All the day before we fled them, and we led them to pursue us, Then at night on Thickety Mountain made our camp; There we lay upon our rifles, slumber quickly coming to us, Spite the crackling of our camp-fires and our sentries’ heavy tramp. Morning on the mountain border, ranged in order, found our forces, Ere our scouts announced the coming of the foe; While the hoar-frost lying near us, and the distant watercourses, Gleamed like silver in the sunlight, seemed like silver in their glow. Morgan ranged us there to meet them, and to greet them with such favor That they scarce would care to follow us again; In the rear the Continentals—none were readier nor braver; In the van, with ready rifles, steady, stern, our mountain men. Washington, our trooper peerless, gay and fearless, with his forces Waiting panther-like upon the foe to fall, Formed upon the slope behind us, where, on rawboned country horses, Sat the sudden-summoned levies brought from Georgia by M’Call. Soon we heard a distant drumming, nearer coming, slow advancing— It was then upon the very nick of nine; Soon upon the road from Spartanburg we saw their bayonets glancing, And the morning sunlight playing on their swaying scarlet line. In the distance seen so dimly they looked grimly; coming nearer There was naught about them fearful, after all, Until some one near me spoke, in voice than falling water clearer, “Tarleton’s quarter is the sword-blade, Tarleton’s mercy is the ball.” Then the memory came unto me, heavy, gloomy, of my brother Who was slain while asking quarter at their hand; Of that morning when was driven forth my sister and my mother, From our cabin in the valley by the spoilers of the land. I remembered of my brother slain, my mother spurned and beaten, Of my sister in her beauty brought to shame; Of the wretches’ jeers and laughter, as from mud-sill up to rafter Of the stripped and plundered cabin leaped the fierce, consuming flame. [Illustration: WILLIAM WASHINGTON.] But that memory had no power there in that hour there to depress me— No! it stirred within my spirit fiercer ire; And I gripped my sword-hilt firmer, and my arm and heart grew stronger; And I longed to meet the wronger on the sea of steel and fire. On they came, our might disdaining, where the raining bullets leaden Pattered fast from scattered rifles on each wing; Here and there went down a foeman, and the ground began to redden; And they drew them back a moment, like the tiger ere his spring. Then said Morgan, “Ball and powder kill much prouder men than George’s; On your rifles and a careful aim rely. They were trained in many battles—we in workshops, fields, and forges; But we have our homes to fight for, and we do not fear to die.”