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them were unfit to be seen on parade, and were sent home on that account; those who did appear were ludicrous enough, in their shreds and patches, and odds and ends. They were almost destitute of arms; the military chest was empty, and it was only by rare management that they obtained food from day to day. The first thing that Greene did, after looking to their immediate wants and permanent discipline, was to make himself acquainted with the scene of action. He caused the rivers to be explored, magazines to be established, and boats to be in readiness for future operations. On the 26th of December he removed the army to the great Pee Dee. An accession to his force, in the shape of Colonel Lee, from Virginia, with three hundred men, made up of horse and foot, and a body of four hundred recruits, headed by Colonel Greene, determined him to open the campaign by an offensive movement. He dispatched Lee to act in concert with Marion in an expedition against Georgetown, while Morgan annoyed Cornwallis in the neighborhood of Ninety Six. Tarleton was ordered to "push Morgan to the utmost." He set out with eleven hundred men; Morgan had nine hundred and seventy, six hundred of whom were militia. They met on the banks of the Thicketty on the morning of the 17th of January, and a severe engagement ensued. Tarleton did not succeed in "pushing" Morgan; on the contrary, he received a sound drubbing, which ended in the loss of one hundred and fifty of his men, and four hundred prisoners. Only eleven of the Americans were killed, and sixty-one wounded. Morgan took two field pieces, eight hundred muskets, two stands of colors, thirty-five baggage wagons, besides tents, ammunition, and one hundred dragoon horses. The victory was with the Americans, but as Cornwallis and his force were only twenty-five miles off, it was deemed prudent to retreat. That night Morgan crossed Broad River, and in the morning pressed toward the Catawba, to throw its rising waters between himself and the enemy. Cornwallis delayed a day or two, and when he reached the Catawba it was only to find it swollen by freshets, and Morgan on the other side, twenty miles ahead of him. Greene started off, almost alone, to relieve Morgan, leaving his army to follow him. He reached Morgan in safety. The stream

began to fall, and Cornwallis made preparations to cross it. It was the dawn of a stormy day when his columns entered the water; the American rifles were posted on the opposite bank, and as soon as they could see the enemy they opened a terrible fire upon them. Cornwallis had a narrow escape, his horse having been killed under him. He gained the land, however, and the militia, having done all that was expected of them, dispersed. Once on the same side of the river with the Americans, the irate lord resolved to make up for his previous delay. He destroyed his wagons, whereby he was enabled to double the teams for his artillery, and to mount a portion of his infantry. He pushed after Morgan, endeavoring to overtake him before he could cross the Yadkin. He failed, thanks to the speed of the American troops, and the relay of boats, which, by Greene's provident orders, were awaiting them by the banks of the river. The stream, although on the rise, was not sufficiently swollen to prevent the American cavalry from fording. They were just in time, however, for, as the last of them crossed, up came Cornwallis's mounted cavalry and infantry. As it was, they crossed their weapons with the American rearguard. Ere long my Lord Cornwallis and the rest of his army reached the banks of the Yadkin. He was a little too late. The stream was no longer fordable, and Greene had secured all the boats. Cornwallis opened a furious cannonade on the Americans, but as their camp was sheltered by a rising ground, it was a waste of ammunition. Greene had taken up his quarters in a little cabin, which was somewhat sheltered by the rocks. By and by, as if they had divined that he was there, the enemy pointed their cannon toward it. The balls struck the rocks, and then came nearer and nearer. At length the clapboards of the roof began to fly. Greene, however, was not to be disturbed by it. He sat and wrote his dispatches as coolly as if he had been in his own chamber, only stopping to hear the reports of his aids, or to give orders. He seemed to feel himself fire-proof.

Greene remained a day on the banks of the Yadkin, and then, to beguile Cornwallis in pursuit of him, resumed his march for the River Dan. The cold was intense, and his soldiers were thinly clad and worse shod; hundreds of them tracked

the ground with bloody feet. In the best equipped corps a blanket sufficed for four men. They crossed the Dan on the 15th of February. This was the main portion of the army. Certain detachments were still scattered over the country, harassing the British in pursuit. They came up in time, however, the last of them crossing the river at dusk. As the last files ascended the northern bank of the Dan the British rushed into sight on the southern. The prey had escaped again. Greene had now led his little army more than two hundred miles through a perilous country, swarming with Tories, in the breaking up of winter, when the roads were soaked with incessant rains. He had contrived to elude the enemy, whose numbers were far superior to his own, leading him a wild-goose chase, away from the strongholds of his power. Unable to fight, the wily blacksmith conquered his foe by a series of masterly retreats. "Your retreat before Corwallis," Washington wrote him," is highly applauded by all ranks, and reflects much honor on your military abilities." From the day that he joined Morgan on the banks of the Catawba, Greene had never once undressed himself for sleep!

