The Builder December, 1925

Nolichucky Jack and the Mountain Men

By BRO. WILLIAM M. STUART

IT was a bright, cloudless day in the latter part of September,
1780. The "Tall Watauga Boys" were holding a field day at the home
of Colonel John Sever, sometimes called "Nolichucky Jack," from the
name of the stream which ran through his fertile plantation. The
wild, uncouth backwoodsmen, settlers in that tract of virgin forest
discovered by Daniel Boone and claimed by North Carolina, were
disporting themselves according to the forms and usages employed by
their ancestors for generations.

At a little distance a series of whiplike reports indicated that a
rifle contest was going on; a contest with the long Deckhard, a
weapon with which each had to be familiar if he were to preserve
inviolate on his head the hair that nature had caused to grow, or
to protect the lives of those under his care. The Cherokee country
lay but a short distance toward the south.

Yet a little further away shrill yells, encouraging calls, the
pounding of hoofs, gave evidence that horse racing was being
practiced. A group of old men whose eyes had grown too dim to
longer sight along the rifle barrel, and whose bodies were too much
troubled with the pangs of rheumatism to render horse racing
attractive, were engaged in the ancient and honorable game of
pitching horseshoes. At various fires scattered about the fields
men were tending roasting oxen, and the pungent odor of burning
flesh was wafted by the breeze to the nostrils of groups of women
whose faces almost invariably showed lines of care, irrespective of
age. Bands of shrieking children, all care discarded for the joy of
the present, raced across the greensward, hid behind bushes or
splashed through little streams in imitation of Indian warfare, of
which they had heard much and experienced not a little.

On the porch of a rather pretentious house sat a man of perhaps
thirty-five smoking a long-stemmed pipe and watching the animated
scene with positive enjoyment. Known as the handsomest man in
Tennessee, Jack Sever's actual appearance did not belie his
reputation. six feet tall he was, light haired, blue eyed,
graceful, with an engaging smile, his courage famed in that land
where all were supposed to be brave; a man full of energy, he was
respected by his fellows and admired by the women.  A natural
leader of men was Colonel John Sever.

His family was of French extraction, but had now been American for
Several generations. Being possessed of some wealth, John Sever had
crossed the mountain wall in 1772 and settled in the valley of the
Watauga in what is now Eastern Tennessee. Here, for reasons which
have been already noted, and for many others, he became the
dominating spirit of that remote settlement. An Indian fighter of
repute, he led thirty four expeditions against the Indians and was
never defeated. He was later to be the governor of the short-lived
state of Franklin, then the first Governor of Tennessee for six
terms. Representative to Congress, General of the Militia, Surveyor
for the Government, worthy brother Master Mason, he died with his
boots on in 1815, after a long life devoted to the service of his
fellow men.

His first wife died in 1774, and two years later, while engaged in
a campaign against the Indians who had been incited to war by the
British, he won his second companion. A party of women and children
had strayed too far from the fort and had been attacked by the
savages. As they rushed shrieking from the forest, Sever manned the
walls of his fort with riflemen to cover the retreat. In a perfect
frenzy of fear a young girl sprang to the top of the palisade,
scrambled over the wall and fell into the arms of the handsome
commander. Here she afterwards abode as his wife. By his first wife
Sever had two sons; by the second wife, Katherine Sherrill, he
became the father of ten children.

Now on this beautiful day of September, 1780, while "Nolichucky
Jack" was smoking his pipe and gazing with complacency upon the
scene before him, a horseman suddenly broke from the forest,
spurred his mount over a rail fence and brought the sweating animal
to a sliding halt before the house of Sever. The rider, a man of
about thirty with undeniable marks of Welch ancestry, sprang from
his trembling steed and rushed up the steps of the porch. Sever
advanced to meet him.

"And how's my old friend Isaac Shelby ?" said the colonel as he
extended his hand. "Well, I should think by the looks, although
obviously a little flustered. What's the trouble, Isaac? Another
Indian raid?"

Shelby threw himself into a chair. "Worse than that--perhaps," he
puffed. "Ferguson's advanced to the eastern edge of the mountains
and threatens to come over and make us a call." He smiled queerly.
"Ah !" Colonel Sever's blue eyes narrowed; he knocked the ashes
from his pipe. "How did you learn this, Shelby?"

