King's Mountain (16 page)

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The great day came at last, both too quickly for all the needed preparations and farewells, and too slowly to allay the lingering doubts that plague a man in the darkest hours of the night, but as the men began to gather there in the great field near the river, I forgot everything in the rising tide of excitement that at last the waiting was over.

We had arisen well before first light to make our way to the muster grounds. Catherine and John rode along with us, on the old plow horses that would stay behind on the farm, as would they, but we had said our farewells to all the younger children the night before, and they were left at home in the care of a servant. The boys and I had packed all we could the night before, and we set out that morning in the darkness on the road to Fort Watauga. Joseph and James were in high spirits, laughing and teasing each other, and boasting to their sullen brother John about all the brave deeds they intended to accomplish on the campaign while he was mired at home with the babies. Catherine and I rode side by side mostly in silence, but from time to time hazarding some chance remark on any subject at all except the fact that we were parting.

By the time the rising sun began to tint the clouds with pink and turn the wooded hills to gray, we were nearing the muster ground, and the trace was no longer a lonely road through the forest, but a bustling pike, crowded with militiamen and their families, all headed to the same place. They called out to one another, and some of the women joined their voices together in a hymn, and the quavering notes I heard in the tune made me think that they were singing in order to keep from weeping.

I left my boys to tend to the horses, while Catherine and I walked across the field, stopping here and there to greet our neighbors and to wish them well. Valentine and Robert had come with their wives, and Catherine left my side long enough to visit for a few minutes with them. I heard Catherine ask after Keziah's new baby, and then in one breath the three Sevier wives were promising to help one another while we menfolk were away. I was watching for the Pattons' wagon to arrive bearing the black powder we had ordered, and keeping a mental tally of which of my men were accounted for.

There was little distinction between officers and men, and unless you were acquainted with them, you might have difficulty telling which was which, for all the militiamen wore our customary long hunting shirts over leather breeches. Their belts bristled with long knives and short-handled axes, and each man had his rifle close to hand. Presently I caught sight of Colonel Shelby across the field, and I hurried forward to pay my respects.

Isaac Shelby, when he saw me, clasped my hand, and said with a wry smile, “Why, Sevier, I could almost believe I am back at the same celebration that I interrupted when I first came to bring you the news.”

I looked out across the sunlit field where hundreds of people were gathered, and I saw what he meant, for this looked more like a festival than the beginning of a military campaign. Young children with their dogs were laughing and shouting as they chased one another across the grass. The mothers, and wives, and sweethearts had all come to say good-bye to their men, and many of them had brought food, so that the family could share one last meal together before they were parted.

“Yes, Colonel Shelby, it is very like my barbecue a few weeks back. And, just as last time, we will be obliged to leave the celebration prematurely. Did Colonel Campbell accompany you?”

“He did. I think he is seeing to his own troops, if they have arrived yet. Campbell's men came by the old Watauga Road, you know. He reckons there will be about two hundred of them. And my brothers Evan and Moses have come as well. Shall we go and find them?”

I glanced at Catherine, but she seemed happily in conversation with my brothers' wives, so I followed Shelby toward the far end of the field, where William Campbell stood in the company of the Shelby brothers. Colonel Campbell was a tall, robust man of my own age. His ginger hair and blue eyes were a testimony to his Scots blood, and the dour disposition of his forebears was reflected in his own stern and unyielding countenance.

“Campbell will be a great asset to our mission. He is the scourge of the Loyalists along the Holston,” said Shelby. “Have you heard about his encounter with Francis Hopkins?”

“No, though that name strikes a chord. Was there not a robber of that name in these parts? A Tory sympathizer?”

“That is the man. He was a constant troublemaker in the area, a thief and a ne'er-do-well, and finally when he was caught counterfeiting money, the authorities clapped him in the local jail, but one night his villainous friends broke in and helped him to escape. What must the blackguard do next but present himself at a British fort, with the intention of doing further mischief to his Virginia neighbors. The fort's commander, happy to help cause trouble among the Whigs, gave Hopkins credentials and a letter to take to the Cherokee, offering support for a murderous attack on the settlements.”

