they bring him in alive.” To the disgrace of the ministry of Lord North, these practices were not only known to but were approved by the Cabinet. Indeed, they met the “hearty and repeated applause” of those charged with the conduct of the war, Germain declaring in orders to Clinton that “no good faith or justice is to be expected from them and we ought in all our transactions with them to act upon that supposition.” Such was the temper of the British and such was the condition of the people of South Carolina when Cornwallis moved forward. The army was in three divisions—the main body under Cornwallis, at Camden; Tarleton’s Legion, at Winnsborough; and the Brigade of Provincial troops under Major Ferguson, at Post Ninety-Six. It was at this time that Morgan again took the field. The defeat of Gates at Camden had stirred his patriotism to its very depths. In the distress of his country he buried all resentment of the ill-treatment he had received from both Gates and the Congress—the hardy warrior again drew his sword. And Gates with his pride humbled and his heart filled with humility by adversity, desiring to retrieve his fallen fortunes, resolved upon giving Morgan an independent command. The British began their march in the second week of September—a delightful season in the southern clime, perhaps the loveliest of the year. The earlier cereals had yielded to the sickle, and the sheaves, standing like mute sentinels in the field, had been bound by the reapers. The maize was nearly ripe. Supplies for the troops were plentiful. Indeed, the proud Cornwallis had no thought of care for his army that did not dissolve in the kindling prospect of glory and renown. In the opinion of Bancroft, the ablest British partizan officer at that time in America was Major Patrick Ferguson, in command of the left division of the army. He was ordered to enlist as he passed northward, the young loyalists who had fled to the mountains for security and those fugitives whose love of plunder would find indulgence and protection under the British standard. House-burners and assassins, plunderers and wrongers of women and children, were massed in his command. But neither Ferguson nor his desperate troops were fated much longer to pillage, burn and kill. At King’s Mountain, on the 7th day of October, the backwoodsmen from the Virginia mountains, the commands of Isaac Shelby and John Sevier, the men from North Carolina under McDowell and Cleaveland—all by common consent under the command of the redoubtable Virginian, William Campbell, a brother-in-law of Patrick Henry—every man armed with his own rifle and riding his own horse, determined to avenge the wrongs which they and their kinsmen had suffered at the hands of the British troops. A bloody battle was fought and Ferguson was pierced through the heart. His entire command was captured.