Caleb heard his muttered words. “Sleep well, men. You will need your strength. Tarleton arrives tomorrow.”
* * * *
The camp wakened before dawn on January 17. General Morgan took a long look at those gathered before him and began to speak.
“Men, we know Tarleton regularly employs a headlong attack. His strength lies in his numbers, but his army is not known for complicated maneuvers. I want the North Carolina and Georgia militias to form a line with a contingent of riflemen to their front.”
Indicating the hills beyond, he continued. “I will take the main line to the higher of those two hills. Stationed behind the other hill, I want William Washington’s Dragoons.”
A tall man raised his hand in a salute. Caleb had heard of the brave Washington, a cousin of the famed General George Washington, whose summer victory at Yorktown had given the weary armies needed hope for a quick end to the war.
When General Morgan stopped his speech to the troops momentarily to confer with William Washington, Seth took the opportunity to lean over to Caleb and pass along some information he had heard about Morgan.
“I understand the General once fought with the British in the French and Indian War.”
Caleb, amazed, stared at Seth. His friend nodded and continued. “He was involved in a scuffle with a British officer and sentenced to a court-martial and 500 lashes.”
“What happened then?” Caleb asked, caught up in the strange story of the new commanding officer.
“Well, it grows more unusual. He then joined a rifle company in our army when this war broke out. The British captured him in Quebec in the winter of ’75 along with a comrade, Benedict Arnold. They were released in an exchange with British prisoners. He then distinguished himself at the Battle of Saratoga. So, that’s whose presence we’re in now. What do you think of that?”
Before Caleb had a chance to reply, General Morgan resumed speaking to the troops. His voice carried over the field to the last ragged militiaman as well as the three hundred continentals who awaited his orders.
He went on to deploy the troops into two groups. His sent his best sharpshooters to the top of a gentle rise with instructions to fire twice and then retreat behind the second line. This line was made up of militia troops who were to lie just behind the crest of the hill. Morgan also ordered them to fire twice and then retreat behind the continentals who rode about 150 yards behind them. In turn, Washington’s cavalry, hidden in a low spot, would rise up to take the brunt of the heaviest fighting. These were the more experienced of his troops.
When all regiments had taken their places, the wait began.
Major Hunt’s men, stationed at the southern edge of the hillside first witnessed the arrival of Tarleton’s regiments. Caleb’s eyes widened and his mouth flew open in surprise when he beheld the pageantry with which the British rode. He had never seen so many well dressed military at one time.
“Seth, look at their hats. They’re all different.”
“I learned from Major Hunt that the British headgear designates their regiments. Some stand for light infantry, some for grenadiers and others represent a battalion company.”
Seth continued to instruct Caleb. “The regiments of the 16 th and 17 th Dragoons who serve in this country must wear leather crested helmets with their red coats.”
“You’ve learned so much, Seth. Do you suppose I’ll ever learn it all?”
“None of us will ever know it all, my friend, but I’ll happily share what I know.”
Caleb turned back to the scene before him. The Broad River, swollen from the recent rains, flowed within its ice-encrusted banks. A light dusting of snow covered the ground. The few trees that dotted the landscape thrust bare branches toward the sky. The only splash of color in this winter-white landscape was the coats of the advancing army.
As the British neared, another sound more ominous than hoof beats,
* * * *
The camp wakened before dawn on January 17. General Morgan took a long look at those gathered before him and began to speak.
“Men, we know Tarleton regularly employs a headlong attack. His strength lies in his numbers, but his army is not known for complicated maneuvers. I want the North Carolina and Georgia militias to form a line with a contingent of riflemen to their front.”
Indicating the hills beyond, he continued. “I will take the main line to the higher of those two hills. Stationed behind the other hill, I want William Washington’s Dragoons.”
A tall man raised his hand in a salute. Caleb had heard of the brave Washington, a cousin of the famed General George Washington, whose summer victory at Yorktown had given the weary armies needed hope for a quick end to the war.
When General Morgan stopped his speech to the troops momentarily to confer with William Washington, Seth took the opportunity to lean over to Caleb and pass along some information he had heard about Morgan.
“I understand the General once fought with the British in the French and Indian War.”
Caleb, amazed, stared at Seth. His friend nodded and continued. “He was involved in a scuffle with a British officer and sentenced to a court-martial and 500 lashes.”
“What happened then?” Caleb asked, caught up in the strange story of the new commanding officer.
“Well, it grows more unusual. He then joined a rifle company in our army when this war broke out. The British captured him in Quebec in the winter of ’75 along with a comrade, Benedict Arnold. They were released in an exchange with British prisoners. He then distinguished himself at the Battle of Saratoga. So, that’s whose presence we’re in now. What do you think of that?”
Before Caleb had a chance to reply, General Morgan resumed speaking to the troops. His voice carried over the field to the last ragged militiaman as well as the three hundred continentals who awaited his orders.
He went on to deploy the troops into two groups. His sent his best sharpshooters to the top of a gentle rise with instructions to fire twice and then retreat behind the second line. This line was made up of militia troops who were to lie just behind the crest of the hill. Morgan also ordered them to fire twice and then retreat behind the continentals who rode about 150 yards behind them. In turn, Washington’s cavalry, hidden in a low spot, would rise up to take the brunt of the heaviest fighting. These were the more experienced of his troops.
When all regiments had taken their places, the wait began.
Major Hunt’s men, stationed at the southern edge of the hillside first witnessed the arrival of Tarleton’s regiments. Caleb’s eyes widened and his mouth flew open in surprise when he beheld the pageantry with which the British rode. He had never seen so many well dressed military at one time.
“Seth, look at their hats. They’re all different.”
“I learned from Major Hunt that the British headgear designates their regiments. Some stand for light infantry, some for grenadiers and others represent a battalion company.”
Seth continued to instruct Caleb. “The regiments of the 16 th and 17 th Dragoons who serve in this country must wear leather crested helmets with their red coats.”
“You’ve learned so much, Seth. Do you suppose I’ll ever learn it all?”
“None of us will ever know it all, my friend, but I’ll happily share what I know.”
Caleb turned back to the scene before him. The Broad River, swollen from the recent rains, flowed within its ice-encrusted banks. A light dusting of snow covered the ground. The few trees that dotted the landscape thrust bare branches toward the sky. The only splash of color in this winter-white landscape was the coats of the advancing army.
As the British neared, another sound more ominous than hoof beats,
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