n's first expedition was planned against
Georgetown. The formidable enemy he had nearly encountered, had not
diminished his energies. Georgetown, at that period, and afterwards,
was often the point to which his views were directed; since it was there
only he expected to take the supplies of ammunition, clothing and salt,
which he sorely wanted. To expedite his scheme he crossed Black river,
at Potato ferry, a retired place, and proceeded on towards Georgetown by
the Gap way.--Three miles from the town there is a swamp called White's
bay,* which discharges itself by two mouths, the one into Black river,
the other into Sampit, thus insulating the town. Over the one,
which empties itself into Sampit, there is a bridge, two miles from
Georgetown, called White's bridge. Back of these swamps, Gen. Marion
took his stand, near a place called the Camp, above the bridge. Here he
despatched Col. P. Horry towards the Black river, and Capt. John Melton
to the Sampit road, both leading into the town, to reconnoitre. At
White's plantation, Horry fell in with Capt. Merritt, who, with a few
dragoons, was escorting a couple of ladies from Georgetown; Merritt,
after defending himself bravely, escaped and gave the alarm. Melton,
unfortunately, came in contact with a party of tories, under Barefield,
much larger than his own, who were patroling near the bridge. A few
shots were exchanged, and Melton was compelled to retreat. But in this
short affair Gabriel Marion, nephew of the general, had his horse
killed under him, and was taken prisoner; but as soon as his name was
announced, he was inhumanely shot. The instrument of death was planted
so near that it burnt his linen at the breast. He had been a lieutenant
in the second regiment, was a young gentleman of good education, of whom
high expectations were formed, and who was much beloved in the brigade.
As the general had no children, he mourned over this nephew, as would a
father over an only son; but he soon recollected that he had an example
to set, and shortly after publicly expressed this consolation for
himself--that his nephew was a virtuous young man--that he had fallen
in the cause of his country, and he would mourn over him no more. At
the same time Mr. Swaineau, a worthy man, was killed. Ere this, he had
exercised the peaceful profession of a schoolmaster; but finding
there was no employment for him in these perilous times, he had boldly
shouldered the musket, and died a soldier. Bu