g of "the dastardly conduct of the militia," calling them "a set
of poltroons," and longing for Continentals.]after all, however
formidable from their patriotic purpose and personal prowess. The
backwoods armies were not unlike the armies of the Scotch Highlanders;
tumultuous gatherings of hardy and warlike men, greatly to be dreaded
under certain circumstances, but incapable of a long campaign, and
almost as much demoralized by a victory as by a defeat. Individually or
in small groups they were perhaps even more formidable than the
Highlanders; but in one important respect they were inferior, for they
totally lacked the regimental organization which the clan system gave
the Scotch Celts.

The mountaineers had come out to do a certain thing--to kill Ferguson
and scatter his troops. They had done it, and now they wished to go
home. The little log-huts in which their families lived were in daily
danger of Indian attack; and it was absolutely necessary that they
should be on hand to protect them. They were, for the most part, very
poor men, whose sole sources of livelihood were the stock they kept
beyond the mountains. They loved their country greatly, and had shown
the sincerity of their patriotism by the spontaneous way in which they
risked their lives on this expedition. They had no hope of reward; for
they neither expected nor received any pay, except in liquidated
certificates, worth two cents on the dollar. Shelby's share of these,
for his services as colonel throughout '80 and '81, was sold by him for
"six yards of middling broadcloth" [Footnote: Shelby's MS.
autobiography.]; so it can be readily imagined how little each private
got for the King's Mountain expedition. [Footnote: Among these privates
was the father of Davy Crockett.]

The day after the battle the Americans fell back towards the mountains,
fearing lest, while cumbered by prisoners and wounded, they should be
struck by Tarleton or perhaps Cruger. The prisoners were marched along
on foot, each carrying one or two muskets, for twelve hundred stand of
arms had been captured. The Americans had little to eat, and were very
tired; but the plight of the prisoners was pitiable. Hungry, footsore,
and heartbroken, they were hurried along by the fierce and boastful
victors, who gloried in the vengeance they had taken, and recked little
of such a virtue as magnanimity to the fallen. The only surgeon in
either force was Ferguson's. He did what he could for the wou