A Song of Courage, A Song of Conquest

Only in the strength of the Lord can we win victories. Remember Alfred the Great, after whom your father so wisely named you. Was he not called the great because of his service of Christ? Did he not put his entire confidence in the God who could not let him down?”

After thanking him heartily for the advice we departed ways to continue our journeys.

I felt myself blessed to arrive at Watauga before sunset, where Colonel Shelby of Sapling Grove, along with John Sevier, and Colonel Campbell of Washington County, had encamped. I later learned that two other county militias from the surrounding area had joined Shelby earlier that day, increasing our numbers to nearly a thousand.

The following day, the 26^th of September, 1780, we began our march to Gilbert Town to overtake and halt Colonel Ferguson and the Royalist parties with him. Though I will not record those wearisome days, I will venture to say they were not what I had expected of military life. Scarcely throughout the entire ten days had we stayed in the same place. There was no bread, butter or salt to enhance our rough diet of wild-caught meat and an occasional potato. Nevertheless, we were encouraged at the increase of two more officers and their militias.

Finally, on the 5^th of October, 900 of our strongest cavalry were dispatched to march ahead, leaving the weaker ones behind. I was allowed the use of a horse by one who was suffering from cold due to the frequent ford crossings.

The next day we were joined by upwards of 500 militia at our encampment at Cowpens, encouraging us to continue our march through the night. We were also informed by Colonel Williams of Ferguson’s current location atop King’s mountain. The incessant rains, however, forced me to strip myself of my outer coat to protect my rifle, drenching every last thread of my homespun hunting frock and forcing the sharp needles ever pounding unmercifully upon us.

I cannot say what kept me going that rainy, sleepless night, but the song that kept ever traversing through my mind, a song of courage that ever reminded me of its worthy author, King Alfred. Many a wet night like this one I had sat in front of the hearth listening to my father’s rich voice telling of the gallantry of Sir Alfred, his love for God, and his effective common law. I would then beg my mother to sing the old Celtic tune which I so loved. How many nights had I fallen asleep listening to her soft voice blending with my sister’s sweet one.

Some men trust in chariots,

And some trust in the horse

But we will depend upon the name of Christ the Lord

For he has made my hands to war,

My fingers to fight

The Lord lays low our enemies and raises us upright,

And raises us upright.

The beauty of the morning sun reaching over the horizon, fighting back the despondent clouds of the rainy night, forced me to halt my horse and take in the beauty of the scene before me. But such a ray of hope was futile, for the bitter rains continued until midday.

At three in the afternoon we reached the area of King’s Mountain. Our arrival was saluted by the sound of British drum roll echoing throughout the valley. One near me later said, “The roll of the British drum informed us that we had something to do.” I had to agree with his logic.

I cannot describe the intense feeling of the moment as we prepared to meet the enemy. Although I had waited for this moment throughout the whole of my imaginative boyhood it seemed as if the present would overwhelm me like a flood. My courage seemed to leave as I thought upon the immense danger that lay before my eyes. Here we were an ill-equipped and worn group of county militias and overmountain men. We had no congress-approved leader, but the provisional Colonel Campbell against such a large force, a force so unknown to us frontiersmen. Though for the cause of victory we all desired the force before us to contain a majority of inexperienced Royalists. Yet I inwardly wondered what sort of treachery we were about to commit against our very own neighbors.

I was positioned for the battle under Colonel Isaac Shelby on the left flank of the enemy. The lieutenant beside me yelled, “Charge! Remember Buford and his quarters!” A quick prayer and I spurred my horse in an instant and ascended the steep precipice. In the confusion of the moment, I had but little time to observe the battle around me, nevertheless; I will do my best to explain.

Because of the tree cover we approached the crest of the mountain unharmed and began our first volley of irregular fire. Our regiment (if I can be so bold as to call it one) was soon perceived and driven back by a daring charge from the British and loyalist forces. Shelby’s cry of, “Now boys, quickly reload your rifles and let’s advance upon them and give them another hell of fire,” rallied us for another charge. Ferguson’s 71^st regiment, trained in the use of the bayonet, kept ever pouring upon us. This proved a great advantage to them as the closest article to a bayonet our militia had were hunting knives tied to their rifles. Nevertheless, the marksmanship and gorilla warfare techniques of the overmountain men made up for this loss.

