BOUND ON THE FORTH OF JULY
By Historian
It was a hot morning when Elizabeth Grant took the basket from the barn. While it was not as muggy as the Carolina coast would be, there was some moisture in the air. Her closest friend Peggy Miller would soon be here and the two would pick wild flowers, which they would throw into the path of the soldiers who planned to march through the village in parade. These were not green local militia, but highly seasoned veterans of the fighting in the north, who were detached from Washington's army in attempt to lift the siege of Charles Town. They arrived too late for that and now were to prevent the British from marching into the Piedmont region.
"Bessie!" her mother called out. "Peggy's coming."
Bessie emerged from the barn and saw Peggy walking up the path. A short time later, they set off for the nearby meadow, bare feet sticking out from beneath their skirts. Shoes were too hot to wear in the summer in this border region where the Carolinas met and nobody was sure where the boundary was. Unlike the low-lying coastal plain, with its numerous rice plantations, this was a region of mainly small farmers, such as their fathers.
As they approached the meadow, they heard a rumbling noise in the distance. "Thunder?" Peggy asked.
Bessie shook her head. "Horsemen."
A group of twenty or so men and boys rode toward them toward the two girls. They reined in and Bessie recognized the two riders immediately behind the leader, the widow Jackson's sons. She recognized the leader's face, but could not match it with a name. The leader removed his three cornered hat and said, "Good morning ladies, I am Major Crawford of the Waxhaw Whigs."
Bessie knew him by name, but not be sight. His group rode patrols to search for bands of Tory riders. One Tory legion raised in New York and led by a British colonel named Tarleton had already established a reputation for cruelty. "You already know my nephews, Hugh and Andy," he continued.
"Andy's a bit young to be riding patrol," Bessie observed.
"He's also my orderly. Besides, my sister volunteered to look after the soldiers in the British prison ships."
"What brings you out here?" Peggy asked.
"Just a patrol." Crawford said "You girls best be careful. You're close to the Moore place."
"He doesn't own this meadow," Bessie said.
"Yes but that Tory bas- er- rascal acts as if he owns everything in the area."
"We'll be careful."
"We better be off." Crawford then turned his attention to the rider behind him. "These two are nineteen and unmarried, lads. Something to think about when the patrol ends."
Crawford and his men rode and kicked up a dust cloud as they did. Bessie and Peggy went to the meadow and started to pick the flowers. The quantity of the flowers was such they could carefully select the very best. As a consequence, they moved further from the road and closer to a stream.
"There's an idea," Peggy said.
"What do you mean?" Bessie asked.
"Let's soak our feet in the water."
The two set their baskets down by the bank and started to wade in the muddy stream. There was a downed tree along the bank, so they could sit on the trunk and let the current wash the mud off their feet. It was a quiet, still area. In fact, it was so quiet the hooves of a single horse could be heard. Bessie and Peggy remembered Crawford's warning and dismounted the tree trunk for the scant cover of some bushes.
A pair of riders came into view. One was easily recognizable a corpulent, well dressed man, with steel rimmed spectacles a round, puffy face gleaming with sweat. Both girls recognized him as Michael Moore, and knew him well. Moore owned the largest farm in the area and all six slaves in the county. He had the mannerisms and arrogance of an aristocrat, and was loudly loyal to King George. Bessie often wondered those facts, coupled with Moore's condescending manner toward the local yeoman farmers had driven most of the farmers in the area to support independence.
The other they didn't recognize. He was some other Tory sympathizer, perhaps or maybe even a British spy.
From the opposite direction, two more riders approached. Neither was as well dressed as Moore, but both carried a brace of pistols.
"Is your group ready?" Moore asked.
"We are," replied the rider closest.
"Good. It's common knowledge the rebels are staging a celebration of their declaration, with a parade through the nearest village. I think we should mark our own celebration."
"Indeed," Moore's companion said in an accent that definitely was not that of the Carolinas. "Two years ago, His Majesty's loyal forces in Pennsylvania soundly defeated a rebel force on the fourth of July.
