he stage-setting of the after-scene you may hold in your
mind's eye the stony hilltop strewn with the dead and dying; the huddle
of cowed prisoners at the wagon barricade; the mountaineers, mad with
the victor's frenzy, swarming to surround us. 'Twas a clipping from
Chaos and Night gone blood-crazed till Sevier and Isaac Shelby brought
somewhat of order out of it; and then came the reckoning.

Of the seven hundred-odd prisoners the greater number were Tories, many
of them red-handed from scenes of rapine in which their present captors
had suffered the loss of all that men hold dear. So you will not wonder
that there were knives and rifles shaken aloft, and fierce and vengeful
counsels in which it was proposed to put the captives one and all to the
cord and tree.

But now again Sevier and Shelby, seconded by the fiery Presbyterian,
William Campbell, flung themselves into the breach, pleading for delay
and a fair trial for such as were blood guilty. And so the dismal night,
made chill and comfortless by the cold wind and most doleful by the
groans and cries of the wounded, wore away, and the dawn of the Sunday
found us lying as we were in the bloody shambles of the hilltop.

With the earliest morning light the burial parties were at work; and
since the stony battle-ground would not lend itself for the trenching,
the graves were dug in the vales below. Captain de Peyster begged hard
for leave to bury the brave Ferguson on the spot where he fell, but
'twas impossible; and now, I am told, the stout old Scotsman lies side
by side with our Major Will Chronicle, of Mecklenburg, who fell just
before the ending of the battle.

The dead buried and the wounded cared for in some rough and ready
fashion, preparations were made in all haste for a speedy withdrawal
from the neighborhood of the battle-field. Rumor had it that Tarleton
with his invincible legion was within a few hours' march; and the
mountain men, sodden weary with the toils of the flying advance and the
hard-fought conflict, were in no fettle to cope with a fresh foe.

As yet I had not made myself known to the patriot commanders, having my
hands and heart full with the care of poor Tybee, who was grievously
hurt, and being in a measure indifferent to what should befall me.

But now as we were about to march I was dragged before the committee of
colonels and put to the question.

"Your uniform is a strange one to us, sir," said Isaac Shelby, looking
me up and down