UNRUFFLED COURAGE, THE ADVENTURES OF AMERICAN PATRIOT BENJAMIN HAMILTON AND A CHEROKEE MAIDEN NAMED MOONGLOW, is a passionate story set in the untamed western expanse of colonial America. Benjamin's deeply rooted love of country propels him headlong into a fierce battle of wills, pitting his newly formed regiment of experienced over mountain men and Indian fighters against a larger force of British loyalists and regulars on a low-lying ridge in York County, South Carolina, known as Kings Mountain. Then, when Benjamin is sent on a spying mission against a renegade band of Cherokees, his life is forever changed when he happens upon an Indian maiden named Moonglow bathing in the chilly mountain waters of Spring Creek. The historical yet freely embellished character driven tale soon takes a sudden turn when Moonglow is threatened by a pack of ferocious timber wolves. Thinking only of her safety, Benjamin saves the defenseless maiden but then has to flee for his life just moments after learning her name when braves in her village hear gunshots and come looking for him. Using a most unconventional tactic, he escapes capture. Now separated from Moonglow by distance and time, the brave patriot finds love in the arms of Mary Rankin, only to lose her and their unborn baby when she suddenly dies. He is left heartbroken. But fate steps in and reunites the patriot with the Indian maiden. Benjamin passionately expresses his long repressed feelings for the Cherokee, and Moonglow, now hopelessly in love with the handsome, blue-eyed patriot, makes a decision that will cause her to be revered as a true American heroine.

UNRUFFLED COURAGE

THE ADVENTURES OF AMERICAN PATRIOT BENJAMIN HAMILTON AND A CHEROKEE MAIDEN NAMED MOONGLOWBy DANNY LEE WELCH SANDRA KAY HAMILTON WELCH

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2012 Danny L Welch & Sandra Hamilton Welch
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4772-5308-3

Chapter One

THE BATTLE OF KINGS MOUNTAIN

York County, South Carolina October 7, 1780

The sun was just making its face known to the early morning dew. Private Benjamin S. Hamilton, a member in Colonel Isaac Shelby's Regiment of the colonial army, watched the rays of light as they crept past his well concealed position behind the felled trees and danced along the wet ground up the ridge toward Kings Mountain. He began to see his fellow soldiers one by one in their hiding places as they waited for the morning light to expose the clearing up ahead and the perils they would face as the day wore on. As the entire ridge came into view, an eerie pall fell over the mountain.

Kings Mountain, a low-lying, grassy ridge bordered by woods on three sides, lay in York County, South Carolina, just south of the North Carolina border. Rocky sandstone outcroppings dotted its surface. The mountain descended gradually to the branch of Clark Fork behind the regiment's position.

Suddenly, the deafening silence was broken by the rustling sound of leaves off to the unit's left flank. Each man quickly and quietly prepared for action, turning the focus of his attention to that noise. Not wanting to give away their positions, and, using all the skill and training they could muster, the soldiers waited, making not a sound that might alert someone of their presence. A bead of sweat from Private Hamilton's brow rolled down his nose and fell silently to the ground. The tension filling the air was so palpable Ben sensed he could cut it with his knife. Raising his rifle to his shoulder, he aimed at the spot where the noise first broke and prepared to cock the hammer upon receiving the order to fire.

Then, causing all those anxiously waiting to flinch at once and with all the speed that only a scared animal could gather, a huge deer jumped out of the woods into the clearing and ran toward the patriot position. The buck was broad at the shoulders and had antlers each of those men would dearly love to have hanging on his wall. It sped down the ridge, veering left then right then left again as it darted past each pair of eyes focused on that magnificent ten-point rack rushing by. Jumping over the tree trunk in front of Ben, it snorted in crazed defiance. Then, cutting effortlessly through the water of Clark Fork, the buck continued its spirited escape and disappeared into the woods. Miraculously, not one man fired, although present circumstances and past practices were such that firing would have been the natural thing to do. Finally, realizing that all the noise and anxiety were caused by the excited stag running errantly through the woods, each man paused, taking a deep breath and relaxing a bit—but only as a hunted rabbit might pause before its pursuers closed in on its trail again. Ben lowered his rifle, exhaling forcefully to relieve his stress. Common sense told him, though, there had to be a reason that deer jumped out of the woods into a clearing, exposing himself to danger. No stag in his right mind would do such a silly thing, except, maybe, during the rut when mating season would make all the males do crazy things.

Quietly, the signal went out from the commanding officer, "Sit tight. Be ready for whatever happens. And don't make any noise."

Benjamin waited, thinking of times past but, as always, with his rifle at the ready. Eyes fixed and staring up the ridge, he let his mind take him away for just a moment. Back he went to a place he remembered quite well. He was in Virginia. It was a warm spring day in May of this year, 1780, and he and his older brother Thomas, whom Ben always called Thomas and not Tom out of respect for his being the older son, had just signed their names on their enlistment papers. Thomas looked at Ben and Ben looked at Thomas. Each had a shit-eatin' grin on his face, feeling pretty proud of what he had just done.

