King's Mountain (10 page)

One of the Adair boys took our horses to be walked about the yard until they cooled down, and we followed John Adair into his little frame house. I'd as lief stayed outside in the sunshine, but our mission was a delicate one, and the gravity of the occasion behooved us to speak in a formal setting.

He offered us cold water from the springhouse, which we took to put him at his ease, and when this little chore of hospitality had been effected, Adair sat down on a little pine stool facing us and waited to hear what we had come about.

Isaac Shelby held out the letter that his kinsman Sam Phillips had delivered. “The British army, in the person of one Major Ferguson, is threatening to call on us here in the backcountry.”

Adair opened his mouth and closed it again. He hunched over the creased and rumpled bit of paper, his lips moving soundlessly as he read the lines. He read it twice over, to be sure of its message, and then he looked up at us, ashen to the roots of his red hair. “We're to be attacked? By the army? Is it not enough that we've got the heathen savages biding their time in the wildwood, waiting to hack us to pieces? Have the soldiers nought better to do than to come and pester us?”

Shelby smiled. “I think they mean to pester everybody before they're done, but just now, they seem to have taken offense that we have been sending our militias down to help the men of the Yadkin and the Catawba in this summer's skirmishes southeast of here.”

“They mean to frighten us into staying home,” I said. “Then they hope to defeat the Whigs down there, before they come up and settle scores with us.”

Adair stared at us, taking it all in, and liking none of it. “Can you not stop them then?”

“We think that the only way to stop them from invading here is to stop them altogether.”

Isaac Shelby took up the thread. “We mean to put together all the men we can muster, and head over the mountains to fight them there.”

Adair nodded. “Yes, yes. I see. Better to fight them there than here. And are you recruiting men to go along with you? I'll go.”

Shelby and I glanced at each other, and then he said, “You'd be welcome, Adair, but we have not yet got to the point of calling up troops.”

“We need money.”

Adair blinked at me when I said this. He was still so discomfited by our visit and our disquieting news that his wits wanted catching up to the thread of the conversation. “Money? Ah, well … I haven't much put by, gentlemen. Just a bit for salt and lead, and the like, same as most folks hereabouts. But if you're having a whip-round about the settlement, I suppose I could—” He looked wildly about, as if he were about to start from his seat and retrieve his cash box from within a blanket chest.

I willed myself to keep solemn, and Shelby favored him with a reassuring smile. “We are grateful for your trust, Mr. Adair, but hear us out. It isn't your coins we came for. It will take a good deal more than any of us has to outfit the militia for the journey south. We've horses and men to feed, and powder and shot to procure. War is not cheap in any way, shape, or form.”

I said gently, “We have come for the money from the land sales. About twelve thousand pounds, I make it. You haven't been able to send it back to the capital because of the troubles. We are asking for the loan of it.”

The poor man looked from one to the other of us as if we had demanded his firstborn in a stew pot. “But … it isn't mine to give. It belongs to the government. I've no authority…”

We waited while he worked it out for himself.

“But…” He took a deep breath and met our gaze, calmer now. “It is true that I have no authority to give that money to anyone, but if the enemy overruns the country, then our liberty will be gone. And if that happens, the money might as well go, too. If you mean to use the funds to fight in our defense, then you had better take it. I can think of no one I would trust more to have it.”

“We will give you our personal guarantees for the sum,” I told him, and Shelby murmured in agreement. “Give us a bit of paper and we will write our pledges for the loan of it.”

“While you go and get the money,” Shelby added.

Before the sun was much higher in the sky, Shelby and I were out in the yard again, preparing to mount our horses, with heavy saddlebags of government money to take with us.

John Adair shook our hands and wished us Godspeed. “When will the gathering be for the long march?” he asked.

Shelby and I had talked about the mustering site this morning on the long ride to John Adair's place. “We'll assemble the various militia units in each settlement,” I told him, “but we mean to join them all together for the march over the mountains on the twenty-fifth of this month at Fort Watauga. Sycamore Shoals.”

“I'll be there, gentlemen. Put me down on your roll. And my son as well.” He nodded toward the slender youth holding our horses.

