Spake As a Dragon (3 page)

It seems as though it has been a
million years since he and Malinda Ingram married. Robert’s mind
drifts to thoughts of his father Thomas, and his grandparents John
and Celia Scarburg, the ones he called Pappy John and Mammy Celia.
As the oldest son, and following the custom of primogeniture,
Robert inherited his father’s property. Now he is beginning to
think he is going to inherit something else - a shallow unmarked
grave like all the thousands of other dead on this war strewn
battlefield.

Pappy John’s ‘farm’ as they referred
to it, was slightly over one section of rich South Carolina
bottomland, bordering on Rayburn’s Branch of the Saluda River. One
section may not sound like much, but in that region of the
Carolinas six hundred and forty acres was a tad more than a ‘farm.’
John had saved up a small sum of money when he and Celia left their
home in Virginia to become pioneers in the un-settled frontier of
South Carolina.

The first few years he spent building
Celia the beautiful Scarlett Plantation. To be officially called a
plantation, a farm must have as a minimum, three slaves. John and
Celia had never owned slaves nor indentured servants. Calling
Scarlett a plantation was in name only, they never referred to it
as a Plantation it was simply – Scarlett.

Scarlett had been finished in 1768,
ten years after their marriage. It had been rumored, before the
completion of the house, that Celia suffered a miscarriage and the
infant girl died, perhaps the unborn child was named Scarlett?
However, there had never been a girl child in the Scarburg family
named Scarlett.

Pappy’s wife Celia could trace her
ancestors back to the beginning of the United States; in fact, one
of her grandfathers was a signer of the Declaration of
Independence. Within Celia’s family was a story, never proven, that
her grandfather had two wives, the first died only a week or two
after marriage. Records of this union were destroyed during the
Revolution and her name was never known, was she Scarlett? No one
ever knew the answer for sure. The name Scarlett was a mystery
known only to John and Celia.

Another grandfather of Robert’s wife
Malinda, Jacob Damascus Ingram, although not a landowner like the
Scarburgs, had amassed a sizeable amount of money too. Jacob and
his wife Margaret moved from Virginia with Jacob’s father and
Margaret’s parents. They all settled on the western side of Mink
Creek, another tributary of the Saluda River, in the early 1760s, a
mere mile and one-half east of Scarlett. It did not take very long
after arrival in this back-woods country for the Scarburgs and
Ingrams to become close friends. Robert Scarburg and Malinda Ingram
would grow up together, fall in love and later marry.

In 1769, with the comforts of life
having been established
John
began working
on two of his life’s dreams – he wanted to build and operate a
gristmill and he had a vision to construct the first Masonic Lodge
in that part of South Carolina. Mink Creek was the perfect place
for such a mill. The creek might only be a creek, as it was
officially described, but the water was clean, cold and ran full
and deep both summer and winter. To many they would call it a
river, but it was here also that he decided to build and pursue his
second dream. Being a fervent Master Mason of the Masonic Order of
Free and Accepted Masons he also began work on the first Masonic
Hall in that part of South Carolina. The lodge would become known
as Masonic Lodge Number One. Years later Masonic members would be
proud as they remembered a group of Masons, dressed as Mohawk
Indians, who left their meeting Lodge at the
Green Dragon
tavern in Boston to dump the British tea into the harbor. Patriots
up and down the thirteen colonies still referred to this act as the
Boston Tea Party. Paul Revere, John Hancock and Sam Adams were all
honored members of this Boston Masonic Lodge.

Between Masonic Lodge Number One and
Scarburg
Mill, and at the urging and kind
benevolence of Jacob Ingram the local Quaker Friends in the
community constructed a beautiful Meetinghouse, which they called
the House of the Lord. It was painted a brilliant white, with
stained glass windows, sitting atop the bell tower, and its golden
toned bells, was a magnificent steeple topped with a large,
six-foot cross; it seemed to reach into the heavens. Its
construction was a few years before their fight with England, and
at that time everyone still owed allegiance to the King; on meeting
day the bells chimed all to attend the services; however, the break
with King George III in the War of Independence silenced the bells,
they were never to ring again.

