much as youwill the kindly Kaskaskians, and the good Father, and the faithfulAngelique."
"Bless their memories! I shall miss them, and long for a sight of theirkind faces. But, all the more, since they are so far away, I shall missmy one true and tried friend in the valley."
"Will you be very lonely and unhappy in the valley, Ellen? Would youhave been far better contented had I left you in Kaskaskia?" Iquestioned anxiously.
"Father Gibault thought it my duty, Cousin Donald, and more and more Iunderstand that it is the one right thing for me. I must find the way myGod would have me walk by following the lowly path of duty, and bymaking reparation for past sins. Do you remember, Cousin, that nightbefore you left the valley--when you found me star-gazing on the rockoverhanging the spring?"
"Aye, Ellen! The vision of you, as you looked that night, has come backto me again and again--so often that I began to question, long before Iknew I loved you, as man loves but one woman in his life, what importthe vision might have, and to wonder if it foretold the crossing of ourlives in some fateful way. That picture was the last that floatedthrough my dream the day I slept in the forest, when you saved me fromthe Indian's tomahawk."
"Memory, it seems to me, has mysterious power,--beyond our will toguide, or our reason to explain," Ellen replied. "That night of ourfarewell at the spring, the first fibers of affection and sympathyreached out from your heart to mine, and through all these months havestretched and held till they have grown strong enough to bring me backto my duty."
"May they grow yet stronger, Ellen, till our hearts are knitted togetherfor life, and for eternity!"
Ellen's serious absorption was shaken by these words, and she blushedlike any earthly minded maiden, as she answered:
"My heart will ever feel itself bound to yours by the fibers of a deepand strong affection, Cousin Donald, wherever my duty leads me. Therecan be no harm in a nun's cherishing gratitude and affection, nor in heroffering hourly prayers for one who has been to her the noblest offriends."
"Your thoughts and prayers would be but cheerless consolation for adesolate life. I want your daily presence, Ellen, the hourly benedictionof your smile. But, forgive me, dear,"--for I saw that her lips trembledlike a grieved child's, and that a tear had slipped from underneath herlowered lids; "I am very weak. After all my promises I continue todisturb you with my arguing and beseeching. You shall have a year tothink upon it all, and, meanwhile, I shall smother in my breast everyword that my heart may urge to my lips."
My visit to Colonel Morgan was made before Christmas, and I returnedhome cheered by his promise to take the field early in the spring.Meanwhile I was put to my old work of enlisting recruits--a work muchinterrupted by the malarial chills which every second day tied me to thechimney corner. Gradually they wore themselves out, and by the faithfuluse of bitters concocted from the Peruvian bark Father Gibault had givenme, I made myself fit for active duty by the early spring, and gladlyjoined Morgan. He had been almost grudgingly made general by Congress atlast, and generously forgetting all past wrongs and differences hadhastened to join Gates, after the woeful disaster of Camden.
But that unfortunate officer reaped now the fruits of his previousscheming and bragging, and fell rapidly from the favor of Congress, inwhich he had held so high a place since Saratoga. He was replaced by thecapable General Greene, and roundly abused by the whole country. Havingbeen sent into North Carolina with dispatches from General Morgan tocertain officers of the State Militia, it was my good fortune on myreturn to fall in with grim backwoodsmen marching to meet and repulsethe advance of Ferguson. I accepted temporary service under ColonelCampbell, and so had the honor of fighting beside those indomitablemilitiamen, who won the victory of King's Mountain--one of the mostglorious incidents of our Revolution, and the turning point ofdisasters, from which events marched on, more and more successfully, toCowpens and Yorktown. At the risk of wearying my readers with constantreiteration of the praises of the race from which I, proudly claimdescent--though I have played fair with them, saying, in the beginning,that it was partly with the hope of repairing our historians' neglect ofthe Scotch Irish that this chronicle was undertaken--I must callattention to the fact that King's Mountain was a Scotch Irish victory,won by militiamen of that race. I doubt, indeed, if the plan could havebeen conceived, or if conceived could have been executed, by regulars.Men used to climbing mountains, and to the methods of Indian warfare,were needed to fight and win as the frontiermen fought and won at King'sMountain.