"Ferguson released a prisoner and sent him over the mountains with
a message to the effect that if we don't desist from our opposition
to the king and take protection under his standard, he will march
his army over the mountains, hang our leaders and lay waste our
country with fire and sword."

"Is that all?" Sever was smiling now.

"Good Lord!" snorted Shelby, "isn't that enough?"

"It's too much," announced Sever. "Far too much. Ferguson is full
of the pride that goeth before a fall. It may be that the Mountain
Men will yet teach him a lesson." He sat down again and
reflectively began to refill his pipe. Speedily his massive head
became almost concealed by clouds of tobacco smoke. Shelby watched
him curiously.

Then with sudden resolution Colonel John Sever sprang to this feet,
cast aside his pipe, advanced to the rail of the porch and called
in powerful tones to the people who were scattered for many rods
about the house and out-buildings. Swiftly the men left their
sports and strode toward him, their long rifles in their hands. the
tails of their coonskin caps flapping against their fringed hunting
jackets. The women came too-- women on whose faces the lines of
care and horror were already beginning to deepen. The crowd
gathered about the porch and looked expectantly up into the face of
their leader.

"Men of Watauga," began Sever, "on the sixteenth of last month the
army of General Gates was defeated and almost annihilated at the
battle of Camden. A few days later General Sumter's force was
surprised and dispersed. South Carolina is at the feet of the enemy
who now aspire to conquer the old North State also. A force under
Major Patrick Ferguson has advanced almost to the foot of the
mountain wall, sweeping all before it. Ferguson has perhaps one
hundred and twenty regulars; the rest of his force are Tories --men
who should naturally be our countrymen, but who are too craven to
fight for liberty. Besides," the colonel paused and smiled, "the
gold of the king has called to them. In all, Ferguson has about
twelve hundred men."

The crowd in front of the porch stirred restlessly. Men handled
their rifles. The women gazed up at the bearded faces of their
mates.

"And now," went on "Nolichucky Jack," as he allowed his eyes to
rove appraisingly over his audience, "Ferguson sends us word that
unless we cease our efforts against the Indians, whom the king in
his might has seen fit to rouse, and refrain from sending any more
of our riflemen across the mountains, he will march to our
settlements, hang our leaders and ravage our territory with fire
and sword. Men of Watauga, what say you to the challenge of the
prideful Briton? Shall we send him word that in the future we will
remain in our settlements as peaceable subjects of the king,
acknowledging that, in spite of his Cherokees and his Tories, the
king can do no wrong?"

A roar of anger rose from the crowd. Rifles were shaken fiercely in
the air. Even the eyes of the women, fit mates for the border
warriors, flashed and their normally pale cheeks took on the flush
of rage.

"Or shall we," Seiver's voice thundered, "march to the relief of
our beaten brothers of the plains, crush Ferguson and hurl back the
tide of invasion from our borders ?"

The uproar was now deafening. Sever had cast his seed on fertile
soil. Many young men sprang on the backs of their horses and
charged wildly about the fields. From all rose the fierce cry,
"March against Ferguson! Down with the British and Tories!"

Sever again raised his hand. Silence fell upon the crowd. "The
rendezvous," he shouted, "will be at Sycamore Shoals on the
Watauga, the twenty-fifth of this month. Spread the alarm as your
ancestors did in the highlands of old Scotland. Spread the alarm!
And now, my friends, disperse."

As soon as the crowd had gone, Sever sent an express to Colonel
MacDowell, who with a small band of North Carolina militia had been
driven over the mountains by Ferguson. Shelby secured a fresh horse
from the stables of Sever and dashed away to alarm Colonel Campbell
of Virginia, who with many followers had settled about the
headwaters of the Holston River. Other messengers were dispatched
to Colonel Benjamin Cleaveland and lesser leaders, while Sever
himself undertook to rally the Watauga men.

On the appointed day the clan began to come to the rendezvous.
Nearly five hundred men of the Watauga, including the two sons of
Colonel Sever, were on hand and were promptly divided into two
regiments, one of which was commanded by Colonel Shelby, the other
by Sever himself. One hundred and sixty men under MacDowell, a
Master Mason, came riding up on their rangy horses, while four
hundred hunting-shirt men under William Campbell and his brother,
Arthur Campbell, swelled the force. Singly and in small groups
others drifted to the camp until well over a thousand hardy
backwoodsmen had arrived. None knew the slightest thing about
military tactics, but all were inured to hardships, were expert
marksmen, and fear abode in the breast of none. Furthermore, the
campaign against the Indians had made them, in a way, veterans.

