Nearly 5,000 come to Cowpens to mark battle's 225th anniversary

On Jan. 17, 1781, Patriot skirmishers waited quietly in the woods. Lt. Col. Banastre Tarleton and the redcoats moved forward toward Brig. Gen. Daniel Morgan's men.

Tarleton didn't see the skirmishers ahead, awaiting his advance. By the time the British colonel realized he was in the company of rebels, his men were under fire.

The infamous Battle of Cowpens occurred 225 years ago, and nearly 5,000 people, came to Cowpens National Battlefield on Saturday to celebrate its anniversary.

Many stood in line to be transported to the very site where the re-enactment of the British defeat would be showcased.

But Mother Nature gave her own dose of "Tarleton's quarter," when blistering winds and 40-degree temperatures whipped across the faces of spectators.

However, many red-faced fans of the re-enactment experience fought through the chilly weather to get up close and personal with one of the Revolutionary War's most notorious battles.

Enduring the chilly temperatures and 40 mph wind gusts reemphasized the appreciation some of the re-enactors had for the Revolutionary War soldiers.

Tim Foster, a militiaman re-enactor and self-proclaimed history buff, said he and other re-enactors endured the weather and marched for more than four miles to reach the battle site.

"We were just cold all over," the 52-year-old said. "We're trying to empty cartridges with numb hands. You just have no dexterity."

Though the re-enactors can never fully grasp the realities of what the soldiers experienced, they try to assume their roles to their best abilities, Foster said.

"They mirror these guys, except some of us are considerably heavier," he said with a chuckle.

Foster mentioned that many of the re-enactors failed to eat before the battle and like the soldiers of the war, they made due with what they had.

"I had some dried apricots and I'd pass them down the line," he said. "Some had beef jerky or pieces of bread."

While the soldier re-enactors tried to keep themselves nourished, the women participants watched from the sidelines while trying to keep warm.

The women were generally considered "baggage," according to 28-year re-enactor veteran, Diane Miller.

The Cleveland native said that the conditions on Saturday were nothing compared to what the soldiers of yesteryear experienced.

"This makes you appreciate this all the more," she said. "They may kill someone for sure, but then they (the re-enactors) can go to their hotel room afterwards."

Miller's 24-year-old daughter, Stephanie, said that she had been involved with re-enacting with her mother when she was as young as 7 weeks old.

"She missed the 200th anniversary of Yorktown because I was being born," she said.

When asked why she remained embedded in the world of war re-enactment, she said: "Re-enacting makes it more real to you. To me it's not just a dry, history book."

Though the Revolutionary War lasted for nearly two decades, the Battle of Cowpens was one of the war's major turning points.

Though outnumbered, Morgan used a combination of militiamen and rebel soldiers to go head-to-head with "Bloody Tarleton" and his men.

That day at Cowpens, Morgan dealt a heavy blow to the British. Tarleton lost 110 men, along with 830 captured.

It is arguably one of the most important contributions to the Patriots overall victory.

It's historic facts like these that encourage parents like Nancy and Brian Aiken to bring their four children to the Cowpens re-enactment.

"I want my kids to be able to learn history and realize that it won't that long ago," the father said.

Aiken's daughter, Hope, said she learned a lot from the re-enactments. "Now I know how hard it is," the 11-year-old said. "Especially how they had to suffer in the cold."

There may have been more historical facts Hope's parents wanted her to learn, but it's kids like Hope that encourage re-enactors like Foster to participate every year.

Foster said it's all about "spending our money and our time to make sure that those little kids know what happened and know the metal of what these people were made of."

"It's the highest form of honor to give those in the Revolutionary War," he said.

And more from the same site:

Detested Tarleton bloodied at Cowpens ALEXANDER MORRISON, Staff Writer View larger image

Lt. Col. Banastre Tarleton "Bloody" Banastre Tarleton -- the butcher of men, the purported ravisher of women, the most hated man in the South -- was in for a whipping at the Cowpens Battlefield.

He would later write seemingly in disbelief about the crippling blow Gen. Daniel Morgan's troops dealt his legion when the Patriots halted their retreat, turned and fired a devastating volley at the pursuing British.

"An unaccountable panic extended itself along the whole line," Tarleton wrote.

"Neither promises nor threats could gain their attention. They surrendered or dispersed."

When Tarleton returned to England in 1781, he published his account of the American Revolution's Southern Campaign. He was doing damage control, trying to save a plummeting career.

Most in the British Army blamed Tarleton for the defeat at Cowpens -- the only time in the American Revolution that Patriot forces clearly defeated the British in traditional open combat.