This continued for over three quarters of an hour before my fighting was abated. Our enemy had rushed their third charge upon us. In the tumult of the descent my horse was shot from under me violently throwing me to the ground. I cannot say what transpired those next critical moments, but I raised my head to hear Shelby’s rallying cry, “Come on boys; the old Wagoner never yet backed out!”

I sat up and brushed my tattered coat off. When I stood up a mixture of dizziness and exhaustion almost encompassed me but I caught myself and stumbled after my comrades.

But the battle was not over, for although Ferguson was encompassed on every side, his men were fighting bravely. We once against stood on the crest of the mountain, sending man after man to his demise. It seemed so many were falling about me I could only wonder if I would be next. I could hear the balls whiz past me as if somehow providentially my time had not yet come. It was in that hour, critical as I was that I could not help but give voice to the ever-meaningful words.

Ten thousand fall at my left hand,

A thousand to the right,

Yet he will defend me from the arrow in the night

Protect me from the terror of the teeth of the devour;

And fill us with your spirit Lord

Encompass us with power,

Encompass us with power

My singing was interrupted suddenly by the man beside me, “Stop singing. How are we supposed to concentrate with that noise? How are we supposed to win battles if we can’t concentrate?”

“Sir,” I said, jamming yet another deadly ball into my long rifle. “I cannot halt my singing, for it is not through concentration that we win the victory, but through the praise of the one who ordains the triumph of the kingdoms of history.”

“He eyed my attempted rhetoric with a look of scorn, whilst I continued my ascent.

And yet continuation of the offensive was no longer necessary. “Ferguson’s fallen,” the cry pierced the mountainside. Someone near me reaffirmed our suspicion, “Captain Depeyster’s raised the flag of truce!”

Nevertheless, American firing continued; I believe partly from ignorance of the current state of affairs, and partly due to excitement caused by the knowledge of it. The British then commenced fire from fear of no quarter being given. Finally, the flag was raised again and the chaos ceased.

That night we encamped on the mountain, as dusk set in soon after the battle. I must admit to sleeping little that night, due to the eeriness of the mountain. The marks of battle, the bodies of both Whig and Tory alike lay strewn of the leafy floor. Overhead the before welcomed canopy now blocked all glimmer of moonlight that might illuminate the campsite. And yet, as I mused that night on the events of the day, something new dawned upon me. Unless the Lord holds our entire confidence, we are on the brink of disaster. The battle is real; the question is not whether we want to fight, but if we will. Without the confidence of our captain, on which side will we be fighting? A soldier in the midst of war will not overlook and see how strategy is working. He will be ignorant even if he is a secret agent of the devil, unless is in communication with his captain. The battle is not for the strong, it is for the Lord.

For the Lord is my defense,

Jesu defend us

For the Lord is our defense,

Jesu defend.

Historical Note

Samuel Doak, the preacher mentioned in this account, was a real man. The first Presbyterian minister of Tennessee, he began the colony’s first church. See The Overmountian Men by Pat Alderson for more information about early Tennessee history, including a detailed account of the battle of King’s Mountain.

The battle of King’s Mountain was a true battle. Although not a frequently mentioned battle, the defeat of Colonel Patrick Ferguson was a turning point in the war and led to the defeat of Cornwallis at Yorktown.

The song in this account was taken from King Alfred’s War Song. For more information on this battle I recommend a lecture by George Grant entitled, Victory.

I received much of my information from various sources on the web. I recommend reading some of the eyewitness accounts I will give some links below.

http://www.revolutionarywararchives.org/battles-link/56-the-battle-of-kings-mountain-an-eyewitness-account

http://books.google.com/books?id=VjYOAAAAIAAJ&pg=PA208#v=onepage&q&f=false

http://www.tngenweb.org/revwar/kingsmountain/17810130.html