It is a remarkable fact that of those Revolutionary heroes who
achieved fame in the various Southern campaigns of that struggle,
practically all were Master Masons. The paucity of records of that
period make it impossible to tell when many of these distinguished
brethren were raised, but it is conceded that the following were
Masons: Colonel Moultrie, the hero of Fort Sullivan; Generals
Sumter, Marion and Pickens; Major William Washington, the famous
cavalryman; Light Horse Harry Lee; Colonel Smallwood, of the
indomitable Maryland Line; General Nathaniel Green; Baron DeKalb;
General Nelson; Colonel Otto Williams; the following four upon
whose shoulders later rested the purple of the Fraternity: Colonels
Mordecai Gist and Richard Caswell, Generals William R. Davie and
James Jackson. Then, in the expedition that we are about to
describe, the following leaders were of the Craft: Colonel Sever,
MacDowell and Hambright, Captain Lenoir. General Benjamin Lincoln
was not made a Mason until 1781, long after he was forced to
surrender at Charleston.

Concerning the MacDowell family, Lossing, who quotes Mrs. Ellet's
"Women of the Revolution," says: "The MacDowells were all brave
men. Joseph and William, the brothers of Charles, were with him in
the battle of King's Mountain. Their mother, Ellen MacDowell, was
a woman of remarkable energy. Mrs. Ellet relates that on one
occasion some marauders carried off some property during the
absence of her husband. She assembled her neighbors, started in
pursuit and recovered her property. When her husband was secretly
making gunpowder in a cave, she burned the charcoal for the purpose
upon her own hearth and carried it to him. Some of the powder thus
manufactured was used in the battle of King's Mountain."

And now that the clans had gathered upon the Watauga, a serious
question presented itself: Who would stay to guard the settlements
from the Indians waiting their chance to make another bloody raid?
Only by resorting to lottery did the men decide who should remain
behind; all wanted to go on the march against Ferguson.

On the morning of Sept. 26 the expedition was ready to start. A
preacher stood forth and invoked divine blessing upon those who
were to go forth to battle against the mighty and the workers of
iniquity. With bowed heads the bearded Mountain Men listened
reverently to the invocation, then mounting their horses, rode away
to turn back the red wave that threatened to engulf them. Up, up,
toward the summit of the mountain range they traveled, through
forests whose foliage was beginning to empurple in the frosts of
autumn, along precipitous paths where far below could be heard the
murmur of turbulent streams. There was no baggage train; each man
carried a supply of parched corn and a quantity of jerked meat.
Also a few beeves were driven along to be slaughtered in due
season. Occasionally a rifle would echo among the wild crags and a
hunter eventually return to the main column with a deer hanging
over his saddle bow. Soon they were joined by Colonel Cleaveland
with his detachment, and on the last day of the month three hundred
and fifty men from the counties of Wilkes and Surrey were added to
the army. The next day it rained, and the mountain streams were
swollen to rushing torrents that impeded the progress. In some of
the higher passes deep snow was found.

They now decided to elect a general leader for the whole
expedition, and eventually decided upon Colonel Campbell, of
virginia, who was to command until such time as General Gates
should send a general officer. Colonel MacDowell was sent to inform
Gates of the raid and to request that an experienced officer be
sent.

Descending the eastern slope of the range at last, the army came to
the region of the Cowpens, later to be rendered famous by Bro.
Morgan, the Old Wagoner General. Here it was joined by detachments
of militia under Bro. Hambright, Colonels Lacey and Williams. Many
of the recruits, however, were unmounted. As speed was the prime
requisite, it was now advocated that from the whole force of over
eleven hundred men, nine hundred of the best mounted be selected to
make a forced march toward Ferguson, who was understood to be at
King's Mountain, just south of the North Carolina line. This plan
was speedily adopted, although fifty foot soldiers resolved to keep
up with the column if possible.

Ferguson, after sweeping at will over the country, rallying Tories
to the cause of the king, drilling them and adding them to his
army, had learned that the men from beyond the mountains had risen
and were on his trail. Knowing something of the character of these
hardy fighters, he had retreated to a place that he felt offered
sanctuary for the time being, and had sent an express to Cornwallis
at Charlotte asking for help. His messenger was, however,
intercepted.

