If my hand were not sure enough to draw you some speaking picture of this our epoch-marking battle of King's Mountain, it falters¹ still more on coming to the task of setting forth² the tragic³ horrors of the dreadful after-night. Wherefore I pray you will hold me excused, my dears, if I hasten over the events tripping upon the heels of the victory, touching⁵ upon them only as they touch upon my tale.  
But as for the stage-setting of the after-scene you may hold in your mind's eye the stony⁶ hilltop strewn with the dead and dying; the huddle⁷ of cowed prisoners at the wagon⁸ barricade⁹; the mountaineers, mad with the victor's frenzy¹⁰, swarming¹¹ to surround us. 'Twas a clipping from Chaos¹² and Night gone blood-crazed till Sevier and Isaac Shelby brought somewhat of order out of it; and then came the reckoning.
 
Of the seven hundred-odd prisoners the greater number were Tories, many of them red-handed from scenes of rapine in which their present captors had suffered the loss of all that men hold dear. So you will not wonder that there were knives and rifles shaken aloft, and fierce and vengeful counsels in which it was proposed to put the captives one and all to the cord and tree.
 
But now again Sevier and Shelby, seconded by the fiery¹³ Presbyterian, William Campbell, flung themselves into the breach¹⁴, pleading for delay and a fair trial for such as were blood guilty. And so the dismal¹⁵ night, made chill and comfortless by the cold wind and most doleful by the groans¹⁶ and cries of the wounded, wore away, and the dawn of the Sunday found us lying as we were in the bloody¹⁷ shambles¹⁸ of the hilltop.
 
With the earliest morning light the burial parties were at work; and since the stony battle-ground would not lend itself for the trenching, the graves were dug in the vales below. Captain de Peyster begged hard for leave to bury the brave Ferguson on the spot where he fell, but 'twas impossible; and now, I am told, the stout²⁰ old Scotsman lies side by side with our Major Will Chronicle, of Mecklenburg, who fell just before the ending of the battle.
 
The dead buried and the wounded cared for in some rough and ready fashion, preparations were made in all haste for a speedy withdrawal²¹ from the neighborhood of the battle-field. Rumor²² had it that Tarleton with his invincible²³ legion was within a few hours' march; and the mountain men, sodden²⁴ weary with the toils²⁵ of the flying advance and the hard-fought conflict, were in no fettle to cope with a fresh foe²⁶.
 
As yet I had not made myself known to the patriot²⁷ commanders, having my hands and heart full with the care of poor Tybee, who was grievously hurt, and being in a measure indifferent to what should befall me.
 
But now as we were about to march I was dragged before the committee of colonels and put to the question.
 
"Your uniform is a strange one to us, sir," said Isaac Shelby, looking me up and down with that heavy-lidded right eye of his. "Explain your rank and standing²⁹, if you please."
 
I told my story simply, and, as I thought, effectively; and had only black looks for my pains.
 
"'Tis a strange tale, surely, sir,—too strange to be believable," quoth Shelby. "You are a traitor³⁰, Captain Ireton—of the kind we need not cumber³¹ ourselves with on a march."
 
"Who says that word of me?" I demanded, caring not much for that to which his threat pointed³², but something for my good name.
 
Shelby turned and beckoned³³ to a man in the group behind him. "Stand out, John Whittlesey," he directed; and I found myself face to face with that rifleman of Colonel Davie's party who had been so fierce to hang me at the fording of the Catawba.
 
This man gave his testimony³⁵ briefly³⁶, telling but the bare truth. A week earlier I had passed in Davie's camp for a true-blue patriot, this though I was wearing a ragged²⁸ British uniform at the moment. As for the witness himself, he had misdoubted me all along, but the colonel had trusted me and had sent me on some secret mission, the inwardness of which he, John Whittlesey, had been unable to come at, though he confessed that he had tried to worm it out of me before parting company with me on the road to Charlotte.
 
I looked from one to another of my judges.
 
"If this be all, gentlemen, the man does but confirm my story," I said.
 
"It is not all," said Shelby. "Mr. Pengarvin, stand forth."
 
There was another stir in the backgrounding group and the pettifogger edged his way into the circle, keeping well out of hand-reach of me. How he had made shift to escape from Ferguson's men, to change sides, and to turn up thus serenely³⁷ in the ranks of the over-mountain men, I know not to this day, nor ever shall know.
 
