der was raised, and again the major rode in to beat
it down with his sword. At this Captain de Peyster put in his word.

"'Tis no use, Major; there is no more fight left in us! Five minutes
more of this and we'll be shot down to a man!"

Ferguson's reply was a raging oath broad enough to cover all the enemy
and his own beaten remnant as well; and then, before a hand could be
lifted to stay him, he had wheeled his horse and was galloping straight
for the patriot line at the farther extremity of the hilltop.

What he meant to do will never be known till that great day when all
secrets shall be revealed. For that furious oath was this brave
gentleman's last word to us or to any. A dozen bounds, it may be, the
good charger carried him; then the storm of rifle-bullets beat him from
the saddle. And so died one of the gallantest officers that ever did an
unworthy king's work on the field of battle.

I would I might forget the terrible scene which followed this killing of
the British commander. 'Twas little to our credit, but I may not pass it
over in silence. De Peyster quickly sent a man to the front with a white
flag, and the answer was a murderous volley which killed the flag-bearer
and many others. Again the flag was raised on a rifle-barrel, and once
more the answer was a storm of the leaden death poured into the
panic-stricken crowd huddled like sheep at the wagons.

"God!" said de Peyster; and with that he began to beat his men into line
with the flat of his sword in a frenzy of desperation, being minded, as
he afterward told me, to give them the poor chance to die a-fighting.

[Illustration]

I saw not what followed upon this last despairing effort, for now Tybee
was down and I was kneeling beside him to search for the wound. But when
I looked again, the crackling crashes of the rifle-firing had ceased.
A stout, gray-headed man, whom I afterward knew as Isaac Shelby's
father, was riding up from the patriot line to receive Captain de
Peyster's sword, and the battle was ended.

XL

VAE VICTIS

If my hand were not sure enough to draw you some speaking picture of
this our epoch-marking battle of King's Mountain, it falters still more
on coming to the task of setting forth the tragic horrors of the
dreadful after-night. Wherefore I pray you will hold me excused, my
dears, if I hasten over the events tripping upon the heels of the
victory, touching upon them only as they touch upon my tale.

But as for t