Before a subsequent engagement, some officers refused to fight under Tarleton, drawing up a remonstrance and presenting it to Lord Charles Cornwallis, the chief British commander in North America, because of the mess Tarleton had made of Cowpens.

"Colonel Tarleton has no merit as an officer -- only that bravery that every grenadier has -- but is a butcher and a barbarian," observed a French commander.

After the British surrender at Yorktown, a story has it that Tarleton was riding a superb horse

through town when an American stopped him and demanded that he dismount. The American took the horse as his own and rode off. Tarleton stood in a cloud of dust.

This is what had become of the scourge of the Carolinas.

Tarleton (1754-1833) joined the British Army in 1775 by purchasing the rank of cornet, the lowest commissioned officer in the British Army. At the time, young men purchased their military commissions and then advanced on merit.

Tarleton was generally described as stocky and powerfully built -- an excellent and ultra-aggressive horseman.

He rose rapidly through the ranks in the early years of the American Revolution so that he commanded the British Cavalry during the redcoats' southern campaign. He was 26 years old at the Battle of Cowpens.

He was known for his relentless pursuit of the enemy. On more than one occasion, Tarleton's Legion caught the Patriots by surprise after hard riding. A string of early victories, including Monck's Corner and Camden, prompted Cornwallis to repeatedly write that Tarleton was an outstanding cavalry officer.

Tarleton was not shy about accepting praise or of praising himself:

"In one word, the indefatigable perseverance of the British light troops (he commanded) obtained them a most brilliant advantage when their hopes and strength were nearly exhausted," he wrote of one successful engagement.

While he was known for his effectiveness, Tarleton was famous for his cruelty.

"They refused my terms and I have cut 170 officers and men to pieces," Tarleton wrote Cornwallis of the Battle of Waxhaws, where his forces completely broke the American lines with a daring cavalry charge. Tarleton took but 53 prisoners.

After Waxhaws, Tarleton became "Bloody Tarleton" or "Bloody Ban." The expression "Tarleton's Quarter," meaning no quarter, came into vogue among Patriots, though many on both sides lived by such a code.

To be fair, Tarleton's horse was killed during the Waxhaws cavalry charge, and he may have had trouble restraining his men without the advantage of a mount.

The American Revolution was an extraordinarily brutal conflict, and the Patriots committed atrocities of their own, later massacring Loyalists at the battle of King's Mountain.

Still, in a war filled with cruelty, Tarleton's behavior stuck out, even drawing criticism from his own commander.

"I must recommend it to you in the strongest manner to use your utmost endeavors to prevent the troops under your command from committing irregularities, and I am convinced that my recommendation will have weight when I assure you that such conduct will be highly agreeable to the commander in chief," Cornwallis wrote Tarleton after reports of Tarleton's Legion reached him.

Tarleton was equally aggressive at Cowpens, marching his legion in pursuit of Morgan beginning at 3 a.m. on the day of the battle, giving them no rest before attacking. Tarleton was so eager to begin the fight that he ordered his main line to advance before all his officers had been positioned.

Most agree it was Morgan's brilliant tactics not Tarleton's impatience that decided the battle.

Tarleton's military reputation tanked after Cowpens, as the many officers who resented him for his rapid promotion now had reason to criticize.

Ten days after the battle, Tarleton wrote Cornwallis, asking to retire and for a court martial to determine who was responsible for the defeat at Cowpens.

Cornwallis refused both requests, telling him that the defeat was not his fault.

Tarleton would eventually try to shift some of the blame for defeat onto Cornwallis for not offering closer support from the main army.

Later, Tarleton would also blame his troops for his loss at Cowpens. Their method of forming up in America -- only two deep -- made them liable to panic, he claimed. He also wrote of their "total misbehavior" on the day of battle.

Lt. Roderick McKenzie, who was captured at Cowpens, was not impressed by Tarleton's explanations, pointing out that if the commander did not like the way his men formed up, he could have ordered them into a different formation.

"I leave to Lieutenant Colonel Tarleton all the satisfaction which he can enjoy from relating that he led a number of brave men to destruction and then used every effort in his power to damn their fame with posterity," McKenzie wrote in response to Tarleton's papers on the southern campaign.

After Cowpens, Tarleton did redeem himself to a degree, leading the cavalry in the narrow British victory at Guilford Courthouse.

He rode at the head of his men, despite having his right arm in a sling -- his hand had been shot earlier in the engagement. After the battle, a surgeon amputated his index and middle fingers.

Tarleton was ridiculed in some circles when he returned to London after the war, but in others he was the toast of the town.

He hung out with the Prince of Wales and took the popular actress and author Mary Robinson, known as "Perdita," as his mistress.

