Brave Enemies (33 page)

“They gave me 499 lashes,” the general said. “I had slapped a strutting English officer.” He turned so all could see his back. “I was supposed to get 500, but I was counting, and they forgot one,” he said. “I was not supposed to live.”

He dropped his shirt and put on his blue coat again. His silver hair fell down on his shoulders. He walked to the other side of the fire and swung his arms like a revival preacher, and his eyes shone in the firelight as he talked.

“Tarleton is expecting you to scatter before his Green Horse,” the general said. “But you boys will fool him. Tarleton thinks he can't be beaten by patriots.”

The general squatted by the fire like a horse trader talking about a swap. He looked around in the firelight at each of us. With his big hands he outlined his plan. “All I want from you is two shots,” he said. “You don't have to stand up to a cavalry charge or a bayonet charge. Shoot twice and retreat to the next line. Fire at the epaulets and stripes. Don't waste your powder on privates. Two shots and pull back.”

That was the best news we'd heard.

“Two shots and you can go home,” Old Morgan said. “But make those shots count. Hit the epaulets and stripes, boys.”

Morgan talked just like the rest of us did. He was a mountain man from Virginia. Though he was a general and friend of George Washington, he talked just like the rest of us.

“We're going to beat Benny Tarleton,” the general said. “And we're going to beat him right here, on this very ground. Your old folks are going to be proud of you, and your sweethearts are going to kiss you. We're going
to beat Tarleton so your folks can keep their houses and you can go back to your sweethearts.”

The general stood up and walked to the other side of the fire. The gold stars on his shoulders sparkled in the firelight. The real stars blinked way over his head, and over the top of Thicketty Mountain.

“Old Morgan was never beaten,” the general said. “You go out and shoot twice for me, just like we were hunting turkeys, and we'll teach the fine young butcher the lesson of his life, or of his death.”

There was laughter all around.

“They call me the Old Wagoner,” the general said. “And it's true, I drove many a team over the mountains. I drove wagons all the way to Fort Duquesne for Braddock's men, and I saw him die. I'll drive Tarleton out of the upcountry back to his mammy Cornwallis's lap.”

It seemed like we should cheer and clap, but the general wasn't finished. He walked around the campfire again. “I'm going to beat Benny Tarleton on this ground or I'm going to lay down my bones here,” he said. “Our country has been ravaged long enough. Our houses have been plundered and our mothers and sisters have been raped. Some have had their tongues scraped and some have been shamed in other ways. Our fields and stores have been wasted and our brothers have died on English bayonets and sabers, even while trying to surrender. We have to fight and we have to win. If we lose we will all be hanged.”

The general paused and looked around the campfire. He looked at Cox and at Gudger. He looked at Jenkins and T. R. and Gaither, and he looked at me and all the others. He seemed to look into our very hearts. I couldn't take my eyes off his scarred face. “Your grandchildren, and their grandchildren, will remember this place and what you did here,” he said. “All I ask is two shots and then you can pull back.”

It seemed so odd for me to be there listening to the general talk. I wondered if any other woman had ever been in a battle before. Was I just dreaming I was there? Was the Lord punishing me for all my sins? A woman carrying a baby had no business in an army. I was scared, and I
was scared of being scared. All the boys around me were so thrilled. I was not thrilled like they were, but I was proud I had kept up with them so far. I was scared but I was proud to be listening to the general.

After he talked to us the general talked to Cox. He drew a plan in the dirt and pointed to places out in the dark. All we could see were camp-fires scattered along the branch and out along the crest of the hill. There were more patriots arriving and new fires had been started in the woods. It looked like there were as many campfires as stars. There were lights everywhere you looked. I reckon Tarleton wouldn't have had any trouble finding us if he had come looking in the dark.

It surprised me that Old Morgan was willing to talk about his plans right in front of the rest of us. He talked the same way to Cox he had to the company. We were all intended to know his schemes and plans. It gave us confidence to see him working out his plans in plain sight. The general appeared sure of himself and of us, there in the firelight telling everybody what he wanted them to do.

