My quadruple Great Grandparents Thomas and Susanna (Harrington)
Hightower were living on the Tygar River near Spartanburg, South Carolina in
1780. Having heard the plea for additional manpower, Thomas joined Colonel
Benjamin Roebuck’s Colonial Regiment. While he was away on military duty, a
militia group referred to as Tories, those American colonists loyal to the King
of England, stormed the Hightower homestead and burst into my ancient grandmother’s
house.
Following is an account I have written based on the events
of that evening:
Susanna had been helping her son, John, with a particularly
long word from his reader, and content that he had mastered one page and moved
on to the next, she sat down in her rocking chair by the fire.
Suddenly the front wooden door flew open. Even in the midst
of this terrible war, custom won out and she had forgotten to lock the door.
Standing before her were eight heavily armed men, wearing an all-too familiar,
but hated uniform. Susanna screamed for the children to run to the cellar. She
realized that this rude intrusion was certainly no courtesy call.
Grandmother Hightower immediately recognized the leader of this
band of traitors to the cause of independence. Bill Cunningham was an unusually
handsome man, but known far and wide for his viciousness and unyielding
retribution. It was not for no reason he had been nicknamed “Bloody Bill,” a
name he apparently relished.
When the major addressed her by name, Susanna felt a shiver creep
slowly up her spine, and she felt faint.
“Mrs. Hightower. You needn’t be afraid. We’re
not here to hurt you. Answer a question, and we’ll be on our way, and leave you
and your children alone.”
Somehow Susanna doubted the sincerity of his words.
“I know your husband has joined that vagabond
band of misfits who are determined to put an end to everything we hold dear in
these colonies. Well, Ma’am, we’re not going to let that happen.”
My grandmother started to speak,
“Sir, I protest…”
Bloody Bill cut her off.
“You’re not in the position to protest
anything. Sit back down… NOW!”
My brave, but equally wise grandmother dropped into the
rocking chair, suddenly feeling as weak as water.
“There now. That’s good. May I call you,
Susanna?”
And without waiting for a reply, he continued.
“Susanna, I need you to answer me one
question. Where’s your husband?”
And contrary to his earlier promise, he asked another
question.
“Cat got your tongue? Where’s your husband, and
who is his commanding officer?”
Susanna cleared her throat and fear registered in her voice.
“Sir, I know who you
are. And I know you’re up to no good. I have no intention whatsoever, in
telling you where my husband is.”
Bloody Bill’s contemptuous smile now turned downwards in a
frown, and then a scowl. He would not be manipulated by the likes of a frail,
little woman.
“One more chance, ma dear… if you want to
live.”
Susanna realized the stakes of this not so pleasant game,
and she steeled herself for the inevitable.
In a voice just above a whisper, and with tears stinging her
eyes now, she sealed her fate.
“I cannot… I cannot bring myself to tell you.
I have been true to my husband these twenty years. I am not about to betray him
now. Do what you want, but you’ll get no answer from me.”
Well, my friends. I would like to tell you that Bloody Bill
Cunningham marched right out of there, and took his band of “n’er do wells”
with him… He didn’t. Turning to his chief lieutenant, he screamed,
“I’ll have none of this. No Sir, I will not. Lieutenant
Morrison, kill her! Do it now!”
A look of utter amazement possessed the officer. He reached
for his sword, but his hand seemed frozen in mid-air. Bloody Bill was not used
to having his orders delayed, and he jerked Morrison’s sword out of the
scabbard, and raised it high above his head.
My ancient grandmother had only enough time to utter the few
last words she would ever speak on this side of eternity. With arms wrapped
tightly about herself, she closed her eyes, and bowed her head.
“God forgive you, Bloody Bill. Dear Lord
receive my spirit.”
…And the deed was done.
And I hasten to remind you that this is but one story among
multiplied thousands of similar stories, which include the ancestors of those
assembled here today, and which have followed us throughout all our nation’s
wars.
My dear brothers and sisters. As one holiday gives way to another, and the
events we celebrate are separated from us by an increasing span of years, and
ultimately, no one remains who knew any of these things first hand… it all
becomes too casual, we are too prone to take our hard-fought freedoms for
granted, we are too close to disregarding the sacrifice of those who went
before us through the blood and suffering of the Revolution.
Let us commit ourselves to remember our dear patriot fathers
and mothers anew this day, and to cherish them, and the nation which they have
bequeathed to us, and that which they have won so dearly for us.
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