Their Lodge was not
given an official name – it was
known simply as
‘The King’s Masonic House Number One
.’ On the day of
the monthly meetings throughout the surrounding community Masonic
members would say, “Come brethren get ready, it’s time to go to The
King’s House.” Thus on Thursday night once a month Freemasons from
across the area would meet at old Number One for the performance of
their ritualistic conferment of the Entered Apprentice, Fellowcraft
and Master Mason degrees during the initiation of new members. Even
after the Revolutionary War it was still referred to as The King’s
Masonic House.

Not only was the mill a place for the
locals to get their corn and wheat ground into cornmeal and flour,
it became a favorite meeting place known simply
as Scarburg
Mill. John’s gristmill thrived. In fact, a
small community sprang up around the Mill including a tavern, the
Masonic lodge and the House of the Lord. As time passed, the
settlement itself became known as Scarlett Town and later simply as
Scarlettsville.

Daily, men would come to trade horses
and mules within the confines of the Mill’s expansive yard. Others
would swap tobacco for jugs of homemade whiskey; still others would
sometimes get into heated arguments over the plight of the budding
colonies of America and the King of England. Some old timers would
sit quietly on a bench under the shade of a huge oak tree and
whittle on a piece of soft, cedar wood and reminisce of past
adventures of their youth. These exploits were sometimes true, but
mostly they were fanciful tales that brought smiles to their
attentive listeners.

In the summer of 1775, a vicious
thunderstorm, accompanied by strong winds and lightning blew in out
of the west. A number of violent tornados struck the area one
hurled its raging force upon
John
and
Celia’s home of love. The tornado only destroyed the barn and a
couple of out building; however, a bolt of lightning struck one of
the lovely old oaks in the front yard. The resulting fire consumed
the
beloved Scarlett’s main house
, burning
it to the ground. All that remained of
John
and Celia’s dream house was the four red brick
fireplaces, two on either end of the once stately home. The year
’75 could have been remembered as one of the most-dreadful years of
John
and Celia’s marriage had it not been
for the birth of their first son Thomas, a son who years later
would become the father of
Robert
Steven.
A son and daughter had been born years earlier, but neither lived
long after birth. They named the infants John Junior and Celia
Jane. Six months earlier,
John’s brother
Charles had left to join the Patriot forces of General George
Washington. The disturbing fact was no word had been heard from him
since he departed.

Chapter Five

1781

One thousand seven hundred eighty-one,
what a year!
Scarlett
had been rebuilt and
was even more beautiful than it had been before the war. The
Revolutionary War had been raging for over five years, but still
more years remained before the newly formed United States of
America could conclusively declare herself independent from the
chains of King George III of Great Britain.

The British military in the Carolinas
was beginning to realize the band of rabble calling themselves
Patriots, were never going to stop fighting. The countryside of
both North and South Carolina did indeed foster some settlers loyal
to the King of England, but their numbers, now referred to as
Loyalist, were becoming fewer and fewer.

What bothered the British the most was
this low-class bunch of commoners, some even brazenly referring to
themselves as ‘Americans,’ would not stand up and fight like
gentlemen. They would hide in the trees and bushes and shoot at
them like cowards. Also, bothersome to the leaders of the Kings
Army: the scum called Patriots had a propensity to shoot the
British officers from their horses first. To punish this band of
low-life peasants, the British began a new tactic.

In late March of this year, a week or
so before Easter, a large group of British Redcoats captured the
Whig governor of South Carolina, along with thirty of his staff.
The British, under the command of Colonel David Wilcox, were
transporting their group of prisoners to British General Horace
Manly’s headquarters in Greenville, South Carolina to stand trial
for ‘Treason Against the British Crown.’ Fortunately or
unfortunately as the case may be, their route would take them down
the road past Scarburg Mill.

The British Colonel did not realize
‘B’ Company of the 3rd South Carolina Ranger Regiment was camped at
Scarburg Mill. The Mill was a good place to stop and give rest to
the saddle-weary cavalrymen. However, from upcountry South
Carolina, word rapidly spreads to the Ranger commander, Captain
John Coker, of the capture of the Governor and his staff. Captain
Coker was also informed of the Governor’s impending arrival, along
with his Redcoat captors, at Scarburg Mill within a day or
so.