Bessie and Peggy gasped audibly at that reference. Their point of reference of that was that the Tories, aided and abetted by their Iroquois allies had slaughtered a small band of Patriot soldiers. It was something they didn't wish to see happen to their friends and neighbors. Unfortunately, they much such noise they gave away their hiding place to the four riders. In less than a minute, all four riders had the girls surrounded.
"Who the devil are these two?" asked the rider with the British accent.
"The daughters of a couple dirt farmers," Moore replied.
"Now the rebels will know everything!" one of the other riders said.
"Not so, Mister Cameron. We'll take them to my barn."
The captives were led the half mile to Moore's farm, with one rider on each side, one behind, and one in front. Without much word, they were led into the barn. Coarse rope was produced and used to bind tie girls' bare wrists and ankles. Other, longer pieces were produced and used to around their chests and upper arms. Finally, dirty rags were produced and tied across their mouths.
"That should hold them," Cameron said.
"At least until we can figure out what to do with them," Moore said.
"What about your slaves?" asked the Englishman. "Suppose one of them comes in here for something?"
"My overseer will keep them in the fields all day, and we should be back before sunset."
"You've planned this very thoroughly."
"I have to. I'm surrounded by enemies out here."
Bessie and Peggy were left to their own devices. The heat of the day and the gags left their throats parched. Any struggling produced torrents of sweat. More ominously, they had no idea what lay in store for them. Even when they would be missed, nobody would know where to look.
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As their capture had come about simply by accident, so too would their rescue. Bessie's brother John was one of the lucky few who managed get out of Charles Town before the city was surrounded. Cut off from his unit, he took up with a Colonel Marion and his band of riders. Given leave, he hoped to surprise his family. He still wore the tattered remnants of the uniform he wore when sent out to deliver the dispatch. One of his pistols was the one he carried with him on that assignment, the other was captured from a British officer. A sword, also captured, hung at his left side.
Twice on his way, he had to avoid Tory patrols. As he approached the final leg of his journey, he noticed several horsemen gathering near the Moore place. If these men had anything to do with Moore, he reasoned, then they were decidedly unfriendly to him. Fortunately, he knew the area better than they did and was soon riding along the riverbank. As he approached Moore's place along the river, he wondered just what was going on there. If Moore was anything like the rice planter along the coast, then he talked freely in front of his slaves. At a place where the barn was visible, he reined in his horse. Next, he removed a white cockade -a sure sign he was part of Marion's command-and placed in the pocket of his coat, which he removed. After some careful consideration, he decided to leave his sword behind, too.
John carefully chose an approach that would be blocked from view of the house by the barn. He slipped into the barn to hide, and was surprised when he saw Bessie and Peggy. Without word or fanfare he released the two captives. "We can talk on the way home," he said.
They looked around for another horse; John -or even the girls-could double up on one horse, but riding triple would be too much of a strain for any animal.
"We'll have to make it on foot," Bessie said.
"Very well," John said. "But take separate routes. I'll ride behind you and try to keep any pursuers occupied."
Bessie set out along the riverbank, while Peggy looked for a different route. Before either one faded from sight John started to ride across Moore's fields. Bessie soon discovered this path was a faster way back home. On arrival, she discovered her father in deep conversation with a man in uniform. She breathlessly told her father what had happened and, more importantly, the plan of attack. This greatly alarmed the man, who was captain of the company of Continental Regulars that planned to march in the parade.
The captain left to assemble his company and Mr. Grant frantically looked for a way to summon help. A short time later, John rode up. He told everybody he knew to have rebel sympathies about the impending attack while on the way. "Is Peggy here?" he asked.
"No," Bessie replied. "Why do you ask?"
"She wasn't home."