"Hey, boys! Git yer butts over there with them others and make a straight line. Hurry up, now! I ain't got all day!" barked an appointed corporal, Corporal William P. Buckner to be exact, who was a hulking sort born and bred in the hills of the western Carolinas. He had been handpicked by Colonel Shelby, commander of a colonial force in Sullivan County, North Carolina, to seek out the best local hunters, trackers and Indian fighters he could find, and then, with his new recruits, join Shelby as soon as possible. Colonel Shelby, currently positioned to confront the British in the Carolinas, was gaining a reputation for using unconventional battlefield tactics against the Brits—tactics he had learned firsthand from fighting Indians in the woods and mountains of the colonial western expanse. Without saying a word, Ben and his brother Thomas hurriedly moved to where the others stood.

"The good people of Bedford County in this here colony hereby bestow upon y'all the honor of joinin' me in representin' 'em in a fight aginst the Brits," boomed the corporal. "Any questions 'fore we set out to join up with Colonel Shelby?" he asked. But before any one of the lowly privates in line could even begin to form a word with his lips, Corporal Buckner yelled, "Good! No questions! Then let's git goin'!" And just like that, Benjamin and Thomas Hamilton went from being nineteen and twenty-two year old private citizens to privates in the patriot army under the immediate command of a certain Corporal William P. Buckner. Off they went down the dirt road, past the tavern where the corporal bought them all one last mug of beer, past the good people of Bedford County waving to the new enlistees of their colonial army and away from the ordinary life they knew as simple nobodies. Little did they know how much their lives would change as a result of the unimaginable events that lay ahead.

"All right men, let's keep movin'. With any luck a'tall, we'll meet up with Colonel Shelby in a few days. That's when y'all git yer rations and a month's pay to spend any way y'all want to," said the corporal. "We've gotta git ourselves down there real quick 'cause them Brits are makin' trouble for the good people of the Carolinas. We've gotta stop 'em while the stoppin's good!"

The ragtag column of newly sworn-in privates moved quickly down the road, falling into line with each other a little bit better with each step they took. Ben watched the sun go down as they made their way south that first day. Each following sunset took him that much closer to coming face to face with his destiny.

"Ben!" whispered Thomas, "Do you hear that?" And with that demanding whisper, Ben was brought back to reality as if he had been slapped with an open hand to the face. For now, he would have to set his daydreams aside and concentrate on the present.

"Yeah, I do!" Ben confirmed in a strained yet soft voice. "It's gotta be them Brits. Ain't nobody else goin' to be playin' a bagpipe and drums up there on that ridge. No wonder that ol' deer come runnin' down that ridge like a skeerd rabbit! That noise would scare the legs off a piss-ant."

Thomas nodded in agreement from behind his vantage point beside Ben. Both Ben and Thomas made ready for what was sure to come next. Ben peered from behind his felled tree, looking first to his left then to his right and paying particular attention to where the other troops were. Thomas, always one to be a step ahead of his adversary, quickly planned his next move should he be routed from his hiding place. Then, acting instinctively and in near unison as only brothers would do, they quickly rechecked their rifles, knives, keenly honed tomahawks, and supply of cartridges. They knew there would be no time later to worry about something as important as a missing knife or ramrod!

The sounds of a pipe and drums coupled with feet marching grew louder and louder. Soon there would be a reckoning of wills on the ridge called Kings Mountain. The patriots were ready. Now they waited to see how well the Brits had made ready.

Then, with highly polished precision, the British force marched into view. First came the piper and drummers in perfect step. Behind them and leading the column, emerged the commanding officer mounted upon a strikingly white stallion that seemed to prance to the beat of the drums. Wearing his well-groomed red coat and white powdered wig, the Brit stood out as he sat erect on his steed. Major Patrick Ferguson was known to be a brilliant strategist and battlefield-tested leader in modern British warfare, and a cold blooded killer. Behind Major Ferguson, rode Captain Abraham De Peyster, second in command. Next, rode the line officers: Captain Vessey Husbands, Captain Daniel Plummer, and Lieutenant John McGinnis. Following them, marched the musketmen in rows of four with their firearms held tightly against their shoulders and pointed directly toward the sky. Some were clad in red coats. The others wore everyday clothes or buckskins resembling those of the patriot fighters, but with one difference; the Tories, as American supporters of the King were called, all wore a pine sprig in their hats to distinguish themselves from their enemies. Then came horses pulling two, three-pound cannons and caissons, followed by more red-coated troops. Finally, after what seemed an eternity to the patriot army lying in wait, the Bititsh force assembled and was ready to do battle.

Evidently, of no surprise to the colonial soldiers, the British knew in advance where the fight was to take place and were determined to teach the infidels a lesson. It was Major Ferguson's way of impressing upon his opponents he knew their movements and that they were no match for his battle prowess. For the good major had in his arsenal a well-trained squad of Tory spies, each knowing this hill country like the back of his hand. They moved about freely, keeping watch over troop movements, and talking to local citizens who sympathized with the British and gave out information about secret meetings and possible ambushes. This information allowed Major Ferguson to stay one step ahead of his enemy, giving his troops a big advantage when the time came for battle.