Captain Coker and his men had been
escorting two large wagons from Dahlonega, Georgia to General
Washington’s command at Philadelphia. The wagons were so heavy
laden each needed to be pulled by a team of six mules. The wagon
wheels cut a deep rut into the dirt as they traversed the sorry
excuse for what were called roads of northern Georgia into South
Carolina. The journey, thus far, was exhausting to both the mule
teams and the cavalrymen whose mission it was to protect the
valuable cargo they carried. Captain Coker and his men have been
enjoying a short reprieve from their past week’s vigilance of
constant guard duty. They are enjoying the food, rest and
‘medicinal spirits’ from the tavern before resuming their journey
northward; however, the cargo in the wagons was too important to
leave un-guarded. Even during the night Captain Coker has his men
walking guard around the wagons with muskets loaded and ready to
fire.

Learning of the British advancement
Captain Coker called his Lieutenants together, a decision was made
and a plan fashioned to ambush Colonel Wilcox as he approached the
Mill. They envision a surprise attack to catch the Tories
off-guard. The cavalry believe they could inflict great damage upon
the Redcoats and possibly free the Whig hostages.

The Captain sent riders to the
surrounding Patriot neighbors requesting they grab their muskets
and assemble at the Mill to help fight the Redcoats.
Jacob Ingram
heard the beat of hooves on his long
drive leading up to the big house at
Ingram
Hill
– he ran from the barn knowing the rider was bearing
important news.
Jacob
listened intently to
every word as Captain Coker’s envoy told of the impending fight.
The dispatch rider had hardly disappeared from sight when Jacob,
grabbing his musket mounted his fastest horse and quickly rode to
join the Patriot side in their fight against the
British.

On Friday the 13
^th
of April
1781, Colonel Wilcox dressed splendidly in his gold buttoned, red
British coat with gold-fringed epaulettes, a white waistcoat, white
lapels, and black boots that reached the knees of his white
britches. His head topped with a black, gold trimmed, tricorne hat
covers his stylish white, powdered wig tied neatly in the back with
a black ribbon. Behind his white, high-stepping horse walked the
despondent Governor and the rest of the Whig captives. The pompous
British Colonel Wilcox is walking into a trap set by the Patriots
and the men of the 3rd South Carolina Rangers.

As the Colonel ordered his men across
the Mill’s stonewall dam at Mink Creek, a volley of musket fire
from the Patriot side cut a swath of death through the British
ranks. A raging battle ensued that lasted all day and into the
early hours of the eve. Although badly outmanned, the Patriots did
not allow the Redcoats to cross the creek that day. Any attempt to
storm the mill resulted in further loss to the King’s men. The
advantage the Patriots commanded on the opposite side of Mink Creek
was too great for a frontal assault by the British. Knowing this,
the Redcoats had to have a better battle plan. Around midnight,
Colonel Wilcox dispatched twenty-five men to ford Mink Creek a mile
or so above
Scarburg Mill
.

The following morning at first light
cloaked in a dense fog, Wilcox’s men having crossed the swift,
cold, creek attacked the flank of Captain Coker’s group of Patriots
in and around
the
Mill. This maneuver
allowed the Redcoats to attack the Patriots from both the side and
front. The Patriots held their ground stubbornly until close to
noon, Captain Coker, grossly outnumbered, and already suffering the
loss of forty or fifty men, decided a strategic withdrawal must be
ordered. The British, however did not leave the field of battle
unscathed. They had roughly two hundred dead and wounded, but at
the end of the day the honors of the victory would be theirs.
Captain Coker gave the order for his troopers to mount their horses
and flee into the nearby woods.
Jacob
Ingram
with blood flowing from a bullet hole through the
calf of his right leg, using great effort managed to swing himself
into his saddle and followed the Captain into the cover of the
forest. At the time,
Jacob
thought little
of his injury, but it was serious enough that it would cause him a
slight limp for the rest of his life. It also furnished him with
innumerable tales of the Patriot’s heroic valor that he repeated
many times, under the old oak tree, for years to come. As the years
advanced Jacob’s part in the battle seemed to become more
important. Some thought the limp was to embellish these war stories
of which he so eloquently spoke. Whatever the reason the men
relished hearing and re-hearing the exploits of the Patriot and
British fight at Scarburg Mill.