Not deeming it advisable to pursue the Americans any further, Cornwallis broke up his camp on the Dan on the 18th of February, and wheeling about, marched direct to Hillsborough. In the meantime Greene had received several important accessions to his force, and feeling strong enough to justify the step, he crossed the Dan on the 23d with his whole army. A series of skirmishes, such as always take place when two armies are in the neighborhood of each other, from time to time enlivened the monotony of their progress. Cornwallis abandoned Hillsborough on the 26th, and threw himself across the Haw, taking post near Allemance Creek, one of its principal tributaries. Greene followed him, and crossing the Haw near its source, halted near Troublesome Creek. From this point his light troops continually hovered about the enemy, darting upon his foraging parties, cutting off his supplies and intelligence, beating up his quarters; in short, exhausting him by all sorts of annoyances. Cornwallis attempted to cut off Greene's detachments, but failing in his object, he took post at Bell's Mills, on Deep River. Greene's army now amounted to above four thousand

men, which was one third more than that of the enemy. He accordingly advanced to Guilford Court House, taking post on the 14th of March, 1781, within twelve miles of the British. This was challenging distance, according to the usages of war, and Cornwallis prepared for action. On the morning of the 15th Greene drew up his army in battle array. The van of the enemy appeared about one o'clock, and was welcomed by two pieces of artillery, which had been placed in the road in advance of the first line of the Americans. He answered from an eminence over the head of his own columns. In the intervals of the fire Cornwallis pushed his sections across the defile, and displayed them under cover of an intervening wood. The American line, consisting of one thousand North Carolina militia, fired a scattered shot, and were seized with a panic. They fled in spite of the efforts of their officers, who threw themselves across their path, some darting through the wood, and others seeking shelter in the rear of the second line of Virginia militia, by whom they were received with hisses. The British rushed forward in pursuit, but were for a time checked by by cross fires from the flanking parties of Washington and Lee. The latter, however, were at last compelled to retreat, which they did in an orderly manner, firing calmly as they moved backward, only yielding before the pressure of the bayonet.

In the meantime the British line were engaged with the American second line, who received them royally, militia though they were. They were capital marksmen, armed with excellent rifles, and every bullet told. Wide gaps were soon opened in the British files. The steady valor of the latter, aided by their invincible bayonets, prevailed, and the American right began to yield. The flanking party of Washington moved back, and took post on the right of the third line of Continentals. The British left now came up to them, confident of victory, but the Continentals, withholding their fire until the enemy were within a proper range, gave them a volley, and immediately followed it up by a bayonet charge, which sent them reeling back in confusion. Had the American cavalry been present, the British could not have recovered themselves; as it was, their general, who was grievously wounded,

could but just draw them off, and wait for
succor. But now one regiment of the
first line gave way, leaving the two pieces
of artillery which had opened the battle,
in the hands of the British. They rushed
forward to secure the prize, but the other
regiment of the same line, marching be-
hind the copse-wood, by which the field
was skirted, dashed among them, and a
terrible hand to hand struggle ensued. At
the same moment Washington's cavalry
burst upon them from the rear.
wallis hastened to the point of danger, and
the desperate condition of his fortunes
requiring a desperate remedy, (for the
whole field was covered with his flying
guards,) he ordered his artillery to arrest
the progress of the American cavalry, by
pouring out torrents of grape upon them.
He knew that he would slaughter his own
men, as well as their foes, so mingled
were the masses on the plain; but no
other way was left him to save himself.
His guns poured out rivers of grape,
sweeping through the ranks of the des-
perate combatants. The American caval-
ry were repelled, but one half of his
battalion was left on the field. The fight
was lost to the Americans, but it was still
kept up on both sides by detached parties.
Greene had kept a regiment of Virginia
Continentals in reserve; with these he
drew off his troops in safety. The British
were too much crippled to pursue them
successfully. Bringing up the rear in
person, Greene halted within three miles
of the field of battle. Here he picked up
his stragglers, and arranged for the care
of the wounded. He resumed his march
in a bitter rain-storm, and reached his en-
campment at Troublesome Creek about
dawn next day. The British loss, in killed
and wounded, was six hundred and thirty-
three; the loss of the Americans did not
reach half that number. "Another such
victory," said Fox in the House of Com-
mons, "would ruin the British army."

