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The Life of Francis Marion

W >> William Gilmore Simms >> The Life of Francis Marion




The marriage of Marion, like that of Washington, was without fruits.
This may have baffled some hopes, and in some degree qualified his happiness,
but did not impair his virtues. He adopted the son of a relative,
to whom he gave his own name, in the hope of perpetuating it in the family,
but even this desire has been defeated, since the heir thus chosen,
though blessed with numerous children, was never so fortunate as to own a son.

In the decline of life, in the modest condition of the farmer, Marion seems
to have lived among his neighbors, very much as the ancient patriarch,
surrounded by his flock. He was honored and beloved by all.
His dwelling was the abode of content and cheerful hospitality.
Its doors were always open; and the chronicler records
that it had many chambers. Here the stranger found a ready welcome,
and his neighbors a friendly counsellor, to the last.
His active habits were scarcely lessened in the latter years of life.
His agricultural interests were managed judiciously, and his property
underwent annual increase. Nor did his domestic interests and declining years
prevent him from serving the public still. He still held a commission
in the militia, and continued to represent the parish of St. John's,
in the Senate of the State. In May, 1790, we find him sitting
as a member of the Convention for forming the State Constitution;
but from this period he withdrew from public life, and, in 1794,
after the reorganization of the State militia, he resigned his commission
in that service to which he had done so much honor. On this occasion
he was addressed by an assembly of the citizens of Georgetown,
through a special committee of four, in the following language.*

--
* The committee consisted of Messrs. William D. James, Robert Brownfield,
Thomas Mitchell, and Joseph Blythe.
--

"CITIZEN GENERAL -- At the present juncture, when the necessity
of public affairs requires the military of this State to be organized anew,
to repel the attacks of an enemy from whatever quarter they may be forced
upon us; we, the citizens of the district of Georgetown, finding you
no longer at our head, have agreed to convey to you our grateful sentiments
for your former numerous services. In the decline of life,
when the merits of the veteran are too often forgotten, we wish to remind you
that yours are still fresh in the remembrance of your fellow citizens.
Could it be possible for men who have served and fought under you,
to be now forgetful of that General, by whose prudent conduct
their lives have been saved and their families preserved from being plundered
by a rapacious enemy? We mean not to flatter you. At this time it is
impossible to suspect it. Our present language is the language of freemen,
expressing only sentiments of gratitude. Your achievements may not have
sufficiently swelled the historic page. They were performed by those
who could better wield the sword than the pen -- by men whose constant dangers
precluded them from the leisure, and whose necessities deprived them
of the common implements of writing. But this is of little moment.
They remain recorded in such indelible characters upon our minds,
that neither change of circumstances, nor length of time, can efface them.
Taught by us, our children shall hereafter point out the places,
and say, `HERE, General Marion, posted to advantage,
made a glorious stand in defence of the liberties of his country --
THERE, on disadvantageous ground, retreated to save the lives
of his fellow citizens.' What could be more glorious for the General,
commanding freemen, than thus to fight, and thus to save
the lives of his fellow soldiers? Continue, General, in peace,
to till those acres which you once wrested from the hands of an enemy.
Continue to enjoy dignity accompanied with ease, and to lengthen out your days
blessed with the consciousness of conduct unaccused of rapine or oppression,
and of actions ever directed by the purest patriotism."

The artless language of this address was grateful to the venerable patriot.
In its truth and simplicity lay its force and eloquence. It had truly
embodied in a single sentence the noble points of his career and character.
He lived in the delightful consciousness of a pure mind,
free from accusation -- and no higher eulogy could be conferred
upon the captain of citizen soldiers, than to say, he never wantonly
exposed their lives, but was always solicitous of their safety.
To this address his answer was verbal. He no longer used the pen.
The feebleness of nature was making itself understood.
That he felt himself failing may be inferred from his withdrawal
from all public affairs. But his mind was cheerful and active to the last.
He still saw his friends and neighbors, and welcomed their coming --
could still mount his horse and cast his `eye over his acres.'
The progress of decline, in his case, was not of that humiliating kind,
by which the faculties of the intellect are clouded,
and the muscles of the body made feeble and incompetent.
He spoke thoughtfully of the great concerns of life, of death,
and of the future; declared himself a Christian, a humble believer in all
the vital truths of religion. As of the future he entertained no doubt,
so of the awful transition through the valley and shadow of death,
he had no fear. "Death may be to others," said he, "a leap in the dark,
but I rather consider it a resting-place where old age
may throw off its burdens." He died, peaceful and assured,
with no apparent pain, and without regret, at his residence
in St. John's parish, on the 27th day of February, 1795,
having reached the mature and mellow term of sixty-three years.
His last words declared his superiority to all fears of death;
"for, thank God," said he, "I can lay my hand on my heart and say that,
since I came to man's estate, I have never intentionally done wrong to any."

