“Indeed it is,” said Marion.  “And we are fortunate, on this occasion, having company to entertain, to have more than our usual allowance.”

The officer had little more to say.  He helped himself to the rural viands, which he ate with thought for salt.  On returning to Georgetown he gave in his report, and then tendered his commission to his superior officer, saying that a people who could fight on roots for fare could not be, and ought not to be, subdued, and that he, for one, would not serve against them.

Of the exploits of Marion we can but speak briefly; they were too many to be given in detail.  His blows were so sharply dealt, in such quick succession, and at such remote points, that his foes were puzzled, and could hardly believe that a single band was giving them all this trouble.  Their annoyance culminated in their sending one of their best cavalry leaders, Colonel Wemyss, to surprise and crush the Swamp-Fox, then far from his hiding-place.  Wemyss got on Marion’s trail, and pursued him with impetuous haste.  But the wary patriot was not to be easily surprised, nor would he fight where he had no chance to win.  Northward he swiftly made his way, through swamps and across deep streams, into North Carolina.  Wemyss lost his trail, found it, lost it again, and finally, discouraged and revengeful, turned back and desolated the country from which he had driven its active defender, and which was looked on as the hot-bed of rebellion.

Marion, who had but sixty men in his band, halted the moment pursuit ceased, sent out scouts for information, and in a very short time was back in the desolated district.  The people rushed, with horse and rifle, to his ranks.  Swiftly he sped to the Black Mingo, below Georgetown, and here fell at midnight on a large body of Tories, with such vigor and success that the foe were almost annihilated, while Marion lost but a single man.

The devoted band now had a short period of rest, the British being discouraged and depressed.  Then Tarleton, the celebrated hard-riding marauder, took upon himself the difficult task of crushing the Swamp-Fox.  He scoured the country, spreading ruin as he went, but all his skill and impetuosity were useless in the effort to overtake Marion.  The patriot leader was not even to be driven from his chosen region of operations, and he managed to give his pursuer some unwelcome reminders of his presence.  At times Tarleton would be within a few miles of him, and full of hope of overtaking him before the next day’s dawn.  But, while he was thus lulled to security, Marion would be watching him from the shadows of some dark morass, and at midnight the British rear or flank would feel the sharp bite of the Swamp-Fox’s teeth.  In the end, Tarleton withdrew discomfited from the pursuit, with more hard words against this fellow, who “would not fight like a gentleman or a Christian,” than he had ever been able to give him hard blows.