By the first of January our affairs in the South were more hopeful.Recently discouraged patriots, inspired by the victory of King'sMountain, flocked to General Greene's standard, and that able officer,supported by General Morgan and Colonel Washington, and aided by thedaring bands led by Sumter and Marion, soon threatened Cornwallis onboth his flanks, and by a series of surprises and sudden maneuvers soconfused that military pedant that he did not know what next to expect,and hardly which way to turn. Having divided his army into two
Morgan retired slowly before Tarleton's advance to some meadows, not farfrom King's Mountain, and there formed his men upon the field ofCowpens, on gently rising ground, with hills to the left, and a deep,broad river in the rear. There would be no chance for the militiamen torun, for, said Morgan, with grim humor, when they had reached theriver's bank they would likely be willing to turn and fight again. Weslept that night upon our chosen battle ground, and until past midnightGeneral Morgan was abroad in the camp, inspecting arms, inspiring hisofficers, joking with his men, and telling them what they and the "oldwagoner" would do for the British regulars the next morning.
To form in fighting line, according to prearranged plan, was but anhour's work, when Tarleton's advance was discovered, and time was stillleft for our General to ride down the line, encouraging and animating uswith a few hearty words--such as he so well knew how to fit to eachheroic occasion. A furious rush, Tarleton's favorite maneuver, drove inour front line of militia, as had been foreseen, after they had obeyedGeneral Morgan's oft repeated command to fire at least two volleys, atkilling range, before breaking rank. But, behind the militia stoodDeKalb and his Marylanders, and a tried company of VirginiaContinentals, who met calmly the too confident pursuit of the British,and fought deliberately, till Colonel Washington's cavalry swooped downfrom the hills, attacking the enemy's right flank simultaneously withthe charge of the militia, which had been re-formed, and marched aroundour position, on their left. Already entangled, by their over-eagerpursuit of our first column, with their opponents, and now almostsurrounded, the British fought on, gallantly but hopelessly. A bayonetcharge from the Continentals in their front quickly brought about routand panic, and nearly the whole British force engaged was killed orcaptured. Their loss was nearly one thousand; ours not more thanseventy-five. No battle of our War for Independence was more skillfullyplanned, more boldly won, and to General Morgan, alone, belongs thecredit for plan and execution.
A fortunately heavy rainfall cut off Cornwallis' pursuit, and gave us anopportunity to carry our prisoners across the Catawba. General Greenejoined us here, escorted by a few dragoons, his force behind him. He hadheard of Morgan's splendid victory, and pushed forward to help him reapthe fruits of it. But Morgan was now attacked violently by his oldenemy, rheumatism, and could not leave his tent; the gallant "oldwagoner" who had never known defeat in battle, had more than once beenvanquished by disease, the result, he bitterly admitted, of his ownyouthful excesses. A few weeks later he was forced to resign hiscommand, and to return to his home.
That circumstance made easier for me the duty which had been assignedme--namely, to command one company of the militia which was to escortour seven hundred prisoners to Virginia. My latest service, on GeneralMorgan's staff, had been most congenial to me, and even the honor nowoffered me of a similar position with General Greene did not console mefor the loss of my first leader. The place would have been gratefullyaccepted, however, for I admired and trusted General Greene, both as manand leader--even with loss of the opportunity of a few days at home, anda glimpse of Ellen--had not a circumstance occurred which made meentirely willing to perform the duty which had been first assigned me.This circumstance was communicated to me by General Morgan.
"Whom, in heaven's name, think you I found this morning among ourprisoners, McElroy? Young Buford--the pretty Nelly's brother, he whorescued you from Philadelphia prison hospital. He has a painful but notdangerous wound in the hip, for which reason he sent to me, asking forambulance service, his wound having become inflamed from the march."