Thus died Francis Marion, one of the noblest models of the citizen soldier
that the world has ever produced. Brave without rashness,
prudent without timidity, firm without arrogance, resolved without rudeness,
good without cant, and virtuous without presumption.
His mortal remains are preserved at Belle-Isle, in St. John's parish.
The marble slab which covers them bears the following inscription: --
"Sacred to the memory of Brigadier-General Francis Marion, who departed
this life on the 29th of Feb., 1795, in the sixty-third year of his age,
deeply regretted by all his fellow citizens. History will record his worth,
and rising generations embalm his memory, as one of the most distinguished
patriots and heroes of the American Revolution; which elevated
his native country to honor and Independence, and secured to her
the blessings of liberty and peace. This tribute of veneration and gratitude
is erected in commemoration of the noble and disinterested
virtues of the citizen, and the gallant exploits of the soldier,
who lived without fear, and died without reproach."

This inscription was the tribute of an individual, not of the country.
The State of South Carolina has conferred his name upon
one of its district divisions. But a proper gratitude,
not to speak of policy, would seem to require more

"If it be we love
His fame and virtues, it were well, methinks,
To link them with his name i' the public eye,
That men, who in the paths of gainful trade,
Do still forget the venerable and good,
May have such noble monitor still nigh,
And, musing at his monument, recall,
Those precious memories of the deeds of one
Whose life were the best model for their sons."






[End of original text.]




Appendix A. Notes on the electronic text.



The great majority of changes in this electronic edition, from the original,
are in spelling (some words are spelled both ways in the original). To wit:

partizan > partisan.
merchandize > merchandise.
duresse > duress.
ancle > ankle.
swamp-fox > swamp fox. (The modern spelling.)
co-operate > cooperate.
bivouack > bivouac.
head-quarters > headquarters.
secresy > secrecy.
patrole > patrol.

A number of spellings which might be considered errors, and might not,
have been retained, where they are less likely to interfere with reading.

When the true facts were known, either from context or outside reading,
a few other errors were corrected. A couple are footnoted in the text.
Otherwise, the larger changes are:

Chapter 5 (p. 59 of the original): "Weems, in his life of our author"
has been changed to "Weems, in his life of our subject".

Chapter 6 (p. 80): "while the second North Carolina regiment"
has been changed to "while the second South Carolina regiment".

Chapter 14, last paragraph (p. 239): "Mrs. Moultrie"
has been changed to "Mrs. Motte".

These errors are not merely represented here for their scholastic interest,
but also to give the reader an appreciation of the types of errors
which Simms was frequently subject to make. Many have most certainly
not been caught -- if I had not lived in the Waxhaw area,
I certainly would not have known of the error (footnoted in the text)
which replaced `Waxhaw' with `Warsaw' -- two very different regions.
Names are particularly prone to error, not only by Simms,
but from the whole revolutionary era in the South -- many of the people
were only semi-literate, if literate at all, and many of the names
have been spelled several, even a dozen ways -- sometimes even
by the individual named. For all this, the errors of Simms
are generally minor, and will not prevent the reader from
a true appreciation of both Marion and Simms.

Alan R. Light, Birmingham, Alabama.
December, 1996.




Appendix B. Song of Marion's Men. By William Cullen Bryant [1794-1878].

As this poem is quoted in part by Simms at the very beginning of the book,
I have considered it appropriate to include the whole here:



Our band is few, but true and tried,
Our leader frank and bold;
The British soldier trembles
When Marion's name is told.
Our fortress is the good greenwood,
Our tent the cypress-tree;
We know the forest round us,
As seamen know the sea.
We know its walls of thorny vines,
Its glades of reedy grass,
Its safe and silent islands
Within the dark morass.

Woe to the English soldiery,
That little dread us near!
On them shall light at midnight
A strange and sudden fear:
When, waking to their tents on fire,
They grasp their arms in vain,
And they who stand to face us
Are beat to earth again.
And they who fly in terror deem
A mighty host behind,
And hear the tramp of thousands
Upon the hollow wind.

Then sweet the hour that brings release
From danger and from toil:
We talk the battle over,
And share the battle's spoil.
The woodland rings with laugh and shout,
As if a hunt were up,
And woodland flowers are gathered
To crown the soldier's cup.
With merry songs we mock the wind
That in the pine-top grieves,
And slumber long and sweetly
On beds of oaken leaves.

Well knows the fair and friendly moon
The band that Marion leads --
The glitter of their rifles,
The scampering of their steeds.
'Tis life to guide the fiery barb
Across the moonlight plain;
'Tis life to feel the night-wind
That lifts his tossing mane.
A moment in the British camp --
A moment -- and away
Back to the pathless forest,
Before the peep of day.

Grave men there are by broad Santee,
Grave men with hoary hairs,
Their hearts are all with Marion,
For Marion are their prayers.
And lovely ladies greet our band
With kindliest welcoming,
With smiles like those of summer,
And tears like those of spring.
For them we wear these trusty arms,
And lay them down no more
Till we have driven the Briton,
Forever, from our shore.

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