“So we will,” said Shelby. “And you'd oblige us if you would pass the word along to any of your neighbors who would be willing to go.”

We turned our horses back to the road and rode off in silence for a bit, savoring the crisp air and the first tints of autumn in the trees along the distant ridges. A flock of wild turkeys skittered across in front of us, and dived into the underbrush a moment later.

“Well, Colonel,” I said. “The first and most difficult of our tasks has been accomplished now. We have the funds to field an army.”

He nodded. “But we have precious little time to make ready, and much left to do. And we have pledged our personal fortunes to the government for the loan of that money.”

“I wouldn't worry about that, if I were you, Shelby. If we lose this war, I doubt if either of us will live to pay it back.”

CHAPTER SIX

Early September 1780

That evening after a weary Colonel Shelby had retired to the best bed, kept for guests in the parlor, I withdrew to my own room, and told my bride Catherine about the message Shelby had brought, and of our plans to take the war to Ferguson instead of waiting for him to bring it here. The first of many sacrifices we would make would be our honeymoon, for I must spend the coming weeks gathering supplies for the mission and, with her mending and needlework, Catherine and my brothers' wives would help the men of the family prepare for that journey. As I enumerated all the tasks that I must accomplish between now and the gathering of the militias at Sycamore Shoals, Catherine looked up from her sewing, and gave me an impish smile.

“Well, Mr. Sevier, outfitting an army sounds mighty like planning a wedding, what with all the people you must invite, new clothing to be sewn, and then procuring enough food to feed a multitude.” She laughed. “And will you be needing a parson as well?”

I knew that she was only teasing, but she had hit upon a telling point. I was not a conspicuously pious man, but asking the Lord to bless our venture seemed a prudent thing to do, and as it would cost us nothing, I resolved to see to it. I answered Catherine's jest in all sincerity. “A parson? Why, yes, now as you mention it, my dear, I believe we will be more in need of a minister than any betrothed couple. I hope the Reverend Mr. Doak will see fit to pray over us at the mustering and wish us Godspeed on our journey. I must remember to pay a call on him and ask him, but first I have more pressing matters to see to, chief among them: the one thing we did not require at our wedding.”

Catherine's eyes sparkled with firelight. “Oh, yes?”

I smiled. “Why, gunpowder, my dear. When Mr. Wilson read us the vows, I was your willing captive, and so there was no need of it, but for the coming ceremony with Major Ferguson we will need all of it that we can carry.”

*   *   *

The next morning Colonel Shelby headed home to Sapling Grove, intent upon enlisting the support of Col. William Campbell and the Virginia militia. My task was to meet with another of our proposed allies, Colonel McDowell. He had known of the proposed march even before I did, for Shelby had laid out the plans for confronting Ferguson while they were encamped near Gilbert Town, hiding out after the battle at Musgrove Mill a few weeks back, and trying to get home before Ferguson caught up with them. McDowell, Elijah Clarke of Georgia, and some of the other Whig officers had agreed with Shelby that the best solution would be to hit Ferguson with a combined force of as many militia units as we could gather—North Carolina, South Carolina, Georgia, and Virginia. If Cornwallis wanted to take the war to the south, we would oblige him.

The summer's fighting had cost McDowell and his people dearly. He and some of his men had been driven from their homes in Burke County, and they had taken refuge here in the backcountry where Buffalo Creek runs into the Watauga. These folk, some of them owners of fine plantations back home, were living in makeshift huts. For food and supplies, they depended on the charity of the people in the settlement. It was high summer, though, and the woods along Buffalo Creek were full of game: men whose shooting skills had been honed in battle were in no danger of going hungry as long as they had powder and shot.

Some of them brought their families with them, and they took what livestock they could to keep it from falling into Tory hands. Those who remained behind were ordered to take the Tory oath of loyalty. The reasoning was that by seeming to changes sides, those men would have the freedom to look after the property and kinfolk left behind by those who were forced to flee.

The refugees from Burke County wanted the fighting finished once and for all so that they could go home.

I rode out to McDowell's encampment that morning, not to persuade them to join us—for they would be the first in line to go in pursuit of Ferguson, needing no invitation from me—but to gather information. They had fought Ferguson throughout the summer, and the territory to which we were headed was home to them. I needed to know everything they could tell me about what to expect once we crossed over the mountains.

