Macon Beacon

Copyrighted, 1888, by FUNK & WAGNALLS.

On a mild, hazy day in Jan'y, 1889, I was at Orangeburg, S. C. about 80 miles west of Charleston. My purpose was to visit the battle-ground of Eutaw Spring, on the right bank of the Santee river. At sunset I had traveled 30 miles. I lodged at the house of a planter, some distance from Vance's Ferry on the Santee, where I passed the evening with an intelligent and venerable woman, Mrs Buxton, eighty-four years of age. She was a maiden of 17 when the armies of Greene and Rawdon made lively times in the region of the Upper Santee, Catawba, Saluda and Broad rivers. She knew Marion and Sumter and Horry, and other less famous partisan leaders, who were frequently at her father's house on the verge of a swamp not far from the high hills of Santee.

"We were Whigs," she said. "but the Tories were so thick and cruel around us when Rawdon was at Camden, that father had to pretend to be a king's man to save his life and property. Oh, those terrible times, when one was not sure in going to bed that the house would not be burned before morning!"

Did you witness any exciting scenes of yourself?" I inquired.

"Yes, many. One in particular so stirred my young blood that I actually resolved to put on my brother Ben's clothes, take our old fowling-piece and join the Swamp Fox, as the British called Marion, and fight for freedom to call my soul my own."

"What was that event?" I asked.

"You have read, maybe," said Mrs. Buxton, how Lord Rawdon, after chasing Gen. Greene far towards the Saluda, suddenly turned back, abandoned Fort Ninety-six, in Abbeville District, and retreated toward Charleston. Greene sent Harry Lee with his light-horse to get in front of Rawdon before he should reach the ferry on the Congaree at Camden. He was anxious to call Marion and Sumter to the same point to help Lee. Sumter was then encamped a dozen miles south of our home.

The venerable woman's dark brown eyes sparkled with emotion as she proceeded with her story. She said her cousin, who was on Greene's staff at the time, told her that when the General called for a volunteer messenger to carry a letter to Sumter, not one of the soldiers offered to undertake the perilous task, for the way was swarming with Tories. Greene was perplexed. Brave and pretty Emily Geiger, the young daughter of a German planter in Fairfield district, had just arrived at headquarters with important information for the General. She rode a spirited horse with the ease and grace of a dragoon. Emily, aware of the hesitation of the soldiers and Greene's anxiety, earnestly but modestly said to the General, "May I carry the letter?"

Greene was astonished. He was unwilling to expose her to the dangers which he knew awaited any messenger, for the Tories were vigilant.

"They won't hurt a young girl I am sure, and I know the way," said Emily.

Greene's want was great, and he accepted the proffer of the important service, but with many misgivings. Fearing Emily might lose the letter on the way, he informed her of its contents, that she might deliver the message orally. She mounted her fleet horse, and with the General's blessing and cheered by the admiring officers, she rode off on a brisk gallop.

She crossed the Wateree river at Camden Ferry and pressed on toward the high hills of Santee. Emily was riding at a rapid pace through an open, dry swamp, when one of the Tory scouts who were on the watch, seized her bridle and bade her halt. With perfect composure and firm voice she demanded by what authority she was arrested. The young scout was confounded by the appearance and manner of his prisoner. He released his hold upon the bridle, when an older companion, made of sterner stuff, seized the reins and led the horse to an unoccupied house on the edge of a swamp and bade her dismount. The younger soldier gallantly assisted her to alight, and she was taken into the house. With proper delicacy the scout sent for Mrs. Buxton's mother, living a mile distant, to search Emily.

"I went with mother," said Mrs. B. "to see a woman prisoner. The door of the house was guarded by the younger scout, who was Peter Simons, son of a neighbor two miles away, and a right gallant young fellow he was. After the war he married my sister, and that youngster who took your horse where you alighted is their grandchild."

Then you saw the young prisoner?" I asked.

"Yes, and I helped mother search her. We were amazed when we saw, instead of a brazen-faced, middle-aged woman, as we supposed a spy must be, a sweet young girl about my own age, looking as innocent as a pigeon. Our sympathies were with her, but mother performed her duty faithfully. We found nothing on her person that would afford a suspicion that she was a spy. She was released by the scouts who offered her many apologies for detaining her. She had been too smart for them. While alone in the house guarded by Peter Simons she had eaten up Greene's letter piece by piece. So, secure from detection, she willingly submitted to our search, and told us frankly who she was.

"My name is Geiger-Emily Geiger," she said. "My father is a planter near Winnsborough, in Fairfield, and I am on my way to visit friends below."

Wasn't she smart?" said the old lady. "She was going to 'visit friends below'-Sumter and his men-our friends likewise, for that matter. When the scouts dismissed her we took her to our house, gave her some refreshments, and urged her to stay with us until morning. But she could not be persuaded, saying the two armies were so near it would soon become impossible to reach her friends. Peter Simons had accompanied us home and offered to escort Emily to her friends as a protector. She declined his offer and rode away, bearing our silent blessings. We saw no more of her until after the war.

Did she reach Sumter's camp in safety?" I inquired.

"Yes, and delivered Greene's message almost word for word as he had written it.

Sumter and Marion joined forces and hastened to Friday's Ferry, at Granby. Rawdon, baffled, "did not attempt to cross the Congaree, but fled before the pursuing Americans toward Orangeburg, on the Edisto."

You say you saw no more of Emily Geiger until some time after the war." I remarked. "What was her fate?"

"A happy one. She had married a rich young planter on the Congaree, named Turbeville. They had been on a visit at her father's house in Fairfield and went out of their way to visit the scene of her exploit in 1781. They had crossed the Wateree at Camden Ferry as she had done before, visited the house in which she had been searched, and rode to our house to thank my mother for her kindness on that occasion. They had with them a sweet little baby a few months old. Peter Simons was then my sister's husband and at our house. Emily stood face to face with her jailer for an hour. She freely told her story and owned that she was much startled when Peter seized her bridle, but she controlled her feelings. She told us of her dinner on Greene's dispatch, and thought how silly the young scout was in leaving her alone in the house while he guarded the door on the outside. Peter wasn't much of a Tory, and we all rejoiced that a kind Providence had protected Emily from detection.

…The ways of God are mysterious," said the venerable matron, laying her hand on my knee. "Peter's son married Emily's daughter-the sweet little baby she brought to our house -and their son owns a plantation a few miles from here."

Benson J. Lossing, LL.D.