To the reader who, in the pursuit of the facts in our national
history, shall confine himself only to those records which are to
be found in the ordinary narrative, much that he reads will be
found obscure, and a great deal absolutely untruthful. Our
early historians gave themselves but little trouble in searching
after details. A general outline was all that they desired, and,
satisfied with this, they neither sought after the particular events
which should give rise to the narrative, nor into the latent causes

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which gave birth to many of its actions. In the history of South
Carolina, for example, (which was one brimming with details and
teeming with incidents,) there is little to be found — as the history
is at present written — which shall afford to the reader even a
tolerably correct idea of the domestic character of the struggle.
We know well enough that the people of the colony were of a
singularly heterogeneous character; that the settlers of the lower
country were chiefly Cavaliers and Huguenots, or French Protestants,
and that the interior was divided into groups, or settlements,
of Scotch, Irish, and German. But there is little in the
record to show that, of these, the sentiment was mixed and various
without degree; and that, with the exception of the parishes
of the lower country, which belonged almost wholly, though
with slight modifications, to the English church, it was scarcely
possible to find any neighborhood, in which there was not something
like a civil war. The interior and mountain settlements
were most usually divided, and nearly equally, between their attachments
to the crown and the colony. A Scotch settlement
would make an almost uniform showing in behalf of the English
authority — one, two, or three persons, at the utmost, being of
the revolutionary party. An Irish settlement (wholly Protestant,
be it remembered) would be as unanimous for the colonial
movements; while the Germans were but too frequently for the
monarchical side, that being represented by a prince of Hanover.
The German settlements mostly lay in the Forks of Edisto, and
along the Congarees. The business of the present narrative
will be confined chiefly to this people. They had settled in rather
large families in Carolina, and this only a short period before
the Revolution. They had been sent out, in frequent instances,
at the expense of the crown, and this contributed to
secure their allegiance. They were ignorant of the nature of
the struggle, and, being wholly agricultural, could not well be
taught the nature of grievances which fell chiefly upon commerce
and the sea-board. Now, in Carolina, and perhaps throughout
the whole south, the Revolution not only originated with the
natives of the country, but with the educated portions of the
natives. It was what may be termed the gentlemen of the colony—
its wealth and aristocracy — with whom and which the
movement began; and though it is not our purpose here to go

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into this inquiry, we may add that the motives to the revolutionary
movement originated with them, in causes totally different
from those which stimulated the patriotism of the people of
Massachusetts Bay. The pride of place, of character and of
intellect, and not any considerations of interest, provoked the
agricultural gentry of the south into the field.

It was the earnest desire of these gentry, at the dawning of
the Revolution, to conciliate the various people of the interior.
At the first signs of the struggle, therefore, an attempt was made
to influence the German population along the Edisto and Congaree,
by sending among them two influential men of their own
country, whose fidelity to the mouvement party was beyond dispute.
But these men were unsuccessful. They probably made
few converts. It is enough, if we give a glimpse at the course
of their proceedings in a single household in the Forks of Edisto.*
George Wagner and Felix Long arrived at the habitation of
Frederick Sabb, on the 7th day of July, 1775. Frederick was
an honest Dutchman of good character, but not the man for revolution.
He was not at home on the arrival of the commissioners,
but his good vrow, Minnicker Sabb, gave them a gracious reception.
She was a good housekeeper, with but one daughter; a
tall, silent girl, with whom the commissioners had no discourse.
But Minnicker Sabb, had she been applied to, might have proved
a better revolutionist than her spouse. It is very certain, as the
results will show, that Frederica Sabb, the daughter, was of the
right material. She was a calm, and sweetly-minded damsel,
not much skilled in society or books — for precious little was the
degree of learning in the settlement at this early period; but
the native mind was good and solid, and her natural tastes, if
unsophisticated, were pure and elevated. She knew, by precious
instincts, a thousand things which other minds scarcely ever
reach through the best education. She was what we call, a good
girl, loyal, with a warm heart, a sound judgment, and a modest,
sensible behavior. We are not seeking, be it remembered, a
heroine, but a pure, true-hearted woman. She was young too —
only seventeen at this period — but just at the season when the