"Make him _my_ prisoner, General?" I asked eagerly; "I claim no othershare of the spoils."
"Eh? You'll hold him as hostage for his sister's favor--fair stratagem,I suppose. He'll be perfectly safe in your hands, doubtless, so I'llturn him over to you."
"To him and to his entire family I owe an obligation which can be repaidin kind only; this is a longed for opportunity."
"And what will you do with him?"
"Take him to my own home, even as he did me, and leave him to mymother's nursing, till he is well enough to be discharged."
"And no parole asked? The terms granted you were less generous."
"Buford did not make the terms; but if he had, I should still wish tosurpass my enemies in generosity, as well as in bravery."
"Then you will decline Greene's offer of a place on his staff? I askedit for you, thinking this excursion to Virginia in charge of prisonersless to your liking."
"It was most kind of you, General, but for this find of Buford it wouldhave been my choice--could the place be held for me?"
"It can be, doubtless, especially if you can bring back some recruits.Greene will need reinforcements, and must look to Virginia for them. Butfor these swollen and painful limbs of mine,"--with a grimace towardthose much swathed members--"I should be the last to desert him. It's abitter pill, lad, to be obliged to go home--to be chained by disease tomy chair, like a galley slave to his bench, when my spirit is with thefront ranks, against our country's enemies."
"It is a sore grief to me, also, General, and particularly that yourmalady should attack you now, when your newest laurels are still green,and there are more awaiting you. Your retirement takes half the heartout of me for the service, as it does for every rifleman in theregiment."
"That spirit must not be encouraged, lad. As much as it pleases me to beregretted by my gallant boys, it would sincerely grieve me were my goingto affect in any way their zeal or bravery. I shall expect them to do noless than they have always done, indeed they must fight the moredeterminedly because their commander has gone stiff and lame and must becontent to stand like a used up horse in the stall, munching memoriesfor diversion."
"You'll get better after a rest, General, and be at it again before thewar's over. Not even disease can conquer your spirit."
"Right, lad! If the war lasts long enough for my good Abigail to tea andpoultice the swelling from my joints, I'll be at 'em again."
* * * * *
That evening I had Buford removed to my tent, where, presently, Ivisited him.
"I am sorry for the occasion, Captain Buford," I said, extending my handto him, "but since it was written that this misfortune of war shouldbefall you, I am grateful that the opportunity has come to me to repayin some degree the courtesy and kindness I received at your hands, whenmy situation was similar to your present one."
"It is indeed Donald McElroy!" Buford exclaimed, in pleased tones. "I amlucky in spite of this painful accompaniment to my good fortune,"pointing to his bandaged thigh.
"You are now my prisoner," I said, "and your wound shall have the bestattention possible."
"You are then in command of the militia which is to convey us toVirginia? Is it proper to tell me our final destination?"
"Yours, with your consent, Captain Buford, is my own home. My mother isthe best of nurses. I promise you comfort and kind care, at any rate, ifyou will agree to the arrangements just made between Colonel Morgan andme."
"One would think me an urged guest, rather than a poor sick prisoner,"answered Buford, a smile upon his face. He was much like Nelly, thoughhis was strictly a masculine, as hers was purely a feminine, type ofcomeliness. "There is small likelihood that I shall decline so generousan offer--a comfortable home and woman's nursing are all too temptingfor my present weakness."
"As was your offer to me in Philadelphia. It is seldom, I imagine, thata man is granted so high a boon as the opportunity to evince in fittingdeeds his gratitude. Your mother and sister are well, I hope, and insafety?"
"My mother is dead, Captain McElroy, and I fear her constant anxiety
I expressed my regret and sympathy, and left him to make arrangementsfor the march next day. His news oppressed my spirit more than one wouldhave supposed; it was hard to think of light-hearted Nelly as a sadrefugee. Oh, this weary, cruel war! When would it end?