eed not say, in behalf of Marion, and his superior officers, that,
where he or they commanded in person, no countenance was given to these
bloody principles and performances. Marion was notoriously the most
merciful of enemies. The death of the prisoner in the ranks of Horry,
though the unhappy man was charged with the murder of his favorite
nephew, was a subject of the greatest soreness and annoyance to his
mind; and he warmly expressed the indignation which he felt, at an
action which he could not punish.

Chapter 11.

Marion's Camp at Snow's Island--The Character of his
Warfare--Of his Men--Anecdotes of Conyers and Horry--He
feasts a British Officer on Potatoes--Quells a Mutiny.

Marion's career as a partisan, in the thickets and swamps of Carolina,
is abundantly distinguished by the picturesque; but it was while he
held his camp at Snow's Island, that it received its highest colors of
romance. In this snug and impenetrable fortress, he reminds us very
much of the ancient feudal baron of France and Germany, who, perched on
castled eminence, looked down with the complacency of an eagle from his
eyrie, and marked all below him for his own. The resemblance is good in
all respects but one. The plea and justification of Marion are complete.
His warfare was legitimate. He was no mountain robber,--no selfish and
reckless ruler, thirsting for spoil and delighting inhumanly in blood.
The love of liberty, the defence of country, the protection of the
feeble, the maintenance of humanity and all its dearest interests,
against its tyrant--these were the noble incentives which strengthened
him in his stronghold, made it terrible in the eyes of his enemy, and
sacred in those of his countrymen. Here he lay, grimly watching for
the proper time and opportunity when to sally forth and strike. His
position, so far as it sheltered him from his enemies, and gave him
facilities for their overthrow, was wonderfully like that of the
knightly robber of the Middle Ages. True, his camp was without its
castle--but it had its fosse and keep--its draw-bridge and portcullis.
There were no towers frowning in stone and iron--but there were tall
pillars of pine and cypress, from the waving tops of which the warders
looked out, and gave warning of the foe or the victim. No cannon
thundered from his walls; no knights, shining in armor, sallied forth
to the tourney. He was fond of none of the mere pomps of war. He held no
reve