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woman instincts are most lively, and her susceptibilities most
quick to all that is generous and noble. She made the cakes
and prepared the supper for the guests that evening, and they
saw but little of her till the evening feast had been adjusted, and
was about to be discussed. By this time old Frederick Sabb had
made his appearance. He came, bringing with him three of his
neighbors, who were eager to hear the news. They were followed,
after a little space, and in season for supper, by another
guest — perhaps the most welcome of all to the old couple — in
the person of a favorite preacher of the methodist persuasion.
Elijah Fields, was a man of middle age, of a vigorous mind and
body, earnest and impetuous, and represented, with considerable
efficiency, in his primitive province, the usefulness of a church
which, perhaps, more than any other, has modelled itself after
that of the Primitive Fathers. We shall see more of Elijah
Fields hereafter. In the course of the evening, three other
neighbors made their appearance at the farmhouse of Frederick
Sabb; making a goodly congregation upon which to exercise
the political abilities of Messrs. Wagner and Long. They were
all filled with a more or less lively curiosity in regard to the
events which were in progress, and the objects which the commissioners
had in view. Four of these neighbors were of the
same good old German stock with Frederick Sabb, but two of
them were natives of the country, from the east bank of the
north branch of the Edisto, who happened to be on a visit to an
adjoining farmstead. The seventh of these was a young Scotchman,
from Cross Creek, North Carolina, who had already declared
himself very freely against the revolutionary movement. He
had, indeed, gone so far as to designate the patriots as traitors,
deserving a short cord and a sudden shrift; and this opinion was
expressed with a degree of temper which did not leave it doubtful
that he would gladly seek an opportunity to declare himself
offensively in the presence of the commissioners. As we shall
see more of this person hereafter, it is only right that we should
introduce him formally to the reader as Matthew or Mat Dunbar.
He went much more frequently by the name of Mat than Matthew.
We may also mention that he was not entirely a politician.
A feeling of a tender nature brought him to the dwelling
of old Sabb, upon whose daughter, Frederica, our young

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Scotchman was supposed to look with hungry eyes. And public conjecture
did not err in its suspicions.

But Mat Dunbar was not without a rival. Richard Coulter
was the only native of the country present, Parson Fields excepted.
He was a tall, manly youth, about the same age with
Dunbar. But he possessed many advantages over the latter,
particularly in respect to person. Tall, while Dunbar was short,
with a handsome face, fine eye, and a luxuriant shock of hair,
and a massive beard of the same color, which gave quite a martial
appearance to his features, otherwise effeminate — the spectator
inevitably contrasted him with his rival, whose features,
indeed, were fair, but inexpressive; and whose hair and beard
were of the most burning and unmitigated red. Though stout
of limb, vigorous and athletic, Mat Dunbar was awkward in his
movement, and wanting in dignity of bearing. Mentally, the
superiority of Coulter was not so manifest. He was more diffident
and gentle than the other, who, experienced by travel, bold
and confident, never exhibited himself at less than his real worth.
These preliminaries must suffice. It is perhaps scarcely necessary
to say that Frederica Sabb made her comparisons between
the two, and very soon arrived at one conclusion. A girl of common
instincts rarely fails to discover whether she is sought or
not; and the same instincts leads her generally to determine between
rivals long in advance of the moment when they propose.
Richard Coulter was certainly her favorite — though her prudence
was of that becoming kind which enabled her easily to keep to
herself the secret of her preference.

Old Sabb treated his guests with good Dutch hospitality. His
wife and daughter were excellent housekeepers, and the table
was soon spread with good things for supper. Butter, milk, and
cream-cheeses, were not wanting; pones and hoe-cakes made
an ample showing, and a few broiled chickens, and a large platter
of broiled ham, in the centre of the table, were as much a
matter of course in that early day, in this favorite region, as we
find them among its good livers now. Of course, supper was
allowed to be discussed before the commissioners opened their
budget. Then the good vrow took her place, knitting in hand,
and a huge ball of cotton in her lap, at the door, while the guests
emerged from the hall into the piazza, and sweet Frederica Sabb,

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quietly, as was her habit, proceeded to put away the debris of
the feast, and to restore the apartment to its former order. In
this she was undisturbed by either of her lovers; the custom of
the country requiring that she should be left to these occupations
without being embarrassed by any obtrusive sentiments, or
even civilities. But it might be observed that Richard Coulter
had taken his seat in the piazza, at a window looking into the
hall, while Mat Dunbar had placed himself nearly at the entrance,
and in close neighborhood with the industrious dame.
Here he divided himself between attentions to her, and an occasional
dip into the conversation on politics, which was now fully
in progress. It is not our purpose to pursue this conversation.
The arguments of the commissioners can be readily conjectured.
But they were fruitless to persuade our worthy Dutchman into
any change, or any self-committals, the issue of which might endanger
present comforts and securities. He had still the same
answer to every argument, delivered in broken English which
we need not imitate.

“The king, George, has been a good king to me, my friends.
I was poor, but I am not poor now. I had not a finger of land
before I came hither. Now, I have good grants, and many
acres. I am doing well. For what should I desire to do better?
The good king will not take away my grants; but if I should
hear to you, I should be rebel, and then he would be angry, and
he might make me poor again as I never was before. No, no,
my friends; I will sign no association that shall make me lose
my lands.”

“You're right!” vociferated Mat Dunbar. “It's treason, I
say, to sign any association, and all these rangers here, in arms,
are in open rebellion, and should be hung for it; and let the
time come, and I'm one to help in the hanging them!”

This was only one of many such offensive speeches which Dunbar
had contrived to make during the evening. The commissioners
contented themselves with marking the individual, but without
answering him. But his rudely-expressed opinions were not
pleasing to old Sabb himself, and still less so to his worthy vrow,
who withdrew at this into the hall; while the stern voice of
Elijah Fields descended in rebuke upon the offender.

