geant was ordered by Colonel Tarleton to stand in the door till the last soldier had gone out, to insure protection to a woman whose noble spirit had inspired him with the most profound respect.
The most remarkable occurrence in the career of this patriotic wife was the dream which led to her being the heroine of the battle at Moore's Creek, one of the bloodiest battles of the Revolution. Her husband, now Colonel Slocumb, was accustomed to dwell lightly on the gallant part borne by himself in that memorable action but he would give abundant praise to his associates, and he would add: "My wife was there." She was indeed; but the story is best told in her own words. "The troop left from this house with my husband Sunday morning and they got off in high spirits; every man stepping high and light. I slept soundly and quietly that night and worked hard all the next day, but I kept thinking where they got to—how far; when and how many Tories they would meet and all that, I could not keep myself from the study, and when I went to bed at the usual time I could not sleep for it. As I lay—whether waking or sleeping I know not, I had a dream; yet it was not all a dream. I saw distinctly a body wrapped in my husband's guard cloak—bloody—dead; and other dead and wounded all about him. I uttered a cry and sprang to my feet, and so strong was the impression on my mind that I rushed in the direction in which the vision appeared and came up against the side of the house. Seated on the bed I reflected a few moments; then said aloud: T must go to him.' I told my woman that I could not sleep and would ride down the road, and although she appeared in great alarm, I reassured her, telling her merely to lock the door after me and look after my little child. I went to the stable, saddled my mare, and in one minute we were tearing down the road at full speed. Again and again I was tempted to turn back. I was soon ten miles from home and my mind became stronger every mile I rode. That I should find my husband dead or dying was as firmly my presentiment and conviction as any fact of my life. When day broke I was thirty miles from home. I knew the general route our little army was to take and followed them without hesitation. Again I was skimming over the ground through a country thinly settled but neither my spirit nor my beautiful nag's failed in the least. We followed the well-marked trail of the troops.
"The sun must have been well up, say eight or nine o'clock, when I heard a sound like thunder which I knew must be a cannon. I stopped still; when presently the cannon thundered again—I spoke to my mare and dashed on in the direction of the fighting, and the shots and shouts now grew louder than ever. The blind path I had been following brought me into the Wilmington road leading to Moore's Creek Bridge a few hundred yards below the bridge, and a little distance from the road were lying perhaps twenty men. They were all wounded. Suddenly I knew the spot; the very trees and the position of the men I knew as if I had seen it a thousand times. I had seen it all night—it was my dream come true. In an instant my whole soul was centered upon one spot, for there, wrapped in his bloody guard-cloak, was, I was sure, my husband's body. I remember uncovering the head and seeing a face clothed with blood from a dreadful wound across the temple. I put my hand on the bloody face, and found it warm, but suddenly an unknown voice begged for water. A small camp-kettle was lying