I knew that Shelby had deliberately left this task to me. He was still resentful of Col. Charles McDowell for insisting on a withdrawal after Musgrove Mill, instead of advancing farther into Tory territory in South Carolina. He would be seeing McDowell soon enough when we began the march over the mountains, and then he must swallow his ire and behave like a good compatriot, but for now he preferred to negotiate for the cooperation of Colonel Campbell of the Virginia militia, letting me meet with the Burke County commander. I was content with that, for, although my brother Valentine had fought at Musgrove Mill, I had remained to keep watch over the settlement during the summer months, but I heard much of what transpired in messages from him.

When I told my brother that Shelby was leaving me to talk to McDowell, Valentine had been quick to point out that Shelby was not the only one of our officers with hard feelings toward McDowell. Capt.Andrew Hampton had even more reason to shun him.

He had come by to pay his respects to Shelby as he was preparing to depart for Sapling Grove, and after we had wished him Godspeed and watched him canter off down the river road, Valentine followed me back inside, and we shooed everyone out of the parlor, and set to talking about Shelby's plan.

“It's a bold plan, Jack,” my brother said, “but if we manage to put together a force of a thousand men, I believe it can be done. One question, though—who's to be in charge? Did you and Shelby talk about that?”

I shook my head. “We never got down to details. I was too worried about getting the money to buy supplies for the men, and making sure that nothing is forgotten. Shelby is going to ask Colonel Campbell of Virginia to bring his troops to join us. He asked me to talk to McDowell. He didn't seem to want to, himself.”

Valentine nodded. “There were hard feelings when McDowell refused to countenance an advance into South Carolina after we won at Musgrove Mill. That's why I asked you who was going to lead the army. Charles McDowell is the highest ranking officer among you, you know.”

“I hadn't thought about it.”

“You should, though, Jack. There's some who won't follow him. I don't know that I would.”

“There's still hard feelings about the Hampton boy, isn't there?”

“Lord, yes, Jack. Colonel Hampton will never get over it. Can you wonder at it? Suppose it had been your Joseph?”

I knew about this. Col. Andrew Hampton was an able officer in the militia. He had settled east of Gilbert Town, but his military service in the Whig cause had taken him far afield at times. At the beginning of the war, he had fought in the eastern part of Carolina, at the Battle of Moore's Creek against the Scottish Tories, and lately he had been among those who tried to prevent the fall of Charleston, and thereafter he had fought at Thicketty Fort with McDowell and the others. He had a son, Noah, still in his teens, who was in the militia commanded by Col. Charles McDowell. Back in early July, a militia colonel from Georgia, one Elijah Clarke, had crossed into South Carolina intending to do battle against what Tories they could find, but when scouts informed them of the size of the enemy force in the area, Clarke's men decided that it was too dangerous to pursue the campaign, and they elected to withdraw. One of their party, Col. John Jones declared that he would stay and he would lead any who cared to go with him back into North Carolina to join forces with the militia there.

Jones and thirty-five volunteers made their way north, passing themselves off as loyal supporters of the Crown, and thus received help along the way from local Loyalists who offered to guide the party on their way north. Less than fifty miles from the North Carolina border, one of these guides happened to mention that there had been a battle the night before, and that the Loyalists were defeated by a Whig force.

Colonel Jones, who was perhaps more clever than prudent, saw this news as an opportunity for mischief. He professed great sympathy for the defeated soldiers, and he asked the guide to conduct them to the Loyalist camp, so that he might join his forces to theirs in preparation for a new and more successful engagement. The trusting guide agreed to this plan, and hours later, at nearly midnight, he delivered Jones and his men to the Loyalist encampment. At once Jones ordered his men to attack the sleeping enemy. In a quick skirmish, only one of the Tories died, and the rest surrendered and asked for quarter, so Jones paroled them, confiscated what supplies he wanted, and forced the hapless guide to lead them onward to Earle's Ford on the North Pacolet River, where they would join forces with the Burke County militia of Col. Charles McDowell the next day.