He stayed in the army and served in the British House of Commons for two decades. He was promoted to general in 1812 and was knighted in 1816, but despite his requests, he never saw action after returning from his campaign in America.

Tarleton died Jan. 16, 1833, the day before the anniversary of the battle of Cowpens.

Alexander Morrison can be reached at 562-7215 or alex.morrison@shj.com.

Sources consulted for this article included Michael Pearson's "Those Damned Rebels," John Buchanan's "The Road to Guilford Courthouse," Robert D. Bass's "The Green Dragoon" and Banastre Tarleton's "Campaigns of 1780-1781 in Southern America.

Lt. Col. Banastre Tarleton

Two shots. Make them count.

Photo: JOHN BYRUM

The Virginia Continental Army stands ready to march into battle as a British soldier lies "dead" on the field during the re-enactment of the Battle of Cowpens Saturday afternoon.

EDITOR'S NOTE: The following first-person account is an interpretation of what could have happened at the Battle of Cowpens on Jan. 17, 1781, based on research of the event. Efforts have been made to keep this story historically accurate, though some points could be open to academic debate.

Two shots.

Forget everything that came before. Forget the last few minutes that felt like an eternity.

Two shots.

That's all he asked for, all the Old Wagoner wanted.

Give 'em to him. We showed those Georgia boys who's ready to fight.

Two shots.

Never mind that mother back home already buried one son -- one who had been fighting alongside the Tories, no less. Never mind that my fellow militiamen and I weren't properly trained, but somehow ended up on the front line here at the Cowpens. We survived that -- for now, anyway. Never mind that we were going up against "Bloody" Tarleton.

The early-morning gray had finally faded. I can see clearly now the red and green uniforms of Tarleton's men -- clearly even through the fog of my breath.

Two shots.

Aim for the officers.

Wait until they're 50 yards away, the general said. We owe Daniel Morgan that much. Remember, he's back there somewhere, to our rear. Watching. Planning. Concentrate. It's just like defending the harvest from Cherokee-raiding parties back home.

My finger trembles against the trigger as the mounted British infantrymen break into a charge.

Road to the Cowpens

The night before had been especially cold, but at least we'd been fed. I doubt Morgan slept all night.

It was the 16th of January, 1781.

We rested and warmed ourselves by the campfire with anxious anticipation. The march from Thicketty Creek had taken a toll on us, the already poor road nothing but mud.

Morgan made rounds to the various contingents of men, stopping at each fire and repeating his plan for today.

I heard him several times as I woke through the night -- going over the attack from start to finish each time some new militia arrived.

He praised our marksmanship, and skill with the rifle. (My brother had taught me how to shoot at a young age while growing up in Rutherford County, N.C.) Morgan also told us that when we are free, "how the old folks will bless you, and the girls kiss you for your gallant conduct."

We liked that part.

The general laughed with us and traded stories of victory -- on the battlefield and with the fairer sex. One man from another unit said someone helped raise his shirt to show scars he'd received from a British lashing about 25 years ago.

He talked about how good it would to beat "Ben" or "Benny." He used those names when talking down about British Lt. Col. Banastre Tarleton.

After Morgan left, we exchanged our feelings on how long that glory had been coming.

It would feel good.

We'd asked for this, asked to serve under Morgan, after all.

It felt nice to triumph at Kings Mountain, and equally good to learn of the death of the "Bull Dog," the British officer in charge of the loyalists there.

We had served under Col. Charles McDowell at that battle, though the colonel eventually had to turn our unit over to his brother, Joseph, a major, because he was summoned by his superiors.

So, here we are: Maj. Joseph McDowell's band of hearty, bloodied men, tired of war and badly in need of regular nourishment.

Gen. Morgan picked a good spot to camp, ripe with a few unlucky calves to fill our hollow bellies.

The smell of roasting beef drifted through the black night so breakfast would be quick in the morning. The ground was still damp here from the rain that'd plagued us for weeks.

Sleep came easy last night.

Pleasant dreams did not.

The battle begins

Morgan lived for this. You could almost hear it in his voice.

"Boys, get up! Benny's coming!"

It was still dark. Did that madman Tarleton march his men through the night?

Thank God for our scouts. No one likes to be ambushed.

We ate quickly and rushed into the formation Morgan had drilled into our heads the night before.

It was cold. We slapped our hands together to keep them warm. We wouldn't have to do that for long.

Lt. Col. John Eager Howard's Continental soldiers and the hardened militiamen from Georgia and Virginia set up a line on a small hill. About 150 yards down stood Col. Andrew Pickens' South Carolina militia. You'd find us another 150 yards ahead, me and the rest of McDowell's men on one side of the road with a comparable number of Georgians under Maj. Charles Cunningham on the other.