"How dare they think they can defy the King! They'll rue the day they thought they could stop me from crushing them like a bloody walnut!" opined Major Ferguson as he readied his men for battle. "I'll have them routed in less time than it took me to disembowel that pig of a no good Carolina sharecropper who spat at me in York as we attempted to show these people they need to stop their resistance to His Majesty the King. Damn them all anyway!"

The assembled British force, numbering at least one thousand officers and men, stood in exact formation. Waiting ... Waiting ...

Informed of Ferguson's location by eagle-eyed scout Joseph Kerr, Shelby and his colonial army also lay in wait, keeping very quiet so as not to give away their individual positions. Benjamin kept his rifle aimed in the direction of the British commander himself. The British rules of war, however, dictated that no officer should be fired upon, regardless of which army he represented, as a gentlemanly way to conduct battle in these modern times. But these frontiersmen, hunters and hardened fighters against the Indians of the thickly wooded hills and mountains of the western expanse, believed that there were no rules when it came to who should live and die on a battlefield. The Brits were about to discover that very tenet and learn that they were up against a different kind of soldier in these backwoods frontiersmen.

"Why do these backwater men not come out and fight me?" wondered the pompous British commander.

Ferguson often referred to the mountainous regions of the Carolinas as backwater country. It was his way of not only demeaning the area but also the people who resided there.

"I know they are here! Why do they not come out and challenge me? Do they not have the will to fight me face to face?" Major Ferguson asked Captain Husbands, who was in charge of the musketeers, as they looked down upon the valley from the ridge.

"Sir, this little group of farmers and storekeepers is scared to death of your superior force and firepower," replied the captain, thinking he was facing another ragtag bunch of country bumpkins. "I await your order to move against them in haste and show them once and for all they do not have the will to stand against His Majesty's Army!"

With those encouraging words from the captain, Ferguson sprung to action. "Captain, give the order to assemble and move forward to take control of this mountain! We will defeat this bunch of backwater men, 'hang their leaders, and lay their country waste with fire and sword!'"

Saluting the major, Captain Husbands turned his horse to the waiting formation. "Musketeers, form your platoons left and right!" And with that order, the formation quickly marched into pre-arranged positions.

The British Army was well trained in the most modern tactics of warfare. This particular command had been drilled time and again in forming impenetrable lines. Major Ferguson insisted upon his officers and soldiers knowing precisely where their positions were in relation to the entire force at any given moment. During battle, he relayed commands to his line officers with the use of a silver whistle. The musketeers were armed with the latest in British firearms for battlefield engagements. Each musketman was assigned a smooth bore musket capable of hitting a target up to seventy five yards away and trained to fire an average of three shots per minute. Forming into platoons allowed the British Army to fire in volleys, thereby destroying an opposing force lined up in similar fashion to fight them. Major Ferguson's musketeers quickly moved into position and were ready for his next command. The order to position the cannons was given, and the cannoneers began the process of moving the iron monsters into place.

Watching the British movements atop the ridge with Colonel Shelby were Colonel William Campbell, Colonel Benjamin Cleveland, Colonel Charles McDowell, Colonel John Sevier and Colonel James Williams. Campbell, leading the largest contingent of troops, had been chosen to act as the temporary commander. Shelby, first to recognize Ferguson's march against the mountainmen as a direct threat to their property and way of life, was selected to be the second officer in command. However, Campbell directed Colonel Shelby to spearhead the patriot force because of Shelby's recent victories against the Indians. Together, they led a force of nearly nine-hundred hand-picked frontiersmen skilled in shooting at moving targets and armed with long rifles. These rifles were superior to British muskets because they had rifling grooves inside the barrel that gave them a long range. Shooters could easily hit targets at ranges of two- hundred yards. Skilled shooters could hit targets at five hundred yards. A few sharpshooters could actually hit targets up to one thousand yards and were used quite frequently by commanding officers as snipers.

Upon seeing the non-uniformed enemy musketmen, Shelby quickly ordered the patriot soldiers to place the piece of white paper he had provided them in a fold of their hats as a way to differentiate them from the despised Tories.

"Colonel Sevier, move your men quickly to my right flank. Colonel Williams, move your men to my left flank. Position your men in the woods to the Brits' rear but within firing distance of the men's rifles," Shelby ordered. Colonel Campbell, move your men to the western side of the ridge and take up a position in the woods." When I give the command to fire to the men remaining here, hold your fire until the British advance has stopped. At that precise moment, you are to open fire upon the cannon positions. Once you have rendered them useless, concentrate your fire on the remaining musket platoons and begin to move up the ridge. But remember gentlemen, instruct your men to fire from behind one tree and then move up to the next before stopping to fire again."

Shelby had seen Indians use this simple tactic in battles with his mountainmen before, and he knew it was an effective way to press an enemy.

"Do you understand your orders?" he asked.

"Yes, sir!" they answered. And with that reply, they left to relay the orders and shift their men into position.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from UNRUFFLED COURAGEby DANNY LEE WELCH SANDRA KAY HAMILTON WELCH Copyright © 2012 by Danny L Welch & Sandra Hamilton Welch. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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