King's Mountain, one of the Allegheny system, is a spur perhaps
fifteen miles in length, running almost due north and south.
Ferguson had encamped at the extreme southern point of this ridge
on an elevation that constituted a hill by itself. The sides of
this hill are precipitous and covered with trees, while the summit,
more or less level, is covered with large stones and masses of
rock. These rocks formed a natural barricade for the defenders of
the hill.

Major Ferguson was a member of a distinguished Scotch family and
had entered the military service at the age of eighteen. Joining
the British Army in America in 1777, he served with distinction at
Brandywine, Camden and other engagements. He commanded the
Seventy-first regulars, about one hundred and twenty of whom
accompanied him on the King's Mountain raid. The remainder of his
army was made up of Tories whom he had drilled until he rated them
equal to regulars. His whole force waiting on the hill for the
attack was composed of between eleven and twelve hundred men,
considerably out-numbering his opponents, but, for this particular
kind of warfare, inferior to them. Ferguson himself was a crack
shot with the rifle and is said to have been the inventor of a
breechloading piece. His second in command was Captain De Peyster,
a scion of a prominent Tory family of New York.

At nine o'clock on the night of Oct. 6, 1780, Colonel Campbell's
little army of mounted borderers set out from Cowpens for King's
Mountain, over thirty miles distant. The night was intensely dark,
for a chilly autumnal rain had set in, adding greatly to the
discomfort of the men and rendering it difficult for them to keep
the priming dry in their rifles. All night long the column plodded
through the inky darkness, the only sound being the squashing of
the horse's hoofs in the soft mud and the patter of the rain on the
withered leaves.

Just as the gloomy dawn came up they reached the Catawba River at
Cherokee Ford. And now the :rain fell much harder than before.
Without halting, the riders continued their march, and about noon
the sun broke through the clouds, the rain stopped, and all nature
shone as though in garments new and of wondrous texture. The
spirits of the men rose.

And now a woman ran out of a farmhouse, stared for a moment at the
column. "How many men have you ? ' she asked Campbell.

"Enough to whip Ferguson," gruffly returned the grizzled old
fighter. "Where is he, then?"

The woman pointed toward a hill about three miles away. "He's
there," she said, and ran back into the house. Again the long line
of drenched horsemen advanced, their eyes ever on the hill which
rose perhaps one hundred feet above the surrounding country. Smoke
could be seen drifting over the trees; a distant bugle call rang
faintly through the air.

It was about two o'clock when the Americans arrived as near to the
hill as they dared go before forming their line of battle. They
dismounted behind a patch of woods and tied their horses to the
trees. It was decided that Shelby, Williams and Lacey should attack
on the left; Cleaveland, Hambright and Winston on the north;
Campbell, Sever and MacDowell on the right. They had reason to
believe that Ferguson had not yet observed their arrival. The
orders were simple: the men were to swarm up the sides of the hill,
yell fiercely and fire deliberately. If forced to retire before the
British bayonet (for the Mountain Men had no bayonets), they were
to retreat only far enough to evade the charge, then return
promptly to the combat. The columns moved toward their respective
locations.

About the leggins of the men the wet grass clung, while from the
dripping trees miniature showers fell before the autumnal breeze.
The slanting rays of the afternoon sun gleamed on rifle barrel and
handle of hunting knife. And now on the hill in front a musket
roared. A drum began its stirring call; hoarse shouts; the shrill
piping of a whistle; the sheen of scarlet among the yellow leaves.

"Forward !" shouted the leaders of the Mountain Men, and led the
riflemen up the slope.

On the ridge above Shelby's men there suddenly burst forth a musket
volley. Lead thumped the sides of the trees about the mountaineers,
or sent down showers of twigs and branches upon their heads, but
the damage was slight. The British were aiming too high. Shelby's
men replied slowly and carefully to the fire, only pulling trigger
when they could see a scarlet coat among the rocks.

On the hill the whistle sounded again, a man on a large white horse
came galloping up, waved his sword and led his regulars down the
slope in a bayonet charge toward the Watauga men. And now the
rifles spat with a vengeance. Many of the redcoats fell, and the
bodies came rolling and bumping down the steep, or brought up in
grotesque attitudes against the roots of the trees. But the rest
came lunging down, their bayonets gleaming wickedly, looks of grim
hate, not unmixed with fear, upon their scowling faces. "At them,
men !' roared Ferguson. "Give 'em the cold steel."

