Patriot of the Lowcountry

“Let’s have a tune,” someone called from the rear of the crowd. “Music has charms to soothe the sore and angry heart.”

Someone from near the barracks called, “I’ve a guitar. Does anyone care to play?”

“I will.” He brought it to me. I took a moment to tune it and then strummed a few chords. “This guitar plays none but rebel songs.”

Everyone laughed, and I sang,

Torn from a world of tyrants

Beneath this western sky

We formed a new dominion,

A land of libert-ay;

The world shall own we’re freemen here,

And such will ever be,

Huzza, huzza, huzza, huzza

For free Ameri-cay.

When I finished, a cheer went up from the officers, who beat their tankards on the tables.

Major Moore said, “Missus Wilkinson is also going to favor us with cockades she has brought.” He indicated the ribbon on his hat, and immediately a crowd formed around me. Polly helped me unpin and pass them along to the men.

Another officer spoke up. “What next?”

The one beside him drained his cup. “I say, nothing too proper! This is an antiroyal affair.”

One of the officers began to sing Yankee Doodle, and as every voice joined in, some couples danced a lively polka.

When the sun went down, the bonfires and the scattered furniture outdoors evoked a scene from Captain Barth, as though we were castaways on an island. Music and candlelight spilled forth from the barracks, now filled with dancing revelers. A group of officers in the courtyard, all well into their cups, grew louder and more animated until one of them shouted, “Liberty!” He raised his pistol in the air and fired.

Another responded, “Or Death!” and more shots rang out.

“Huzzah for Free Ameri-kay!”

“Gentlemen!” A stern voice rose above the clamor, and everyone’s attention turned toward General Moultrie. “Desist and calm yourselves, or I daresay this day will end with a visit from our oppressors.”

The guilty parties subdued their merriment, but it was too late. In the distance, we saw bobbing lanterns moving about at the fort. Soon a squad of Redcoats arrived in a row-galley, came ashore, and marched on the barracks.

“Fall in.” The officer in charge spoke in a condescending tone. “The women too.” We stood in a line, and the soldiers trained their weapons on us while their officer took down the names of the guests present. Then he addressed us. “I am Captain Roberts, commander of Fort Arbuthnot. We did not object to you celebrating this day with music and illuminations, but discharging small arms is most irregular and improper.”

“Captain.” General Moultrie stepped out of the line to address Roberts.“The pistols fired in the course of our celebration were not meant as an outrage against you, but as a tribute to the cause which these officers have embraced, for which some of them bled, and for which all of them are now confined.”

“General, I daresay it was naught but a pathetic attempt to glorify your defeated cause. I will leave it to you to keep order.”

Moultrie nodded. “You have my word, Captain.” He stood tall and proud, but it had to sting to be compelled to carry out an order from a lower-ranking officer.

The captain called his men to attention and at his command, they stepped off toward the shore and boarded the galley. As soon as they were away, someone sang softly, “Huzzah, huzzah, huzzah, huzzah for Free Ameri-cay!”