As we formed the line, Morgan's voice boomed.

"Let me see which are most entitled to the credit of brave men, the boys of Carolina or those of Georgia," he shouted.

He rode off to address the other lines and Lt. Col. William Washington's cavalry, which was stationed in the back. I can hear him slap his hand and invoke past battles -- Saratoga, for instance -- as he speaks to them.

Washington's horsemen better be ready when we need them. Some of the men look nervously around for a quick way out in case they decide they've had enough of the battle. Morgan had warned us that fleeing would only invite death.

The fight is fast approaching now.

The first rays of sunshine are greeted with the first hints of British uniforms on the edge of the wooded area we faced.

I twitch uncomfortably when the light shines back, reflecting off their bayonets.

One hundred and fifty yards is a long ways away -- especially if you're cocking a rifle, taking aim, firing, reloading, and generally trying not to get killed by the bloodthirsty bunch rushing at you.

"Pop!"

"Pop-pop!"

At least 15 fall from our first volley.

We fire at the initial wave of British attackers, and then slowly drift into formation with Pickens line.

Slowly. One hundred fifty yards.

I don't have time to notice how little difference each step seems to make.

Load. Aim. Fire. Inch closer to Pickens' line.

Don't get killed.

Where are Washington's cavalry?

The march only lasts a few minutes, but no one will ever convince me of that. By the time we reached Pickens' line, it felt like noon and we'd had a full days' fighting under our belts.

Don't think about that now.

Concentrate. It's time for the next part of Morgan's grand plan.

Two shots.

The second line

We'd made it, but that was worth little comfort.

They're still shooting at us, coming at us. I can hear their drums and the shrill pitch of the fife. I can hear the fire in their voices when Bloody Tarleton gives the order to advance.

"They give us the British halloo, boys," Morgan shouted. "Give them the Indian whoop!"

Two shots.

We'll get 'em.

"Don't fire, don't fire!" our officers screamed.

I know I'm not the only one who's ready to shoot and run. We'd been told to wait until we saw the whites of their eyes.

"Pop!"

Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but the Crown seems to lose more men than us Patriots with every exchange of bullets.

I don't know if everyone got off two shots before we began falling back to join the Continentals. They'd left gaps for us. We were to regroup behind them.

"Boom!"

The British cannons were firing regularly now.

I hear someone scream nearby and wonder if I knew him. I wonder if he told Morgan about his sweetheart last night around whichever campfire the general greeted him at.

"Pop!"

That's two. Turn and run.

Nothing's worse than being on the losing end of a bayonet fight.

The retreat had been expertly executed -- at first. By the time I fire my second shot, though, many militiamen had simply begun to run.

Chaos ensued.

Inspiration

Washington's cavalry was off to one side fighting British dragoons.

The main line advanced.

Our instructions had been to fall back, not abandon ship. After the last half-hour, though, many militiamen decided the latter sounded better.

Morgan stopped most of them. Maybe all.

He drew his sword and shouted: "Form, form my brave fellows! Old Morgan was never beaten."

The rally would lead us to another victory.

Morgan was everywhere.

At least, he seemed to be.

At one point, he rushed over to one side of Howard's line, to a contingent of men apparently confused by an order. Seconds later, it seemed, he was off to the left of the approaching redcoats, apparently giving some signal to Washington's cavalry. Immediately, he was back with us.

And as the British fell into disarray, he galloped across the main line of Regulars.

"Face about boys! Give them one good fire, and victory is ours," Morgan shouted.

Our cavalry moved to the left, and my fellow militiamen and I flanked the right. The center line held.

We had them all but surrounded.

"Tarleton's quarter! Tarleton's quarter!"

Our men screamed as if drunk on the approaching victory. As much as we wanted to show no mercy, to give "Benny" a taste of his own medicine, Morgan had been adamant that enemy surrenders were to be accepted.

On the far edge of the field, Washington personally clashed swords with Tarleton, though the hated commander escaped.

He rode off with his fleeing men, firing behind him.

When Benny stopped shooting, we welcomed the silence.

I wonder if we'll find that glory Morgan spoke of when we return home.

I wonder if anyone will remember the Cowpens at all.

Based on original research in Don Higginbotham's "Daniel Morgan: Revolutionary Rifleman;" John Buchanan's "The Road to Guilford Courthouse;" Lawrence E. Babits' "A Devil of a Whipping: The Battle of Cowpens;" with consultation from the Palmetto Conservation Foundation's George Fields.

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