did indeed once understand something about the use of a
broadsword; but as to a pen, gentlemen, that's quite another part of
speech. The difference between a broadsword and a pen, gentlemen, is
prodigious; and it is not every officer, let me tell you, gentlemen, who
can, like Caesar, fight you a great battle with his sword to-day, and
fight it over again with his pen to-morrow."
"Burn Caesar!" replied they, "and his book too. If it were written in
letters of gold, we would not read it. What have honest republicans like
us to do with such an ambitious cut-throat and robber? Besides sir, your
reasoning about scholarship, and fine style, and all that, does not,
begging your pardon, apply at all to the case in hand. Small subjects
indeed, require great writers to set them off; but great subjects require
no such artificial helps: like true beauties, they shine most in the
simplest dress. Marion is one of this sort: great in his simplicity. Then
give us Marion -- plain, brave, honest Marion; that's all we want, sir.
And you can do this better than any other man. You have known him
longest; have fought closest by his side: and can best tell us of his noble
deeds. And surely now, after all, you can't bear to let him die, and all
his great actions, and be forgotten forever."
This, I confess, went to the quick, and roused me completely. "What!
Marion forgotten?" I exclaimed, "Marion forgotten! and by me!" No,
never! never! while memory looks back on the dreadful days of the
revolution; when a British despot, not the NATION, (for I esteem them
most generous,) but a proud, stupid, obstinate, DESPOT, trampling the
HOLY CHARTER and constitution of England's realm, issued against
us, (sons of Britons,) that most unrighteous edict, TAXATION without
REPRESENTATION! and then, because in the spirit of our gallant
fathers, we bravely opposed him, he broke up the very fountains of his
malice, and let loose upon us every indescribable, unimaginable curse
of CIVIL WAR; when British armies, with their Hessian, and Indian,
and tory allies, overran my afflicted country, swallowing up its fruits
and filling every part with consternation; when no thing was to be seen
but flying crowds, burning houses, and young men, (alas! too often,)
hanging upon the trees like dogs, and old men wringing their withered
hands over their murdered boys, and women and children weeping and
flying from their ruined plantations into the starving woods! When I
think, I say, of these things, oh my God! how can I ever forget Marion,
that vigilant, undaunted soldier, whom thy own mercy raised up to
scourge such monsters, and avenge his country's wrongs.
The Washington of the south, he steadily pursued the warfare most safe
for us, and most fatal to our enemies. He taught us to sleep in the
swamps, to feed on roots, to drink the turbid waters of the ditch, to
prowl nightly round the encampments of the foe, like lions round the
habitations of the shepherds who had slaughtered their cubs.
Sometimes he taught us to fall upon the enemy by surprise, distracting
the midnight hour with the horrors of our battle: at other times, when
our forces were increased, he led us on boldly to the charge, hewing the
enemy to pieces, under the approving light of day. Oh, Marion, my
friend! my friend! never can I forget thee. Although thy wars are all
ended, and thyself at rest in the grave, yet I see thee still. I see thee as
thou wert wont to ride, most terrible in battle to the enemies of thy
country. Thine eyes like balls of fire, flamed beneath thy lowering
brows. But lovely still wert thou in mercy, thou bravest among the sons
of men! For, soon as the enemy sinking under our swords, cried for
quarter, thy heart swelled with commiseration, and thy countenance
was changed, even as the countenance of a man who beheld the
slaughter of his brothers. The basest tory who could but touch the hem
of thy garment was safe. The avengers of blood stopped short in thy
presence, and turned away abashed from the lightning of thine eyes.
O that my pen were of the quill of the swan that sings for future days!
then shouldst thou, my friend, receive the fulness of thy fame. The
fathers, of the years to come, should talk of thy noble deeds; and the
youth yet unborn should rise up and call thee blessed. Fired at the
charm of thy virtues, they should follow thee in the path of thy glory,
and make themselves the future Marions of their country.
Peter Horry.
------------------------------ The Life of General Francis Marion
------------------------------
Chapter 1
.
Short sketch of an
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