“And who art thou,” said he abruptly, “to sit in judgment

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upon thy brethren? And who has commissioned thee to lend
thyself to the taking of human life? Life is a sacred thing,
young man — the most precious of human possessions, since it
depends on the time which is allowed us whether we shall ever
be fit for eternity. To one so young as thyself, scarcely yet
entered on thy career as a man, it might be well to remember
that modesty is the jewel of youth, and that when so many of
the great and good of the land have raised their voices against
the oppressions of the mother-country, there may be good reason
why we, who know but little, should respect them, and listen
till we learn. If thou wilt be counselled by me, thou wilt hearken
patiently to these worthy gentlemen, that we may know all the
merits of their argument.”

Dunbar answered this rebuke with a few muttered sentences,
which were hardly intelligible, making no concessions to the
preacher or the commissioners, yet without being positively
offensive. Richard Coulter was more prudent. He preserved
a profound silence. But he was neither unobservant nor indifferent.
As yet he had taken no side in the controversy, and
was totally uncommitted among the people. But he had been
a listener, and was quietly chewing the cud of self-reflection.

After a little while, leaving the venerable seniors still engaged
in the discussion — for Wagner and Long, the commissioners,
were not willing to forego the hope of bringing over a
man of Sabb's influence — the young men strolled out into the
grounds where their horses had been fastened. It was almost
time to ride. As they walked, the Scotchman broke out abruptly: —

“These fellows ought to be hung, every scoundrel of them;
stirring up the country to insurrection and treason; but a good
lesson of hickories, boys, might put a stop to it quite as well as
the halter! What say you? They ride over to old Carter's
after they leave Daddy Sabb's, and it's a lonesome track! If
you agree, we'll stop 'em at Friday's flats, and trice 'em up to a
swinging limb. We're men enough for it, and who's afraid?”

The proposition was received with great glee by all the young
fellows, with one exception. It was a proposition invoking sport
rather than patriotism. When the more eager responses were
all received, Richard Coulter quietly remarked: —

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“No, no, boys; you must do nothing of the kind. These are
good men, and old enough to be the fathers of any of us. Besides,
they're strangers, and think they're doing right. Let 'em
alone.”

“Well, if you wont,” said Dunbar, “we can do without you.
There are four of us, and they're but two.”

“You mistake,” replied Coulter, still quietly, “they are three!”

“How! who?”

“Wagner, Long, and Richard Coulter!”

“What, you! Will you put yourself against us? You go
with the rebels, then?”

“I go with the strangers. I don't know much about the rebellion,
but I think there's good sense in what they say. At all
events, I'll not stand by and see them hurt, if I can help it.”

“Two or three, boys,” continued Dunbar, “will make no difference!”

This was said with a significant toss of the head toward Coulter.
The instincts of these young men were true. They already
knew one another as rivals. This discovery may have
determined the future course of Coulter. He did not reply to
Dunbar; but, addressing his three companions, he said, calling
each by his Christian name, “You, boys, had better not mix in
this matter before it's necessary. I suppose the time will come,
when there can be no skulking, But it's no use to hurry into
trouble. As for four of you managing three, that's not impossible;
but I reckon there will be a fight first. These strangers may
have weapons; but whether they have or not, they look like
men; and I reckon, you that know me, know that before my
back tastes of any man's hickory, my knife will be likely to
taste his blood.”

Dunbar replied rudely for the rest; and, but that Coulter
quietly withdrew at this moment, seemingly unruffled, and without
making any answer, there might have been a struggle between
the two rivals even then. But the companions of Dunbar
had no such moods or motives as prompted him. They were
impressed by what Coulter had said, and were, perhaps, quite as
much under his influence as under that of Dunbar. They accordingly
turned a cold shoulder upon all his exhortations, and
the commissioners, accordingly, left the house of old Sabb in

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safety, attended by young Coulter. They little knew his object
in escorting them to the dwelling of Bennett Carter, where they
stayed that night, and never knew the danger from which his
prompt and manly courage had saved them. But the events
of that night brought out Richard Coulter for the cause of the
patriots; and a few months found him a second lieutenant in a
gallant corps of Thompson's rangers, raised for the defence of
the colony. But the commissioners parted from Frederick Sabb
without making any impression on his mind. He professed to
desire to preserve a perfect neutrality — this being the suggestion
of his selfishness; but his heart really inclined him to the
support of the “goot King Jorge,” from whom his grants of land
had been derived.

“And what dost thou think, brother Fields?” said he to the
parson, after the commissioners had retired.

“Brother Sabb,” was the answer, “I do not see that we need
any king any more than the people of Israel, when they called
upon Samuel for one; and if we are to have one, I do not see
why we should not choose one from out our own tribes.”

“Brother Fields, I hope thou dost not mean to go with these
rebels.”

“Brother Sabb, I desire always to go with my own people.”

“And whom callest thou our own people?”

“Those who dwell upon the soil and nurse it, and make it
flourish; who rear their flocks and children upon it, in the fear
of God, and have no fear of man in doing so.”

“Brother Fields, I fear thou thinkst hardly of `goot King
Jorge,'” said our Dutchman, with a sigh. “Minnicker, my
vrow, get you de Piple.”