“I would have put him down like a dog,” I said, for I had seen too many of my neighbors and comrades tortured and killed in Indian attacks to feel any spark of mercy for a man who would bring about such an infamous deed.

Shelby nodded. “We are of one mind about that. The wonder is that after all his treachery, Francis Hopkins should dare to venture again into the Holston settlement, but one Sunday afternoon, that is exactly what he did. Campbell and his good lady were heading home after Sabbath services at the church at Ebbing Springs in the company of some of their neighbors, when suddenly a rider crossed their path, and, upon seeing them, immediately turned and spurred his horse away into the nearby woods. When Campbell registered astonishment at the stranger's peculiar behavior, his companions told him the identity of the fleeing rider.”

“Francis Hopkins?”

Shelby nodded. “The very same.”

“Campbell and the other men immediately rode off in pursuit of the fugitive, leaving Mrs. Campbell and the other ladies in the party to await their return. They chased Hopkins, who tried to elude them by fording the river. Campbell—you know what a burly fellow he is—plunged into the water after the villain, and they fought hand to hand there in midstream, until Campbell wrested the knife away from Hopkins and hauled him back to shore to the waiting justice of Campbell and his men. A quarter of an hour or so passed, and presently Squire Campbell returned to his wife, who wanted to know what had transpired. He said, ‘
Why, Betty, we hanged him
,' and without further comment on the incident, he proceeded to escort his good lady home.”

I smiled politely. “The sister of former governor Henry must find things a bit more rowdy here on the frontier than she was accustomed to in genteel Williamsburg.”

“She comes of bold stock, though, despite their gentility. I'll warrant she is equal to the challenge. And the incident pales beside what your lady wife has lived through these past years.”

“Ah, you've heard of that incident on this very ground, during Old Abram's attack, when poor Catherine ran for her life, and had to be hauled over the wall of the fort with the Indians in pursuit.”

“Why, that story will outlive all of us, Colonel Sevier.” Shelby patted my shoulder. “Are your men in readiness for our departure?”

“I think they are saying their good-byes.”

We joined Shelby's brother and Colonel Campbell, and shook hands all around.

“We have among the three of us about seven hundred men,” said Campbell, “and another hundred or more of McDowell's have already arrived here to join us, but I hope to see that number doubled once we get across the mountains and into the Yadkin territory. Ben Cleveland will join us, come hell or high water.”

“They know we are coming,” said Shelby. “Let us just get safely and quickly over the mountains, and then we shall all join together, and as far as Ferguson is concerned it will be ‘come hell,' indeed.”

*   *   *

One of my men came up just then. “Sirs, the Reverend Mr. Doak is about ready to commence the preaching, if you'd care to lead the way. He's yonder under the sycamores.”

Campbell looked surprised. “A clergyman? Come to wish us well? We are fortunate then. Back in east Virginia, the usual breed of minister uses his office to urge his flock to stay loyal to the king. They declare that rebelling against the king and his appointed officials here is not only treason, but a sin against Almighty God, by whose divine right the sovereign rules. They have frightened a good many pious men into submission through fear of the Hereafter.”

“Reverend Doak is not that sort of parson,” I told him. “He seems to believe that rendering unto Caesar and rendering unto God are not one and the same.”

“Or else he is persuaded that the Whig cause is a just one,” said Shelby. “At any rate, he is a learned young man, and the Watauga settlement is blessed to have him. He has studied at the College of New Jersey and also at another institution in Virginia. I hope that God spares him for many years to be a spiritual leader.”

Campbell nodded. “Indeed, but why is such a scholar here in the wilderness?”

“His sister Elizabeth has settled here with her husband,” I said. “So presently Mr. Doak came along here and bought land of his own to be near them. But he did not leave civilization behind altogether, for he brought his personal library of classical literature all the way down the Wilderness Road on packhorses. Preachers are scarce in these parts, so the reverend preaches at a number of settlement meeting houses, each in turn. We could not wish for a better man to deliver our valediction.”

