ion took a position on a ridge
below the ford of the river, which is still called the general's island.
Next day he pushed M'Cottry and Conyers over the river, and recommenced
shooting Watson's pickets and sentinels. Watson posted himself a little
farther up the river, at Blakely's plantation, where he pitched his camp
in the most open place he could find, but still Marion kept him in a bad
humour, (as his letters from that place indicate,) and his regulars in a
constant panic. Here he remained for more than a week* in inactivity
and irresolution; perhaps he waited for Doyle to make an impression
at Snow's island; but if Marion heard of Doyle, he kept it a profound
secret. While Blakely's and Witherspoon's provisions lasted, his present
plan answered pretty well; but when they failed, it became necessary to
have more at a greater distance, and these could not be obtained, but by
daily skirmishes. In these Capt. Conyers was greatly distinguished. He
was most daring, and sat and managed his horse so remarkably well, that
as was the case with the centaur of old, they might have been taken for
one animal. Conyers was at this time fighting under the auspicious eye
of a young lady,** to whom his faith had been plighted, and beneath her
alternate smiles and fears, he presented himself daily before the lines
of the enemy, either as a single champion, or at the head of his troop.
Often did she hear them repeat, "Take care! there is Capt. Conyers!" It
was a ray of chivalry athwart the gloom of unrelenting warfare.

* About ten days, as it appears from the dates of his
letters.

** This young lady was Mary, the second daughter of John
Witherspoon, who after the war, was married to Conyers. One
day when her lover made his appearance as usual, a British
officer made use of language disrespectful to him, which she
bore for some time with patience; at last he said something
indelicate to herself. She immediately drew off a walking
shoe from her foot, and flung it in his face, saying,
"coward! go meet him." In those days kid slippers were not
fashionable.

To increase the panic of the British, Serjt. M'Donald, with a rifle,
shot Lieut. Torriano through the knee, at the distance of three hundred
yards. This appears to have softened even the proud spirit of Watson;
for, on the 15th of March, he wrote a letter to Marion, stating, "we
have an officer and some men wounded, who