on Hobkirk's Hill. He encamped in order of battle, holding himself in constant expectation of an attack. On the morning of the 25th of April Rawdon approached. The American troops were at breakfast; Greene and his aids were indulging in the unusual luxury of a cup of coffee. The sound of fire-arms was heard in the distance, and the drums rolled near at hand; they rose, and were soon in battle array. The whole force of Greene only enabled Corn-him to form one line; behind this line he had marked his pieces. Assuming Greene to be without artillery, Rawdon brought none; his surprise may be imagined when that of Greene opened upon him. His men were confused and dismayed. Greene seized the moment of their greatest confusion, and ordered a charge, intending to close on their flanks right and left; but before his cavalry and infantry could make the necessary circuit, Rawdon saw the danger which awaited him, and changed his position, outflanking the Americans, and enfilading their wings; in short exposing them to the very peril from which he had just escaped. A momentary recoil followed on the part of the Americans; the fire of the British drew the fire of the American center, when their orders had been to reserve it. The fall of a number of their officers threw the Maryland regiments in confusion; a retreat ensued, and the field was lost. Greene determined to save his artillery, and just as the matrosses were quitting the drag-ropes he galloped up alone, and, throwing himself from his horse, seized the ropes with his own hands. Some of his men now rushed up to help him, holding their guns in one hand, while with the other they dragged off the ponderous pieces. A band of British cavalry attempted to stop them; they dropped the ropes long enough to fire, and then resumed their progress. Again and again the cavalry returned to the charge, but only to be foiled and driven back by the sharp fire of these extempore artillerists. But now the British infantry had come up, and their marksmen, scattered among the trees, began to pick off the Americans in turn. Out of forty-five of the latter, soon only fourteen remained; at last they were all slain, or taken prisoners. The artillery now seemed lost, but at this moment Colonel Washington charged down the road with his cavalry and put the enemy to flight. Greene saved his beloved can

Greene's next movement was against Camden, then in the possession of Lord Rawdon. He hoped to surprise him, but the runners of the Tories had preceded the American army, bearing the news of Cornwallis's retrograde movement; this, and a delay of several days at the Pee Dee, occasioned by a want of boats for crossing, enabled Rawdon to strengthen himself. Having no battering cannon with which to reduce the place, Greene pitched his tents

non, and continued the retreat. He encamped that night on Saunder's Creek. Notwithstanding his victory Rawdon lost more men than Greene.

On the 7th of September Greene reached the Congaree, seven miles from the Eutaw Springs. Here he effected a junction with his detachments, and made his preparations for battle. His baggage, tents, and everything that might delay or embarrass him had been left behind. With the exception of the tumbrils, the artillery, and two wagons containing hospital stores and rum, he had no wheeled vehicles with him. His force consisted of about two thousand men ; the British outnumbered him some three hundred, or more. The American army moved from its bivouac about four in the morning. A couple of deserters carried the intelligence to Stuart, the British commander, who sent out a detachment of infantry and horse to bring in his foragers. This detachment was driven back. In the meantime Stuart had made his preparations for defense. His advance retired before the American front line, a body of stalwart militia, commanded by Pickens and Marion. When the latter drew near the British army, which opened to let the advance pass to the rear, they halted, and wheeling their field pieces forward, commenced the battle. Volleys of musketry were poured into them from the British line, but the sharp ring of their unerring rifles told upon the ranks of the enemy. Ere long their artillery was demolished; but they still continued to fight, receiving the fire of a line more than twice the number of their own. They delivered seventeen rounds, when a forward movement of the British compelled them to fall back.

Three battalions of North Carolinans were ordered to their support. Stuart ordered up the infantry of his reserve, and the conflict commenced anew. The whole strength of the British army was now engaged in the mêlée; the greater part of the American second line, with all their reserve and cavalry, were fresh and ready for action. The American center yielded, and the British, thinking the victory won, rushed upon them, shouting and disorderly. This was the moment for which Greene had been waiting, and he ordered the field to be swept by his bayonets. The Maryland and Virginia regiments rushed forward with trailing arms, reserving their fire till within forty yards

of the enemy. a destructive volley, and pressed forward to finish the work with cold steel. They were seconded by the infantry of Lee, who delivered a heavy enfilading fire, and followed it up with a charge of bayonets. The British left were thrown into disorder. The Maryland regiment now threw in their fire, and the center and right were seized with a panic. The whole line of the enemy gave way and fled; some of them never stopped until they reached the gates of Charleston. The Americans pursued them to their camp. The extreme right of the British still maintained its ground, protected, in some degree, by a body of three hundred picked troops, under cover of the thickets which bordered the Eutaw.