"Tell these gentlemen what you have told me," said Shelby, briefly; and the factor, cool and collected now, rehearsed the undeniable facts: how in Charlotte I had figured as a member of Lord Cornwallis's military family; how I had carried my malignancy to the patriot cause to the length of throwing a stanch³⁸ friend to the commonwealth³⁹, to wit, one Owen Pengarvin, into the common jail; how, as Lord Cornwallis's trusted aide-de-camp, I had been sent with an express to Major Ferguson. Also, he suggested that if I should be searched some proof of my duplicity might be found upon me.
 
At this William Campbell nodded to two of his Virginians, and I was searched forthwith, and that none too gently. In the breast pocket of my hussar jacket they found that accursed duplicate despatch⁴¹; the one I had taken from Tybee and which had so nearly proved my undoing⁴² in the interview with Major Ferguson.
 
Isaac Shelby opened and read the accusing letter and passed it around among his colleagues.
 
"I shall not ask you why this was undelivered, sir," he said to me, sternly. "'Tis enough that it was found upon your person, and it sufficiently⁴³ proves the truth of this gentleman's accusation⁴⁴. Have you aught further to say, Captain Ireton?—aught that may excuse us for not leaving you behind us in a halter?"
 
Do you wonder, my dears, that I lost my head when I saw how completely the toils of this little black-clothed fiend had closed around me? Twice, nay⁴⁵, thrice I tried to speak calmly as the crisis demanded. Then mad rage ran away with me, and I burst out in yelling curses so hot they would surely dry the ink in the pen were I to seek to set them down here.
 
'Twas a silly thing to do, you will say, and much beneath the dignity of a grown man who cared not a bodle for his life, and not greatly for the manner of its losing. I grant you this; and yet it was that same bull-bellow of soldier profanity that saved my life. Whilst I was in the storm of it, cursing the lawyer by every shouted epithet⁴⁶ I could lay tongue to, a miracle was wrought⁴⁷ and Richard Jennifer and Ephraim Yeates pushed their way through the ever-thickening ring of onlookers⁴⁸; the latter to range himself beside me with his brown-barreled rifle in the hollow of his arm, and my dear lad to fling himself upon me in a bear's hug of joyous⁴⁹ recognition and greeting.
 
"Score one for me, Jack⁴⁰!" he cried. "We were fair at t'other end of the mountain, and 'twas I told Eph there was only one man in the two Carolinas who could swear the match of that." Then he whirled upon my judges. "What is this, gentlemen?—a court martial⁵⁰? Captain Ireton is my friend, and as true a patriot as ever drew breath. What is your charge?"
 
Colonel Sevier, in whose command Richard and the old borderer had fought in the hilltop battle, undertook to explain. I stood self-confessed as the bearer of despatches from Lord Cornwallis to Major Ferguson, he said, and I had claimed that the orders had been so altered as to delay the major's retreat and so to bring on the battle. But they had just found Lord Cornwallis's letter in my pocket, still sealed and undelivered. And the tenor⁵¹ of it was precisely⁵² opposite to that of an order calculated to delay the major's march, as Mr. Jennifer could see if he would read it.
 
While Sevier was talking, the old borderer was fumbling⁵³ in the breast of his hunting-shirt, and now he produced a packet of papers tied about with red tape.
 
"'Pears to me like you Injun-killers from t'other side o' the mounting is in a mighty⁵⁴ hot sweat to hang somebody," he said, as coolly as if he were addressing a mob of underlings. "Here's a mess o' billy-doos with Lord Cornwallis's name to 'em that I found 'mongst Major Ferguson's leavings. If you'll look 'em over, maybe you'll find out, immejitly if not sooner, that Cap'n John here is telling ye the plumb⁵⁵ truth."
 
The papers were examined hastily, and presently John Sevier lighted upon the despatch I had carried and delivered. Thereat the colonels put their heads together; and then my case was re-opened, with Sevier as spokesman.
 
"We have a letter here which appears to be the original order to Ferguson, Captain Ireton. Can you repeat from memory the postscriptum which you say was added to it?"
 
I gave the gist⁵⁷ of my old patriarch's addendum⁵⁸ as well as I could; and thereupon suspicion fled away and............