I looked at the faces around the campfires. I'd never seen men so carried away, so thrilled. It was so strange to be there with them. I was excited and proud to be there, but mostly I was scared. It still didn't seem possible I could be in the militia. I didn't want to hurt anybody. I just wanted to live. But I wanted T. R. and Captain Cox and the others to be proud of me too.

Before he left the clearing the general addressed us one more time. “Cook your grits tonight,” he said, “and eat them cold in the morning. You won't have time to make fires and cook then. Benny Tarleton will be here at daylight for some downright fighting, and we'll be ready for him.”

The general strode off into the dark and as I watched him go I thought he was more of a man than anybody I'd ever seen. He looked like he could beat an army with his fists.

We built up the fire again and started heating water for more grits and mush. Cold grits would be slimy as fish, but they would be better than nothing in the morning.

As I stirred the boiling water I heard General Morgan talking at another campfire. I reckon he was giving them the same talk he had given us. The general's voice carried across the branch and the cold night. “Give me two shots, boys” echoed off the pine woods. Another company arrived and set up camp beside us. Captain Cox said it was Colonel Pickens's men.

There was noise all over, of men hollering and horses snorting and fires popping. Fires made from wet wood crackled and sent sparks up into the sky.

“Turn in,” Gudger said. “Get your beauty sleep.”

“Can't we sleep late like we're used to doing?” Gaither said.

After the grits were cooked, I set the pot off to the side and covered it with another pot. We were out of bacon, but there was still beef grease in a pan.

It was a freezing night. I had forgotten about the cold while the general was talking. It always gets colder in winter when the sky is clear. I looked up at the stars and shivered. It felt like icy air was falling all the way from the stars. I unrolled the blanket and wrapped it around my coat, and lay down on the pine boughs close to the fire.

I was so scared I couldn't even think about anything. The stars looked so close they crackled and whispered. People say stars talk if you know how to listen. But you have to be by yourself to hear them.

When I closed my eyes all I heard was Old Morgan talking across the camp. “Give me two shots, boys, and then you're free,” he roared.

It came to me how every day has its own angle and pitch and smell. It's like every feeling has its own stink, its own size, different and surprising each time. There is a texture to the touch of every terrible thing.

The touch of the night at Cowpens was like leather bitter from tanning. It was hard leather that hadn't been oiled or washed. Mr. Griffin had tanned some cowhides in a trough of acid the spring before and I kept recalling the bitter stench of rawhide and bark juice yellow as jaundice. It was a stink so harsh you could taste it in the back of your mouth and it wouldn't go away.

I
didn't sleep much that night, and neither did T. R. and Gaither and Jenkins. They kept talking to each other. I rolled myself tight in the blanket and looked at smoke from the campfire melting into the stars. The general was still going through the camps and showing the scars on his back and yelling, “Look what those Tories did to me.”

I
DON'T THINK
I slept at all that night. If I did, I kept dreaming of General Morgan's voice as he roved from fire to fire showing them his back and telling them he was never beaten. It was so cold I jerked when I breathed. I was afraid I'd be sick in the morning. I was afraid that I'd be killed before ever finding out what had happened to John. I felt the bottle of laudanum in my pocket. I had at least enough of the tincture for one more dose.

“Get up! Get up! Benny is coming!” It was the general shouting and I thought at first I was still dreaming. But a horse galloped through the camp and when I pushed back the blanket I saw it was Old Morgan on his horse. I threw aside the blanket and stood up. Everybody else staggered to their feet too. I don't reckon any of us had gotten much sleep. Everybody who had boots put them on in a hurry. There was heavy frost on the grass and the ground was spewed up with ice under our feet.

The general rode back to our camp and shouted from his horse, “Boys, you will be out front with the company from Georgia, with Hammond's
men. There has been a lot of talk about who are the better shots, the men from Georgia or Carolina. Today we'll find out the truth of it.”

Before he rode off to another company he shouted, “Shoot epaulets and stripes, boys. Two shots and you pull back.”