The Virginians poured in

This detachment of the enemy was at last routed by the Delaware infantry. The whole British line now fled before the bayonets of the Americans. The latter chased them to their encampment, taking prisoners at every step. Behind the British tents stood a two-story brick house, whose windows commanded all the space around. It was strong enough to resist the fire of infantry. A garden in the rear, inclosed by a picket fence, increased its facilities for defense. To this garden and house the fugitives ran, the foremost of the Americans at their heels. A struggle took place at the door, which was shut in the face of some of the British officers, who were thus made prisoners. Those who gained the house, however, soon revenged their loss with their rifles; they kept further pursuit at bay. Only the foremost and orderly part of the American army took part in this struggle. The remainder, a large majority, stopped rather long in the tents of the enemy, tempted by a liberal supply of old rum. Their officers strove to extricate them, passing from tent to tent, running the gauntlet of the garrison in the house, but all in vain.

Greene ordered his cavalry to fall upon the enemy in the garden, and his artillery to batter the house. The latter took their guns, which had been dismounted at an early stage of the battle, and a couple of six pounders which the British had abandoned, and attempted to carry out his orders. They ran their pieces too near, and were swept down by a destructive storm of bullets from the house.

The guns

were left unmanned. The infantry

charged, but failed to clear the garden. They recoiled, repulsed and broken. Greene drew off his forces, and rallied in the cover of the woods, leaving his drunken soldiers in the tents to the tender mercies of the enemy's bayonets. The British commander had gained a dubious victory, but he was too crippled to venture beyond the cover of the house. It was like most of the victories of the British over Greene, of no use to them.

thousand guineas, and North Carolina twenty-four thousand acres of land. Congress subsequently gave him a testimonial in the shape of two pieces of field ordnance, which he had captured from the British; and ordered the substance of their complimentary resolution to be engraved upon them. After the evacuation of Charleston, but before the declaration of peace, a misunderstanding between Greene and the civil authorities in the The battle of Eutaw was in reality the matter of contracting for the necessities downfall of their power in the South, of the army, which was not yet disbanded, though they still continued to hold Charles- involved the former in serious pecuniary ton, and kept up a show of strength in difficulties, which embittered the last other places. From time to time skir- days of his life. He carried his family to mishes came off between them and the South Carolina, but being compelled to forces of Greene, Marion, and other sell his lands in that state to satisfy the American officers, but none of much im- creditors of the contractor for whom he portance. A little more than a month had been security, he removed to the estate after the bloody conflict at Eutaw Corn- which had been presented to him by the wallis surrendered at Yorktown; and in Legislature of Georgia. This was in the December of the following year Charles- spring of 1785. He soon settled down in ton was evacuated. As the British his new residence, and gave himself up to marched out of the city the Americans the delights of a farmer's life. Instead marched in, headed by Mad Anthony and of writing of marches and countermarches, a band of infantry and cavalry. After victories and defeats, his letters were fall Wayne's troops came a stately cavalcade, of his grounds and garden. "My garden consisting of Greene, the governor and is delightful," he writes in one of his rural his suite, and the principal municipal and epistles. "The fruit trees and shrubs state authorities. The reader will be form a pleasing variety. We have green kind enough to imagine the densely-peas almost fit to eat, and as fine lettuce as crowded streets, and the handkerchiefs you ever saw. The mocking-birds surwaving at the windows; the tramp of the soldiers, the shining guns and flags; the triumphal music, the shouts, the happy tears. Before the evacuation of Charleston the Legislature assembled at Jack sonborough, and the governor in his opening address passed a high eulogium on Greene. He congratulated the rep-ant to read for all that. It shows us that resentative body on the pleasing change of affairs, whch had been effected, under the blessing of God, by "the wisdom, prudence, address, and bravery of the great and gallant General Greene," babbled o' green fields." He died on and the intrepidity of the officers and men under his command." The Senate declared itself impressed with a high sense of his eminent services, and unanimously voted him their thanks for his distinguished zeal and generalship. The House expressed itself similarly, and showed its gratitude in a more substantial manner by originating a bill "for vesting in General Nathaniel Greene, in consideration of his important services, the sum of ten thousand guineas." Georgia voted him five

round us evening and morning. We have in the same orchard apples, pears, peaches, apricots, nectarines, plums of various kinds, figs, pomegranates, and oranges. And we have strawberries which measure three inches round." The extract is of no great consequence, perhaps, but it is pleas

a great man like Greene was not above being interested in small things. (No great man, by the way, ever is.) Like Falstaff, when his end was near, he

the 19th of June, 1786, from overheating himself in the rice-field of a friend, and was buried in Savannah. His body was placed in an obscure vault, the locality of which was soon lost. No matter how much his country may wish it, there can be no monument raised above his bones. He sleeps in an unknown sepulcher.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,

And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike the inevitable hour.

The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

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