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It had been Peggy's misfortune to encounter a lone woman on horseback. The woman happened to be Moore's sister. She had been married to a Tory farmer in North Carolina who in early 1776 joined up to with an armed force that planned to march to the sea and meet up with the British army rumored to be on a fleet of transports off the coast. Before the force reached the coast, it was ambushed by a Rebel force at a place called Moore's Creek Bridge. The Tory force was routed and her husband killed. She now lived with her brother and seethed with revenge.
Mary Moore Buchanan always rode with a pistol on her person. In the event she met up with a rebel, she could avenge her husband's death. She pointed the pistol at Peggy and compelled her to kneel. With the barrel of the pistol placed firmly at the back of Peggy's head, she was interrupted by her brother and two of his riders. They wanted Peggy as a prisoner. Mary reluctantly turned Peggy over to her brother. Peggy's wrists were again bound and the gag placed back in her mouth. She returned to the Moore farm draped face down over the back of a horse.
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Men armed with muskets began trickling into the Grant farm. "John, we'll have to go back and get Peggy," Bessie said.
"Do you mean now?" John asked.
Bessie thought for a bit, noticed John's smile "If Moore is coming here with a bunch of riders, perhaps his farm will be unguarded."
As they spoke, a company of soldiers appeared on the road. They marched four abreast and wore blue coats with white facings. These were Continental regulars from Delaware, seasoned veterans of four years' fighting with Washington's army in the North. "Let's go," he said.
They proceeded to the barn, which had the farm's one luxury: a splendid riding horse named Hermes. The ancient Greeks, so Bessie understood, believed Hermes was a wing-footed messenger of the gods. She hoped at least the winged feet would apply in this case. She mounted Hermes and rode after John.
They took the trail along the river to the Moore place. The lack of activity worried Bessie until her stomach growled. Of course, she realized. Everybody would be eating their mid day meal. That made it easier fir Bessie and John to sneak into the barn. There was only one minor complication: Peggy wasn't there. Oddly enough, the ropes used on them were still lying on the floor of the barn.
"She must be in the house," Bessie said.
They crept toward the house. Through the kitchen window, they could see a solitary black woman, no doubt a house slave, sitting with her back to the door. John drew one of his pistols. They opened the door without a sound --Moore evidently oiled his hinges- and they slipped inside.
The slave didn't realize something was wrong until the hand was clamped over her mouth. "Don't make a sound and we won't hurt you," John said. He removed his hand and he and Bessie went about binding the woman's wrists and ankles.
"We need a gag," he whispered.
Without another word, Bessie hiked up her skirt and tore of a suitable length of petticoat. As John secured the gag, Bessie's eyes fell on the slab of ham and half loaf of cornbread. She contemplated the food when she heard Mary Buchanan command: "More tea, Helen."
John and Bessie rushed to the dining room where they naturally surprised Mary. Unlike her brother, who reputedly ate whole chickens at one sitting, Mary was a Spartan eater. One slice of ham and one slice of cornbread were enough for her. "Please remain seated," John said.
Bessie went to work binding Mary. "Where's my friend?" she asked.
"Rebel bitch," was the only the only response.
When the binding was completed, Bessie picked up a linen napkin and folded it over as for a gag. As soon as it was secured, Bessie and John searched for Peggy. They found her in the parlor, securely bound to a chair. After Bessie was released, they three helped themselves to the ham and cornbread before they left. Bessie and Peggy rode double on Hermes and the group made it's back to the Grant farm. On their way back, they heard the crackle of musket fire coming from the road. As they approached the house, they heard cheering. Moore and his cohorts, who rode horses unaccustomed to battle, were unable to launch an attack because their horses were rearing. All attempts to coordinate a charge failed, due to a curious mixture of measured volleys from the company of Continentals and sporadic fire from the local militia, which kept a constant rate of fire. Also, the operation relied on surprise, which was now lost. Moore was forced to withdraw.
The planned parade went on a bit later than scheduled, though without the flowers. Bessie and Peggy were not disappointed. They at least were alive to enjoy the parade.
END