The Life of General Francis Marion [26]
colonel -- you see de star in de sky; de leaf on de tree; de sand on de shore -- you no see all dat, heh? Well den, by gar, Monsieur le colonel, de GRAND MONARQUE got soldier more an-a all dat -- ess, sacra Dieu! more an-a all dat, by gar."
"Well but, Monsieur le count, is it not CRUEL to kill the poor fellows notwithstanding?"
"Pooh!" replied the count, throwing back his head, and puffing out his cheeks as when a cigar sucker explodes a cataract of smoke from the crater of his throat; "cruel! vat cruel for kill-a de soldier! by gar, Monsieur le colonel, you make-a de king of France laugh he hear-a you talk after dat fashong. Let-a me tell you, Monsieur le colonel, de king of France no like general Washington -- by gar, general Washington talk wi' de soldier -- he shake hand wi' de soldier -- he give de soldier dram -- By gar, de GRAND MONARQUE no do so -- no, sacra Dieu! he no LOOK AT de soldier. When de king of France ride out in de coach royale wid de supeerb horses, and harness shining so bright all vun like gold, if he run over one soldier, you tink he going stop for dat? No, sacra foutre! he ride on so, all one like if nothing at all been happen. Jaun foutre de soldier! let him prenez garde for himself; by gar the grand Monarque no mind dat. De grand Monarque only tink of de soldier `commes des chiens', like de poor dam dog for fight for him."
Thus ended the dialogue between colonel Laurens and the count D'Estang.
The next day, the memorable twenty-four hours being expired, a flag was sent into town to know the determination of the British officer, who very politely replied, that having consulted his pillow, he had made up his mind to defend the place. A regular siege was then commenced, and continued for three weeks: at the end of which an attack was made, and with the success which Marion had all along predicted. After a full hour's exposure to the destructive rage of grape shot and musketry, we were obliged to make a precipitate retreat; leaving the ground covered with the mingled carcasses of 400 Americans and 800 Frenchmen. Marion's corps fighting with their usual confidence, suffered great loss; himself did not receive a scratch. Colonel Laurens raged like a wounded lion. Soon as the retreat was ordered he paused, and looking round on his fallen men, cried out, "Poor fellows, I envy you!" then hurling his sword in wrath against the ground, he retired. Presently, after we had reached our encampment, he came to my marquee, and like one greatly disordered, said, "Horry, my life is a burden to me; I would to God I was lying on yonder field at rest with my poor men!"
"No! no! none of that, colonel," said I, "none of that; I trust we shall live to pay them yet for all this."
And so it turned out. And though for humanity's sake, I ought not to BOAST of it, yet we did live to pay them for it, and often too: and in the same bloody coin which they gave us that day. And although in that fiery season of my days, and when my dear country was in danger, it was but natural for me to rejoice in the downfall of my enemies, yet I was often witness to scenes, which to this day I can never think of but with sorrow -- as when, for example, after dashing upon an enemy by surprise, and cutting one half of them to pieces and chasing the rest, we returned to collect the horses and arms of the slain. Who, I say, without grief could behold those sad sights which then offered themselves, of human beings lying mangled over the crimson ground -- some stone dead, some still alive and struggling, with brains oozing from their cloven skulls -- and others sitting up, or leaning on their elbows, but pale with loss of blood, running in streams from their mortal wounds, and they themselves looking down, the while, sadly thinking of home and of distant wives and children, whom they shall never see again.
Such thoughts, if often cherished, would much abate the rancor of malice in the hearts of those whose sad destiny it is to kill one another; especially if it were known how short sometimes are the triumphs of the victor.
"Well but, Monsieur le count, is it not CRUEL to kill the poor fellows notwithstanding?"
"Pooh!" replied the count, throwing back his head, and puffing out his cheeks as when a cigar sucker explodes a cataract of smoke from the crater of his throat; "cruel! vat cruel for kill-a de soldier! by gar, Monsieur le colonel, you make-a de king of France laugh he hear-a you talk after dat fashong. Let-a me tell you, Monsieur le colonel, de king of France no like general Washington -- by gar, general Washington talk wi' de soldier -- he shake hand wi' de soldier -- he give de soldier dram -- By gar, de GRAND MONARQUE no do so -- no, sacra Dieu! he no LOOK AT de soldier. When de king of France ride out in de coach royale wid de supeerb horses, and harness shining so bright all vun like gold, if he run over one soldier, you tink he going stop for dat? No, sacra foutre! he ride on so, all one like if nothing at all been happen. Jaun foutre de soldier! let him prenez garde for himself; by gar the grand Monarque no mind dat. De grand Monarque only tink of de soldier `commes des chiens', like de poor dam dog for fight for him."
Thus ended the dialogue between colonel Laurens and the count D'Estang.
The next day, the memorable twenty-four hours being expired, a flag was sent into town to know the determination of the British officer, who very politely replied, that having consulted his pillow, he had made up his mind to defend the place. A regular siege was then commenced, and continued for three weeks: at the end of which an attack was made, and with the success which Marion had all along predicted. After a full hour's exposure to the destructive rage of grape shot and musketry, we were obliged to make a precipitate retreat; leaving the ground covered with the mingled carcasses of 400 Americans and 800 Frenchmen. Marion's corps fighting with their usual confidence, suffered great loss; himself did not receive a scratch. Colonel Laurens raged like a wounded lion. Soon as the retreat was ordered he paused, and looking round on his fallen men, cried out, "Poor fellows, I envy you!" then hurling his sword in wrath against the ground, he retired. Presently, after we had reached our encampment, he came to my marquee, and like one greatly disordered, said, "Horry, my life is a burden to me; I would to God I was lying on yonder field at rest with my poor men!"
"No! no! none of that, colonel," said I, "none of that; I trust we shall live to pay them yet for all this."
And so it turned out. And though for humanity's sake, I ought not to BOAST of it, yet we did live to pay them for it, and often too: and in the same bloody coin which they gave us that day. And although in that fiery season of my days, and when my dear country was in danger, it was but natural for me to rejoice in the downfall of my enemies, yet I was often witness to scenes, which to this day I can never think of but with sorrow -- as when, for example, after dashing upon an enemy by surprise, and cutting one half of them to pieces and chasing the rest, we returned to collect the horses and arms of the slain. Who, I say, without grief could behold those sad sights which then offered themselves, of human beings lying mangled over the crimson ground -- some stone dead, some still alive and struggling, with brains oozing from their cloven skulls -- and others sitting up, or leaning on their elbows, but pale with loss of blood, running in streams from their mortal wounds, and they themselves looking down, the while, sadly thinking of home and of distant wives and children, whom they shall never see again.
Such thoughts, if often cherished, would much abate the rancor of malice in the hearts of those whose sad destiny it is to kill one another; especially if it were known how short sometimes are the triumphs of the victor.