Reluctantly Shelby's men were forced to give ground; so reluctantly
that some were bayoneted where they stood. The rest, turning to
fire as rapidly as they could reload their long rifles, fell back
to the foot of the hill.

A crashing volley came from the woods to the north. Ferguson was
flanked by the men of Williams. The Britons fell back to the summit
of the slope. De Peyster led his Tories at Williams and forced him
to recoil, while again the flanking rifle fire broke out. Only just
beyond reach of the bayonet did the Mountain Men retire, then when
pressure from the flanks relieved them they returned to the fray
with redoubled energy.

And now Bro. Sever and his Watauga men. yelling like demons,
swarmed up the slope and attained the summit, taking position among
the rocks. Again the shrill whistle sounded and Ferguson drove his
white horse in a charge of regulars against the position of Sever.
But the position was too strong; "Nolichucky Jack" and his men
could not be dislodged. Over their rifle sights the borderers
marked the trimmings on the scarlet coats of their adversaries, and
terrible was the toll taken by the long Deckhards. The drifting
powder smoke, the falling leaves and the excitement of the fight
rendered the aim of the mountaineers more uncertain than usual,
else the force of Major Ferguson would speedily have been
annihilated. As it was, the forms of the red-clad soldiers and
their more soberly garbed companions, the Tories, seemed strangely
distorted and blurred in the battle haze that covered the mountain
top where eleven hundred muskets and nine hundred rifles were
creating an uproar heard for miles.

Again and again the heroic Ferguson led his men in wild charges. He
but increased his list of casualties, while the men of the
mountains continually returned to the fight, their yells of triumph
rivaling the crackling bursts of their rifle fire.

Gradually the British were forced back to the northern edge of the
hill where the men of Cleaveland, Winston and Bro. Hambright,
swarming up the slope, completed the lines of circumvallation. Bro.
Sever led his men from their place among the rocks and charged upon
the enemy, now fast losing their fortitude. The faces of the
regulars and their Tory allies showed white through the powder
smoke, and in their eyes was a look of fear. On all sides the enemy
were surrounded, while the Mountain Men pressed nearer, firing with
deliberate aim. On the top of the hill bodies of men lay thickly
scattered. Confusion worse confounded set in. "Quarter !" someone
shouted. Men ran this way and that. A white flag fluttered for a
moment then sank out of sight. Again the shrill whistle. In a last
desperate charge Ferguson led such of his men as would follow him.
A dozen rifles spoke at once. The brave Scotchman swayed in his
saddle, pitched to the ground, while his white horse, snorting in
terror, leaped over the bodies of the slain and crashed down the
side of the mountain to liberty.

Again the white flag appeared. "Quarter ! Quarter !" shouted the
Tories and regulars. Many of the Mountain Men did not know the
meaning of a white flag and continued their fire.

"My God !" shouted De Peyster in tones heard above the crackling of
the rifles. "Do you murder men who have surrendered?"

Campbell sprang in front of his men and threw up many of the
rifles. Shelby ran toward De Peyster, shouting, "Damn you, if you
want quarter, ground your arms !"

Panic stricken, the regulars and Tories threw their weapons on the
ground while the noise of firing died out and the clouds of powder
smoke drifted away through the trees. The battle of King's Mountain
was over.

In this close action the Americans lost twenty-eight killed and
sixty-two wounded, among the latter being Bro. Hambright, one of
the colonels. According to a statement signed by Colonels
Cleaveland, Shelby and Campbell, the total loss of the British was
eleven hundred and five, divided as follows: Regulars, killed,
nineteen; wounded, thirty-five; prisoners, sixty-eight. Tories,
killed, two hundred and six; wounded, one hundred and twenty-eight;
prisoners, six hundred and forty-nine.

In retaliation for outrages by the enemy, Several of the Tories
were hanged after the battle. After having been gone on the raid
twenty-eight days, the army of Mountain Men returned to their homes
with the satisfaction of warriors whose work has been well done.

The battle of King's Mountain had a great effect. Cornwallis was
alarmed; he recalled all his small parties, concentrated his force
and fell back to South Carolina, abandoning for the time operations
against North Carolina. The great victory of Bro. Morgan at Cowpens
followed not long after this, and Bro. Greene originated the
campaign of movements which had for its ultimate result the
liberation of the Southland from the tread of the invader.
