From Sunbury, on the 1st of May, 1777, did Col. Elbert embark in transports his troops destined for the expedition against Florida undertaken at the instance of Governor Button Gwinnett. Collections of the Georgia Historical Society, vol. III, pp. 246, 248. Savannah, 1873. [204] He had been for some time stationed at Sunbury, and commanded not only the Continental troops there concentrated, but also all detached companies operating to the southward. Captain Morris’ artillery company constituted the permanent garrison of the Fort. [205] The following lines descriptive of the desolations wrought by this invading force, are extracted from a quaint old-fashioned poem composed by John Baker, a son of Colonel John Baker, and found among the MSS of the latter: “Where’er they march, the buildings burn, Large stacks of rice to ashes turn: And me [Midway] a pile of ruin made Before their hellish malice staid. “Nor did their boundless fury spare The house devote to God and prayer: Brick, coal, and ashes shew the place Which once that sacred house did grace. “The churchyard, too, no better sped, The rabble so against the dead Transported were with direful fumes, They tore up and uncover’d tombs.” [206] Bancroft’s History of the United States, vol. X, p. 294. Boston, 1874. [207] Mr. John Couper, in a letter dated St. Simon’s, 16th April, 1842, and written when he was eighty-three years of age, gives the following anecdote of the famous and eccentric Captain Rory McIntosh who, at the time, had attached himself in a volunteer capacity to the infantry company commanded by Captain Murray, forming part of the 4th Battalion of the 60th Regiment. Captain Murray’s company was in the lines which Colonel Fuser had developed around Sunbury and its Fort. “Early one morning,” writes Mr. Couper, “when Rory had made rather free with the ‘mountain dew,’ he insisted on sallying out to summons the fort to surrender. His friends could not restrain him, so out he strutted, claymore in hand, followed by his faithful slave Jim, and approached the fort, roaring out, “Surrender, you miscreants! How dare you presume to resist his Majesty’s arms?” Captain McIntosh knew him, and, seeing his situation, forbid any one firing, threw open the gate, and said “Walk in, Mr. McIntosh, and take possession.” “No,” said Rory, “I will not trust myself among such vermin; but I order you to surrender.” A rifle was fired, the ball from which passed through his face, sideways, under his eyes. He stumbled and fell backwards, but immediately recovered and retreated backwards, flourishing his sword. Several dropping shots followed. Jim called out, “Run, massa—de kill you.” “Run, poor slave,” says Rory. “Thou mayest run, but I am of a race that never runs.” In rising from the ground, Jim stated to me, his master, first putting his hand to one cheek, looked at his bloody hand, and then raising it to the other, perceived it also covered with blood.