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Mary (Hooks) Slocumb 1760 ~ 1836
If a plain, unvarnished narrative of the sayings and doings of
the actors in other Revolutionary times, those unknown by name
save in the neighborhood where they lived, could by some
miraculous means be gathered and published, it would surpass in
thrilling interest any romance ever written. And one of the most
remarkable chapters of such a volume undoubtedly would be the
career of Mary Slocumb. Her maiden name was Hooks and she was
born in North Carolina in 1760. When she was about ten years
old, her father moved into a region called Goshen, famous for
years in North Carolina for the frank simplicity of its
inhabitants and for their profuse and generous hospitality. Here
were nurtured some of the noblest spirits of the Revolution. The
constant presence of the Loyalists and Tories in the
neighborhood and their depredations called for vigilance as well
as bravery. Sometimes the barn or dwelling of an unfortunate
Whig wrapped in flames lighted up the darkness; sometimes his
fate was to be hung to a sapling and not infrequently similar
atrocities were in like manner avenged upon the aggressors.
Accustomed to hear of such things and inured to scenes of
danger, it is not to be wondered at that the gay and sprightly
Mary Hooks should acquire a degree of masculine energy and
independence with many really manly accomplishments, all of
which stood her in good stead in the days to follow when her
strength as well as her spirit were tried as the wife of a
fighting patriot. Soon after the removal of the family to
Goshen, her mother died and in 1777 her father married the widow
of John Charles Slocumb, whose eldest son, Ezekiel Slocumb,
eventually took her as an eighteen-year-old bride to his large
plantation on the Neuse. To prevent and punish the frequent
incursions of the Tories, her husband joined a troop of
light-horse who, acting on their own responsibility, performed
the duty of scoots, scouring the country wherever they had
notice of any necessity for their presence. In these prolonged
absences, young Mary Slocumb took the entire charge of the
plantation. She used to say laughingly that she had done in
those perilous times all that a man ever did, except "mauling
rails" and to take away even that exception she went out one day
and split a few!
While her husband was away on one of his excursions. General
Tarleton and a large division of the British army took
possession of his plantation, and the young wife was torn with
anxiety lest Lieutenant Slocumb, who was known to be somewhere
in the vicinity, should return to his home all unsuspecting and
walk into the enemy's ambush. Yet her conduct betrayed none of
this; with splendid dignity, rare in one so young, she received
these invaders of her home and she addressed herself immediately
to preparing a dinner of much elaborateness for the uninvited
guests, but dispatching in secret a messenger to warn the
American scouts.
Before the messenger could discover Lieutenant Slocumb's
whereabouts in the wood, a party of British soldiers, whom
Tarleton had sent out to reconnoiter, blundered upon the
American scouters and in the skirmish that ensued, the sounds of
which were heard with sinking heart by Mrs. Slocumb, more than
half the British company was shot down, and suddenly, before the
astonished British officers and the terrified wife, the owner of
the plantation dashed into sight in hot pursuit of the
retreating Tory who had been in command of the British troop.
Mrs. Slocumb's messenger, an old Negro, known as "Big George,"
sprang directly in front of his horse, shouting
"Hold on, massa, de debbil here. Look you!'
The imprudent young officer at once perceived the peril into
which he had ridden. A gesture from his wife indicated the great
encampment of some eleven hundred men in occupancy of his
plantation and, quick as thought, he dashed down the avenue
directly towards the house, calling the few Americans who were
with him. On reaching the garden fence, a rude structure formed
of a kind of lath and called a wattle fence, they leaped that
and the next, amid a shower of balls, crossed a stream at one
tremendous leap and scoured away across an open field and were
in the shelter of the wood before their pursuers could clear the
fence of the enclosure. A platoon had begun the pursuit but the
trumpets sounded the recall before the flying Americans had
crossed the stream, for the presence of mind and lofty language
of the heroic wife had convinced the British Colonel that the
daring men who so fearlessly dashed into his camp were supported
by a formidable force near at hand. Had Mrs. Slocumb not so
diplomatically concealed the truth, and the fugitives pursued,
nothing could have prevented the destruction not only of the
four who fled but the rest of the pitifully slender company of
American scouts on the other side of the plantation.
As Tarleton walked into the house, he observed to the brave
woman: "Your husband made us a short visit, madam, I should have
been happy to make his acquaintance.''
"I have little doubt," replied the wife, "that you will meet
again the gentleman and he will thank you for the polite
treatment you have afforded his wife!"
The Colonel mumbled an apology that necessity compelled them to
occupy her property, but it is worthy of remark that he removed
his troops before long and when the British army broke up their
encampment at her plantation, a sergeant was ordered by Colonel
Tarleton to stand in the door till the last soldier had gone
out, to insure protection to a woman whose noble spirit had
inspired him with the most profound respect
The most remarkable occurrence in the career of this patriotic
wife was the dream which led to her being the heroine of the
battle at Moore's Creek, one of the bloodiest battles of the
Revolution. Her husband, now Colonel Slocumb, was accustomed to
dwell lightly on the gallant part borne by himself in that
memorable action but he would give abundant praise to his
associates, and he would add:
"My wife was there" She was indeed; but the story is best told
in her own words.
"The troop left from this house with my husband Sunday morning
and they got off in high spirits; every man stepping high and
light I slept soundly and quietly that night and worked hard all
the next day, but I kept thinking where they got to, how far;
when and how many Tories they would meet and all that, I could
not keep myself from the study, and when I went to bed at the
usual time I could not sleep for it. As I lay, whether waking or
sleeping I know not, I had a dream; yet it was not all a dream.
