er, saying that
a people who could fight on roots for fare could not be, and
ought not to be, subdued, and that he, for one, would not
serve against them.

Of the exploits of Marion we can but speak briefly; they
were too many to be given in detail. His blows were so
sharply dealt, in such quick succession, and at such remote
points, that his foes were puzzled, and could hardly believe
that a single band was giving them all this trouble. Their
annoyance culminated in their sending one of their best
cavalry leaders, Colonel Wemyss, to surprise and crush the
Swamp-Fox, then far from his hiding-place. Wemyss got on
Marion's trail, and pursued him with impetuous haste. But
the wary patriot was not to be easily surprised, nor would
he fight where he had no chance to win. Northward he
swiftly made his way, through swamps and across deep
streams, into North Carolina. Wemyss lost his trail, found
it, lost it again, and finally, discouraged and revengeful,
turned back and desolated the country from which he had
driven its active defender, and which was looked on as the
hot-bed of rebellion.

Marion, who had but sixty men in his band, halted the moment
pursuit ceased, sent out scouts for information, and in a
very short time was back in the desolated district. The
people rushed, with horse and rifle, to his ranks. Swiftly
he sped to the Black Mingo, below Georgetown, and here fell
at midnight on a large body of Tories, with such vigor and
success that the foe were almost annihilated, while Marion
lost but a single man.

The devoted band now had a short period of rest, the British
being discouraged and depressed. Then Tarleton, the
celebrated hard-riding marauder, took upon himself the
difficult task of crushing the Swamp-Fox. He scoured the
country, spreading ruin as he went, but all his skill and
impetuosity were useless in the effort to overtake Marion.
The patriot leader was not even to be driven from his chosen
region of operations, and he managed to give his pursuer
some unwelcome reminders of his presence. At times Tarleton
would be within a few miles of him, and full of hope of
overtaking him before the next day's dawn. But, while he was
thus lulled to security, Marion would be watching him from
the shadows of some dark morass, and at midnight the British
rear or flank would feel the sharp bite of the Swamp-Fox's
teeth. In the end, Tarleton withdrew discomfited from the
pursuit, with more hard words against this