into a cornfield. The dragoons followed and were close upon him. The field descended and was marshy at its lower side, there being here a ditch four feet wide and deep, while inside the ditch was a bank of mud on which stood a fence, the whole being over seven feet high. To leap this fence was Marion's only hope of escape, and its height seemed to make this impossible. The dragoons saw the dilemma he was in and pressed towards him, shouting and laughing in disdain and calling on him to surrender.

Marion did not hesitate for a moment. Spurring his gallant horse, he rushed him at the fence. The noble animal seemed to recognize the strait his master was in, came up to the barrier in his finest style, and with a bound that seemed supernatural cleared the fence and the ditch and came down on his feet on the other side. Marion turned, fired his pistols without effect at his astounded pursuers, then, bidding them "good morning," wheeled his horse and vanished in triumph into a neighboring thicket, leaving them divided between admiration and chagrin.

As to the band of Marion, the followers of this wildwood hero, there is a story that clearly shows the kind of material with which he had to do his gallant deeds. In the summer of 1780 General Gates with his army had crossed the Pedee River and was marching towards Camden, South Carolina, where he was destined to meet with an annihilating defeat. On his way thither there rode into his ranks a volunteer detachment of such woe-begone aspect that the soldiers looked at them with astonishment and mirth.

About twenty in all, they were a mosaic of whites and blacks, men and boys, their clothes in tatters, their equipment a burlesque on military smartness, their

horses lean, half starved specimens of the war-charger. At their head rode a small, thin-faced man, modestlooking, but with a flash in his eye that admonished the soldiers not to laugh until behind his back. This was Marion and this was his band. Then but little known, he was soon to become the Robin Hood of warriors, the Swamp-Fox of romantic history.

He offered some modest advice to Gates, but the latter was too full of conceit to be open to advice from this or any other quarter, and was glad enough to get rid of his unwelcome visitor by sending him on a scouting expedition in advance of the army, to watch the enemy and report upon his movements. This was the work for which Marion's men were best adapted and they rode gaily away. But before they went Governor Rutledge, who was with the army and who knew Marion's worth, raised him in rank from colonel to general, and gave him a commission for guerilla work among the swamps and forests of the South.

Francis Marion was born near Georgetown, South Carolina, in 1732. A love for adventure was born in him, and at the age of sixteen we find him setting out in life as a sailor, on a vessel bound to the West Indies. On the way thither a gale of wind wrecked the vessel and the crew were forced to take to their boat without water or provisions, except a dog which had leaped into the boat and whose raw flesh supplied all the food they had for seven or eight days. Several of them died from hunger and exposure, young Marion being one of the few who escaped.

This adventure gave him enough of sea life and he engaged in farming until 1759, when he took part as lieutenant in an expedition against the Cherokee Indians, under Captain Moultrie. He comes into history

again in 1775, when he was appointed a captain in the first corps of soldiers raised by South Carolina for the war of the Revolution. In 1776, now a major, he served under his old commander Moultrie in the intrepid defence of Fort Moultrie against the British fleet. The British here got enough of South Carolina to last them for several years.

Marion took part in the defence of Georgia in 1777, and as lieutenant-colonel was at Charleston when besieged by the British in 1780. Here, having broken his leg in an accident, he left the city and thus escaped being made a prisoner when the garrison surrendered. To avoid capture he was carried from place to place, but as soon as he was able to take the saddle he was in the field again. The British had by this time spread widely through South Carolina and held the State in an iron grip, and the only kind of warfare practicable was that which Marion undertook. Gathering about him a band at first containing only sixteen men, he crossed the Santee and began that system of bold attacks and swift escapes which gave so much trouble and annoyance to the foe.

It was the chosen work of the Swamp-Fox to keep alive the fire of liberty in South Carolina and pave the way for the reconquest of the South. Marion was not alone in this patriotic duty: Sumter, Pickens and others were engaged in the same work. But he was the most daring, persistent and successful, and has become far the most famous of them all.

His sixteen men soon grew to a larger corps, but it was constantly varying, now swelling, now sinking, never large. The swamps of the Pedee, which formed his chief abiding place, could not furnish shelter and food for any large body of men. In their thicket

hidden depths he found plenty of hiding places, from which he could make rapid excursions against the foe in all directions, and in which safe shelter always awaited him. His men, like himself, were hardy, well seasoned fellows, used to a warm climate and marshy surroundings, bred to hardship and privation, and able to subsist and keep well in that sickly region where few not trained to the situation and mode of life could have retained health and strength.

Marion's headquarters were on Snow's Island, at the point where Lynch's Creek flows into the Pedee. Here he found islands of high land in the midst of the reedy swamps, with an abundance of game and the forest for covering. Wet thicket and cane-brakes spread around, with paths known only to the partisans, who kept their secrets well. Within was noble woodland growth, equal to that haunted of old by Robin Hood and his men, splendid moss-laden trees, and dry grassy soil, where the horses fed in content and on which the men dwelt in wild freedom like a band of forest outlaws.

There is a very interesting story about their mode of life, which has often been told but will bear telling again. A young British officer was sent from Georgetown under a flag of truce, to arrange with Marion about an exchange of prisoners. He was brought to the camp blindfolded, by way of devious paths through the swamps, and when the bandage was removed from his eyes he looked around with admiration and surprise on the magnificent woodland scene in which he found himself and at the ragged band who lay or lounged in rustic ease around. His surprise was doubled when he gazed on Marion, and instead of the burly giant his fancy had conceived saw before him a swarthy, smoke

dried little man, dressed in the shabbiest of clothes, that seemed more rags than attire. The group of sunburnt, yellow-legged fellows around, some roasting potatoes, some stretched out asleep on the green sward, could these be the men that had so often vexed and defied the British forces?

He soon learned that this diminutive chap was the renowned Marion and quickly settled the business on which he came, the wildwood champion being willing enough to rid himself of his prisoners. The officer then signified his purpose to return.

"Not so, my dear sir," said Marion. "It is our time for dining, and I hope you will give me the pleasure of your company at dinner."

"I shall be delighted," said the officer politely, but he looked round with wondering eyes. Where were any of the essentials of a dinner, the board, the tableware, the food?

"We dine here in simple, woodland fashion, captain," said Marion, with a smile. "Pray be seated.Come, Tom," he called to one of the men, "bring us our dinner.'

Seating himself on a mossy log, he pointed to an opposite one for the officer. In a few minutes Tom appeared, coming from a fire of brushwood at a distance, and carrying on a large piece of bark some well roasted sweet potatoes.

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Help yourself, captain," said Marion, taking up a brown-skinned potato from the platter, breaking it in half, and beginning to eat with a forest appetite.

The surprised officer, a well-bred man, followed his example, though with more politeness than relish. He at length broke out into a hearty laugh. "I was

"I beg your pardon, general," he said.