I saw distinctly a body wrapped in my husband's guard cloak,
bloody dead; and other dead and wounded all about him. I uttered
a cry and sprang to my feet, and so strong was the impression on
my mind that I rushed in the direction in which the vision
appeared and came up against the side of the house. Seated on
the bed I reflected a few moments; then said aloud: I must go to
him.' I told my woman that I could not sleep and would ride down
the road, and although she appeared in great alarm, I reassured
her, telling her merely to lock the door after me and look after
my little child. I went to the stable, saddled my mare, and in
one minute we were tearing down the road at full speed. Again
and again I was tempted to turn back. I was soon ten miles from
home and my mind became stronger every mile I rode. That I
should find my husband dead or dying was as firmly my
presentiment and conviction as any fact of my life. When day
broke I was thirty miles from home. I knew the general route our
little army was to take and followed them without hesitation.
Again I was skimming over the ground through a country thinly
settled but neither my spirit nor my beautiful nag's failed in
the least. We followed the well-marked trail of the troops.
"The sun must have been well up, say eight or nine o'clock, when
I heard a sound like thunder which I knew must be a cannon. I
stopped still; when presently the cannon thundered again, I
spoke to my mare and dashed on in the direction of the fighting,
and the shots and shouts now grew louder than ever. The blind
path I had been following brought me into the Wilmington road
leading to Moore's Creek Bridge a few hundred yards below the
bridge, and a little distance from the road were lying perhaps
twenty men. They were all wounded.
Suddenly I knew the spot; the very trees and the position of the
men I knew as if I had seen it a thousand times. I had seen it
all night, it was my dream come true. In an instant my whole
soul was centered upon one spot, for there, wrapped in his
bloody guard-cloak, was, I was sure, my husband's body. I
remember uncovering the head and seeing a face clothed with
blood from a dreadful wound across the temple. I put my hand on
the bloody face, and found it warm, but suddenly an unknown
voice begged for water.
A small camp-kettle was lying near and a stream of water was
nearby. I brought it; poured some in his mouth; washed his face
and behold it was Frank Cogdell, not my husband. He soon revived
and could speak, and as I washed the wound in his head he said:
'It is not that; it is that hole in my leg that is killing me.'
I took his knife, cut away his trousers and stocking and found
that the blood came from a shot-hole through and through the
fleshy part of his leg. I looked about and could see nothing
that looked as if it would do for dressing wounds but
heart-leaves, so I gathered a handful and bound them tight to
the holes, and the bleeding stopped.
I then went to the others and dressed the wounds of many a brave
fellow who did good fighting long after that day. When the
General appeared, he seemed very much surprised and was with his
hat in his hand about to pay me some compliment when I
interrupted him by asking: 'Where is my husband?' 'Where he
ought to be, madam, in pursuit of the enemy. But pray,' said he,
how came you here?'
"Oh, I thought,' replied I, 'you would need nurses as well as
soldiers. See! I have already dressed many of these good
fellows, and there is one' going to Frank Cogdell and lifting
him up with my arm under his head so that he could drink some
more water, 'who would have died before any of you men could
have helped him.'
'"I believe you,' said Frank. Just then I looked up and, my
husband as bloody as a butcher and as muddy as a ditcher, stood
before me.
"Why Mary," he exclaimed. 'What are you doing there? Hugging
Frank Cogdell, the greatest reprobate in the army?'
"I don't care,' I cried. 'Frank is a brave fellow, a good
soldier and a true friend to Congress.'
"'True, true, every word of it,' said the General with the
lowest kind of a bow.
"I would not tell my husband of my dream that had brought me; I
was so happy, and so were all. It was a glorious victory. I knew
my husband was surprised but I could see he was not displeased
with me. It was night again before our excitement had at all
subsided. But in the middle of the night I again mounted my mare
and started for home. The General and my husband wanted me to
stay until the next morning and they would send a party with me;
but no, I wanted to see my child and I told them they could send
no party that could keep up with me! What a happy ride I had
back. And with what joy did I embrace my child as he ran to meet
me."
In these days of railroads and steam, it can scarcely be
credited that a woman actually rode alone in the night through a
wild, unsettled country, a distance, going and coming of a
hundred and twenty-five miles; and in less than forty hours and
without any interval of rest. Yet such was the feat of Mary
Slocumb, and such was the altogether natural manner of relating
her heroic deed, that it is as a modern woman might speak of
having attended a social function of a somewhat exciting nature.
Of course, there are various explanations to be offered for the
vision that produced an impression so powerful as to determine
this resolute wife upon her nocturnal expedition to the
battlefield, but the idea of danger to her husband which
banished sleep, was sufficient to call up the illusion to her
excited imagination.
Mrs. Slocumb possessed a strong and original mind, a commanding
intellect and clear judgment which she retained unimpaired to
the time of her death. Her characteristic fortitude in the
endurance of bodily pain, so great that it seemed absolute
stoicism, should be noticed. In her seventy-second year she was
afflicted with a cancer on her hand which the surgeon informed
her must be removed with a knife. At the time appointed for the
operation, she protested against being held by the assistants,
telling the surgeon: "It was his business to cut out the cancer;
she would take care of the arm," and bracing her arm on the
table, she never moved a muscle nor uttered a groan during the
operation.
At the age of seventy-six, on the sixth of March, 1836, she sank
quietly to rest in the happy home on the plantation "Pleasant
Green," where all these exciting scenes and stirring events of
the Revolution had taken place.
Women of
America
Source: The Part Taken by Women in
American History, By Mrs. John A. Logan, Published by The Perry-Nalle
Publishing Company, Wilmington, Delaware, 1912.
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