the pot, a most acceptable
repast. The General said but little, and that was chiefly what a son
would be most likely to be gratified by, in the praise of his father. We
had nothing to drink but bad water; and all the company appeared to be
rather grave."

That the party should be rather grave, flying from their homes and a
superior foe, eating unsalted pottage, and drinking bad water, was,
perhaps, natural enough. That this gravity should appear doubly
impressive to a lad of sixteen, in a presence which he was taught to
venerate, was still more likely to be the case. But Marion, though a
cheerful man, wore ordinarily a grave, sedate expression of countenance.
Never darkened by gloom, it was seldom usurped by mere merriment. He had
no uproarious humor. His tastes were delicate, his habits gentle, his
sensibilities warm and watchful. At most a quiet smile lighted up his
features, and he could deal in little gushes of humor, of which there
was a precious fountain at the bottom of his heart. That he was capable
of a sharp sarcasm, was also generally understood among his friends.
Horry remarks, that few men ever excelled him at retort. But he was
singularly considerate of the sensibilities of others, and had his
temper under rare command. His powers of forbearance were remarkable.
His demeanor, whether in triumph or despondency, was equally quiet and
subdued. He yielded to few excitements, was seldom elevated by successes
to imprudence--as seldom depressed by disappointments to despondency.
The equable tone of his mind reminds us again of Washington.

It was while Marion remained at White Marsh, that one of his captains,
Gavin Witherspoon, whom he had sent out with four men, achieved one of
those clever performances, that so frequently distinguished the men
of Marion. He had taken refuge in Pedee Swamp from the pursuit of the
enemy, and, while hiding, discovered one of the camps of the Tories who
had been in pursuit of him. Witherspoon proposed to his four comrades
to watch the enemy's camp, until the Tories were asleep. But his men
timidly shrunk from the performance, expressing their dread of superior
numbers. Witherspoon undertook the adventure himself. Creeping up to the
encampment, he found that they slept at the butt of a pine tree, which
had been torn up by the roots. Their guns were piled against one of its
branches at a little distance from them. These he first determined
to secure, and, still creeping, with the sk