We didn't have any wood to build up the fire. All we had was glowing coals and half-burned sticks. The grits in the pot had a skim of ice. I handed the pot to T. R. for I didn't want any cold grits. I swallowed and stood still and let the laudanum spread in my belly.

“Are your guns loaded?” Gudger yelled.

I held my breath to help my stomach settle.

“Look to your rifle, Summers,” the sergeant said.

“I know it's loaded,” I said. I hadn't fired the gun since the practice at Grindal Shoals.

“Then check it again,” Gudger roared right in my face. I picked up the rifle. My hands were shaking so I could hardly get the ramrod out of its rings and in the barrel, but I finally ran it down to the shot and powder. A little mud had gotten in the barrel somehow. I wiped the red dirt off the ramrod.

“Have your shot and powder ready,” Gudger said.

T. R. and Gaither and Jenkins and I filled our powder horns from the cask Cox had taken from the general's commissary. We got extra shot and greased patches. Cox opened another keg the general had given us and everybody got a dram for their flask, if they had a flask.

We had to leave our blankets and cooking pots in one of the wagons Cox had brought.

“Fall in,” the captain shouted. He stood in front of us and he looked like a boy compared to Old Morgan. He told us Col. Andrew Pickens and his men would be 150 yards behind us. And the Maryland and Delaware Continentals would be another 150 yards behind them. And Colonel Washington's cavalry would be behind us all.

Captain Cox looked like a young schoolteacher addressing his class. “We're all from North Carolina,” he said. “And when this is over we'll
go back to North Carolina. Bloody Tarleton has invaded our country and killed our kinfolks. We've got to whip him and run him out of the Carolinas.”

It was still dark, but while Cox was talking I could see Thicketty Mountain black against the sky. There was a lot of banging of pots and ringing of buckles and bridles. But nobody said much except the officers. In the dim light I saw boys pissing in the branch. I wished I had peed before anybody woke up. Men led horses to the woods to tie them up, and the train of wagons was starting to groan and grind up to the road. Teamsters yelled and cracked their whips.

The field was a mess of blankets and tents. Men were dressing and companies forming, and the general rode among them talking in his loud voice. “The Old Wagoner was never beaten,” he shouted again and again.

The little boy was playing his drum beside the camp of the Continentals. He played the drum like it was a heartbeat that made you step faster. He wore a blue jacket with gold braids, and he beat the drum like he was going to burst it.

“For-ward!” Gudger hollered.

We marched around the other gathering companies and across the branch. There was a wagon stuck in the mud by the stream and some men were trying to push it out. Gaither started to help them, but the sergeant yelled, “Stay in line!”

We stepped right through the mud and bushes and up the other hill. A man tied to a poplar tree farther down the branch had his shirt torn off and a sergeant was flogging him with a hickory. I guess he'd tried to run away or had sassed an officer.

“For-ward!” Gudger yelled.

Cox had not brought his horse. He walked along ahead of us. It was just light enough to see the piles of horse manure in the grass. We walked past an officer of the Maryland regulars who was shaving while a slave boy held a pan and mirror for him. I saw a man emptying his bowels behind a bush.

We marched up to the top of the low hill where Major McDowell was waiting with the rest of the North Carolina volunteer companies. It looked like there was a hundred men, maybe more, and we joined our thirty-five to them.

“We will take the right side of the road,” the major said. He sat on his horse and talked calm as a judge. I reckon Major McDowell had been at Kings Mountain and in a lot of other battles too. He seemed sure as the boss of a plantation giving orders.

“We are the skirmishers and marksmen,” he said. “We will pick off British officers and then fall back. Give me two shots and retreat to Pickens's line.”

The major rode up closer to us, like he didn't want to be overheard. “I know you boys can hit a squirrel in the arse at a hundred yards,” he said. “Just kill an officer and you will serve your country well.”

We stood shivering in the early dawn. The east was turning faintly yellow. The sky was partly cloudy. The air was damp and cold.