96 Chronicles of the Cape Fear River

at this momentous crisis. Their movement was not that of an
irresponsible mob. It was an orderly proceeding, pursuant to a
determined plan of action, under the direction of the highest
officer of the province, who was charged with maintaining the
liberties of the people. In effect, it was the institution and
ordaining of a temporary government.

It was resolved to organize an armed force and march to
Brunswick, and Col. Hugh Waddell was invested with the com-
mand of the military. Let us pause a moment and take a view
of the situation at that critical juncture. Close to Brunswick,
in his mansion, was Governor Tryon, the representative of the
King; no coward he, but resolute, a military man of experience
and courage. In the town itself were the residences and offices
of Colonel Dry, the collector of the port, and of other officers
of the Crown. Off in the river lay the detained merchant ves-
sels and the two sloops of war, the Viper, commanded by Cap-
tian Lobb, and the Diligence, commanded by Captain Phipps,
whose bristling guns, 26 in number, securely kept them; while
Fort Johnston, some miles away, well armed with artillery, was
held by a small garrison. At every point flew the meteor flag
of Great Britain. Every point was protected by the egis of His

jesty. For a subject to lift his hand in a hostile
manner against any of these was treason and rebellion. Yes,
treason and rebellion, with the fearful punishment of attainder
and death—of being hanged and quartered.

Well might the eloquent Davis exclaim, “Beware, John Ashe!
Hugh Waddell, take heed !”” ;

Their lives, their fortunes were at hazard and the dishonored
grave was open to receive their dismembered bodies! But
patriots as they were, they did take care—not for themselves,
but for the liberties of their country. At high noon, on the 19th
day of February, the three directors, the mayor and other offi-
cers of Wilmington, the embodied soldiery, and the prominent
citizens, moved forward, crossed the river, passed like Ozsar
the fateful Rubicon, and courageously marched to the scene of
possible conflict. It was not only the Governor with whom they
had to deal, but the ships of war with their formidable batteries
that held possession of the detained vessels. It was not merelv
the penalties of the law that threatened them, but they courted
death at the cannon’s mouth, in conflict with the heavily armed
sloops of war, from whose power they had come to wrest the
merchantmen. But there was neither halt nor hesitation.

Resistance Before the Revolution 97

As they crossed the river, a chasm yawned deep and wide,
separating them from their loyal past. Behind them they left
their allegiance as loyal British subjects; before them was re-
bellion—open, flagrant war, leading to revolution. Who could
tell what the ending might be of the anticipated conflict!

There all the gentlemen of the Cape Fear were gathered, in
their cocked hats, their long queues, their knee-breeches, and
shining shoe buckles. Mounted on their well-groomed horses,
they made a famous cavaleade as they wound their way through
the somber pine forests that hedged in the highway to old Bruns-
wick. Among them was DeRosset, the mayor, in the prime of
manhood, of French descent, with keen eye, fine culture, and
high intelligence, who had been a soldier with Innes at the
North; bold and resolved was he as he rode, surrounded by
Cornelius Harnett, Frederick Gregg, John Sampson, and the
other aldermen and officers of the town.

At the head of a thousand armed men, arranged in companies
and marching in order, was the experienced soldier, Hugh Wad-

dell, not yet thirty-three years of age, but already renowned for
his capacity and courage. He had won more distinction and
honors in the late wars at the North and West than any other
Southern soldier, save only George Washington; and now in
command of his companies, officered by men who had been
trained in discipline in the war, he was confident of the issue.
Of Irish descent, and coming of a fighting stock, his blood was
up, and his heroic soul was aflame for the fray.

Surrounded by a bevy of his kinsmen, the venerable Sam and
John Swann; his brothers-in-law, James, George, and Maurice
Moore; his brother, Sam Ashe, and Alexander Lillington, whose
burly forms towered high above the others; by Howe, Davis,
Colonel Lloyd, and other gallant spirits, was the speaker, John
Ashe, now just forty-five years of age, on whom the responsi-
bility of giving directions chiefly lay. Of medium stature, well
knit, with olive complexion and a lustrous hazel eye, he was
full of nervous energy—an orator of surpassing power, of ele-
gant carriage and commanding presence. Of him Mr. Strud-
wick has said: “That there were not four men in London his
intellectual superior,” and that at a time when Pitt, Fox,
Burke, and others of that splendid galaxy of British orators and
statesmen gave lustre to British annals.

How, on this momentous occasion, the spirits of these men
and of their kinsmen and friends who gathered around, must

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