N

OWHERE has there been so little contributed to the literature of our Revolutionary history, as in the Southern States. The deeds, valor and sufferings of their patriots have been but little credited, because little known.

While

almost every Northern town has had its historian and almost every Northern hero some one to perpetuate his memory, the South, though equally worthy of attention has unfortunately had but few chroniclers; her writers have been limited, her historians few and far apart.

The little that has appeared is eminently worthy of attention and its value to the historian is greatly enhanced from the fact of its scanty representation in the common stock. Every effort ought therefore to be made, not only to preserve what has already appeared but to add, as far as lies in our power, to the store.

It is with these views and to further these objects that we present the following narrative. Appearing originally in the Charleston Rambler, a paper of limited circulation, it would in the course of human events, soon have become extinct: in fact, even at the present time, (1865) it would be almost impossible to procure a copy. We have therefore determined to reprint it, and it is accordingly presented in the present form, with notes, &c.

The author was a respectable inhabitant of Barnwell District, S. C., and enjoyed the respect and esteem of all. He died at ninetytwo, in 1846.

New York, 1865

C. I. BUSHNELL

INTRODUCTION TO THE ORIGINAL EDITION

Being persuaded that a few hints in relation to the scenes in which I bore a part, in that glorious and memorable struggle for Independence which has signalized us among the nations of the earth, would not be unacceptable to my friends and the general reader, I have precipitately thrown together the following facts, which are submitted without further comment.

1843

TARLTON BROWN

M

Y father, William Brown, was a planter in Albemarle county, Virginia, where I was born on the 5th day of April,

1757. Flattering inducements being held forth to settlers

in the rich region of South Carolina, contiguous to the Savannah river, and my uncle Bartlet Brown having already moved, and settled himself two miles above Matthew's Bluff, on the Savannah river, my father brought out some negroes, and left them with his brother to make a crop; and in 1769, a year afterwards, my father and family, consisting of eleven persons, emigrated to this country and settled on Brier's Creek, opposite to Berton's ferry. We found the country in the vicinity very thinly inhabited. Our own shelter for several weeks, to protect us from the weather, was a bark tent which served for our use until we could erect a rude dwelling of logs.

Having cleared a piece of land, we planted, and found the soil to be exceedingly fertile in the river swamp, producing abundant crops. The country was literally infested with wild beasts, which were very annoying to the inhabitants; killing the stock and destroying the crops, and were so bold, daring and ravenous that they would come into our yards and before our doors take our sheep and poultry. Indeed it was dangerous to venture out at night beyond the precincts of our yards, unarmed. We used every device to exterminate them, and ultimately effected our object by setting traps and poisoned bait.

The forest abounded with all kinds of game, particularly deer and turkeys the former were almost as gentle as cattle. I have seen fifty together, in a day's ride in the woods. The latter were innumerable, and so very fat that I have often run them down on horseback. The range for cattle was excellent; it was a very common thing to see two hundred in a gang in the large ponds. In any month in the year, beeves in the finest order for butchering might be obtained from the forest. It was customary then to have large pens or enclosures, for cattle under the particular charge or direction of some