Archibald and Jordan Lacy, sons of Nathaniel Lacy, were
soldiers in the Virginia Militia during the Revolutionary War. The
following historical account of one battle was in a hand-written book of
William Jesse Camp.
Known as Gates' defeat, on August 1 l, 1779 at ten o'clock at night the
English Army began to advance in two columns. Not knowing the plans of the
British commander, General Gates resolved to move against the English and
at the same hour left his position and in dead silence came hurrying on
through the gloom. The muffled tread of the advancing battalions, the
stifled words of command, and the low rumbling of artillery wagons, as the
two unsuspecting armies rapidly approached each other, were the only
sounds that accompamed their march.
They toiled on silently for four hours, when suddenly at two o'clock in
the morning the advance guard of the British found themselves on the head
of the American column. The dark mass wound backward til lost in the
gloom, but the British boldly advanced to the attack.
Midnight was suddenly illumined by flashes of musketry and in their
transcient light as far as the eye could see, the fields were filled with
marching columns of cavalry. Flash followed flash in quick succession, and
those two armies looked like huge black monsters in the gloom, spitting
forth fire from their mouths on each other. Suddenly, as if by mutual
consent, the uproar ceased and the darkness again mantled the hosts and
silence rested on the scene. Both generals, unwilling to hazard a
nocturnal combat, had resolved to wait for daylight to uncover their
respective positions. The troops stood to their arms through the night.
Gates called a council of war. The brave DeKalb wisely advised a retreat
to their position at Rugely's Mills and there await the attack of the
enemy. Gates overuled this opinion and, carried away by some strange
infatuation, resolved to give battle in his present position, though
hemmed in between two swamps where his superiority of numbers would give
him no advarnage in flank movements and everything must depend on the
firmness of the opposing columns.
The road ran between the two marshes. Cornwallis divided his army in two
portions, stretched one from the road to the swamps on the right, and the
other from the road on the left, the artillery forming the connecting
link. Behind each of these masses stood battalion as rear guard, while
Tarleton's legion sat on their horses a little to the right of the road to
take advantage of circumstances.
Gates divided his forces into three columns, the center one commanded by
Caswell in the road and the other two, led by Stevens and Gist, on either
side. The Continental troops of De1aware and Maryland composed the
reserve, while Armand's cavalry were placed opposite Tarleton's legion.
Thus the two armies stood.
When the warm August morning broke over the scene, a death-like calmness
rested on the fields. Not a breath of air was abroad, the leaves hung
motionless on their stems, and a summer haze veiled the sky and gave to
the sun a bloodshot appearance as it rolled slowly into view. The Amencans
looked calmly on the dense masses of scarlet uniforms before them and
would doubtless have met the shock firmly, but for the downright madness
of their general. Not exactly liking his order of battle, he endeavored to
change the position of the left and center columns, right in the presence
and within striking distance of his wary foe. He opened his columns and
began to execute a movement with his undisciplined militia.
A smile passed over the face of Cornwallis when he saw it and he
immediately ordered the right division to charge. Those undisciplined
troops were modulating on the field in their slow effort to close up their
ranks again, when the artillery opened upon them and the rapidly advancing
columns poured a most destructive fire into their very faces.
They made a feeble effort to rally, when the Virginians broke and fled.
In a moment the field was in an uproar. The artillery on both sides began
to play furiously, while from the swamp it was one flash and peal of
musketry as the two armies advanced on each other.
The smoke of battle would not rise in the dull air, but settled down on
the field, and folded heavily on the contending columns.
The separate portions of the Armies thus became hid from each other, and
shouted and charged through the smoke, ignorant of the state of the
conflict about thern. Amid the intervals of the thunder of artillery and
over the rattle of musketry, strains of martial music struggled up through
the sulphurous cloud and all was confusion and uncertainty. But the two
columns, assailed in the process of formation, could not recover their
order and rapidly crumbled away and at 1ast began to stagger back in a
broken mass over the ffeld. Tarleton, seeing the favorable moment, ordered
a charge to sound. The blast of the bugles sent terror through disordered
ranks and the next moment the fierce riders were among them, trampling
down the fugitives without mercy.
All was now lost; the ruined army rolled backwards, and uncovered the
reserves of Continentel troops standing firm as a wall of iron in their
places. Letting the disordered tide of batt1e flow past them, as the rock
the waters, they closed on the advancing battalions. DeKalb, the brave,
the noble DeKalb, towered on foot at their head, with his drawn sword in
his hand, while his hoarse shout was heard even above the uproar of
theconflict.
Over the piles of dead bodies that obstructed his way, through the
terrible fire that wasted his ranks, he led his galant band to the charge,
and fell in such desperate valor on the enemy, that inch by inch they
forced them back. The Britlsh rushed on at the point of the bayonet
mingled in rapid intermediate volleys; but those resolute troops never
shook, though rapidly crumbling away before the overwhelming fire that
smote them.
Again and again did the calm stern voice of DeKalb carry them to the
charge with terrible impetuosity, and three times in succession did they
close sternly on the bayonet.
But the whole right wing of the English now left the pursuit of the
fugitives and turned suddenly upon DeKalb and his brave Continentals.
Enveloped in fire and smoke, fast melting away, the heroic band could not
save the battle, but they could save the hour of the flag that waved over
them.
Turning furiously on those fresh battalions that crowded upon them, they
cleared a terrible path for themselves and stood a blazing citadel on the
lost and bloody field.
Amid their thinned ranks Tarleton's cavalry now came at a fierce gallop
and DeKalb saw that his hour had come. Shot after shot had struck him, and
the blood was pouring from his side in streams, yet animated by that
spirit which has made the hero in every age, he rallied his men for a last
charge, and led them at the point of the bayonet on the dense rank
Striking a bayonet from his breast, and laying the grenadier that held it
dead at his feet, he pressed forward and in the very act of cheering on
his men, fell with the blood gushing from eleven wounds. His aides
immediately covered him with their bodies, exclaiming, "Save the
Baron DeKalb. Save the Baron DeKalb." Extract from J. T.
Headley's book.
Archibald Lacy and his brother Jordan fought in this battle and made
their escape after DeKalb's fa11. Often they told of the fearful carnage.
They escaped into the swamp and were so hard pressed by tbe redcoats that
they lay in the water under the logs that their pursuers were walking
upon. They breathed through quills that they carried for drinking from
streams.