We joined the throng of people making their way across the open field to a stand of sycamore trees. Samuel Doak, a youthful, but solemn figure in black, stood in the shade of the trees, perfectly composed as he waited for his flock to gather round. The laughing and chatter had ceased. Even the children were quiet as they approached the sycamore. I would not have thought that a thousand people all gathered in one place could make so little noise. For a moment all I heard was the gurgle of the river tumbling over the rocks of the shoals, and the call of a bird from the nearby woods. Then the Reverend Mr. Doak raised his hands in supplication to the heavens and commenced a discourse with the Almighty.

Many of those present bowed their heads in prayer as they listened to his oration, but as he spoke, I took a last look at my family, for none of us could know if we would be coming back or not. I hope that the men found comfort in Sam Doak's conviction that the Lord would be with us and that He approved of our cause.

As he prayed, he allowed as how the journey on which we were embarking would be one filled with hardship and danger, but he assured us that we would not travel alone, for God would be with us, guiding us every step of the way. He went on for a bit about the righteousness of our fight for independence, and he urged us to go forth and help those people east of the mountains who were oppressed by the Tory armies. He reminded the men that they were no strangers to battle, for they had been tested and tried by the attacks of the savages upon our settlements, and they had survived those battles and emerged victorious, as, with the Lord's help, we would do again this time.

Then he asked God to protect us and give us the strength and the courage to face the enemy. Then he likened our mission to the Biblical tale of the Children of Israel at war with the Midianites, and he spent a good many minutes on the scriptural details of that ancient conflict, in case the particulars of it had slipped the Lord's mind.

I hope my soldiers took that comparison to heart, for if they could believe that they were God's chosen army, it would give them the strength and courage we were praying for.

After close on to an hour of preaching and prayer, for we had no time for more, Sam Doak ended his exhortation with a battle cry straight out of the book of Judges. Citing the Bible verse from his prodigious memory, he echoed the words of Gideon: “When I blow with a trumpet, I and all that are with me, then blow ye the trumpets also on every side of all the camp and say,
The sword of the Lord and of Gideon!
”

Twice more he called out those words, and, as he began a third time, his mighty voice was drowned out by a thousand men taking up that battle cry, and shouting it until the valley rang with the echoes.

Then it was over.

The cheers faded back into silence, and the solemnity of the occasion quenched our high spirits. The militiamen and their families turned away, retreating into their own private rituals of parting. Some of the women and children were weeping and clinging to their departing menfolk, but Catherine and I said our farewells to one another with somber restraint, for I was mindful of the example that I had to set for my men: courage and duty before all other considerations.

“Just keep things steady here for a couple of weeks, Kate,” I said. “And at the first sign of trouble, you take the children and set out for the fort. Promise me that.”

“Of course, I will.”

“Good. The family is in good hands then. I'll be back before the leaves are gone. Depend upon it.”

She nodded, with a tremulous smile. “Set your mind at ease about us. Just keep yourself from harm.”

Reverend Doak was moving among the crowd, clasping hands, patting shoulders, and offering comfort and encouragement to those who needed it.

“Your faith will be your armor,” he said more than once, to those men who seemed reluctant to set out.

We made the last preparations, saddling our mounts, and packing the provisions and gear. Some of the men had not been able to secure a horse for the journey, and they were prepared to walk along in the wake of the riders, keeping up as best they could. Others made ready to drive the cattle along behind us on the march.

*   *   *

Before the sun was much higher in the sky, the men had assembled into the separate militias, and when the command was given, we mounted our horses and rode slowly away from the meadow, following Gap Creek upstream, back toward Roan Mountain, that strange bare-topped mountain on whose summit no trees would grow. The Cherokee told tales of a monstrous wasp, which had lived upon that mountain, so big that it had carried off human beings to feed upon.