Cherokee Campaign

My dad created an old-fashioned wrestler named "The Sidewinder," whose temper lurks just beneath the surface.  I have mentioned the sleeping monster within the heart of Francis Marion, which, in its fits and starts as a would-be peaceful farmer, cannot be denied when truly challenged.  Indeed, says Simms,

"It was only subdued, and slumbering for a season, ready to awaken at the first opportunity, with all the vigor and freshness of a favorite passion."

Opportunity arose out of a skirmish following the close of the French and Indian War. 

The Cherokee had allied with England, and as they were traveling south through Virginia on their way home as victors, they helped themselves to the settlers horses, to replace their own.  This did not go over well: the Virginians retaliated, and the Cherokee responded in kind.   South Carolina's Governor Lyttleton insisted on stepping in to help the Virginians, and so in 1759 South Carolina entered "The Cherokee Campaign."  Able-bodied men were asked to enlist, and Francis Marion, then 27, joined the cavalry unit lead by one of his brothers.  A delegation of 32 Cherokee chiefs came to Charleston to beseech Governor Lyttleton not to go to war with them.  Lyttleton wasn't buying it, and, taking the delegation as prisoners, brought them to Congaree, where his own forces were waiting.  Lyttleton was an idiot: this delegation came in peace and now they were captives, which offended the Cherokee into all-out war.  They unleashed hell on Fort Prince George and its surrounding settlements, mentioned in The Patriot as "Fort Wilderness," brutally slaughtering all whites they encountered. 

Units from Charleston, the Carolinas, and Virginia perished in their attempt to retake the fort, until they learned from their enemy and began to anticipate them.  They drove the Cherokee from Fort Prince George, and into the village of Etochee, then retreated.  But the Cherokee came back "with great vigor."  They took back their word on every treaty, forged an allegiance with the French, and learned how to use European weapons.  It was sticky business, not to mention horrific.  Francis Marion rose to the rank of Lieutenant, and fought under the command of General Moultrie.  The same men would later fight the English together at Fort Moultrie.  Moultrie described Marion in his memoirs:

"He was an active, brave and hardy soldier, and an excellent partisan officer."

Francis lead his regiment to victory, unrelenting in their pursuit of the Cherokee and gaining ground, as many died on both sides, until the Battle of Etochee was won.  The victory of the whites broke the spirit of the Cherokee nation, as the rest of the Campaign resulted in the destruction of and burning of many villages.  Benjamin Martin, the fictitious Francis Marion, said,
"I have longed feared that my sins would return to me,  and the cost is more than I can bear."

It is recorded of him, that the severity practised in this campaign filled him, long after, with recollections of sorrow.   How can a man drown out the screams of the innocent, long after numbing one's self to the war-woop of the enemy, whose destruction came at the orders of the commanding officer?  I'm trying to tell you that the horrors of warfare not only wearied Marion's soul:  they haunted him.  What he did in the Cherokee Campaign made him legend, but what he did to defeat the Cherokee did not end on the battlefield.  I believe that he had kindness within him, that beyond his hardened exterior of dry bread beat a heart of compassion for the innocent.  He would rally to the protection of the innocent once again in 1775. 

Family connection note: there was a small pox epidemic in Charleston during the Cherokee Campaign.  Job's first wife, my great grandmother Elizabeth de St. Julien, died of small pox in 1759.  Job and Elizabeth's son, Job, would be so close to his uncle Francis that he would name his first child after him.