the North Carolina militia, firmly stood their ground until surrounded with overwhelming numbers.  The subject of this sketch was there made a prisoner and stripped of most of his clothes.  Soon after his surrender he witnessed the painful incidents of battle, resulting in the death of Baron DeKalb.  He informs us he saw the Baron without suite or aid, and without manifesting the designs of his movements, galloping down the line.  He was soon descried by the enemy, who, clapping their hands on their shoulders in reference to his epaulettes, exclaimed “a General, a rebel General.”  Immediately a man on horseback (not Tarleton) met him and demanded his sword.  The Baron reluctantly presented the handle towards him, inquiring in French, “Are you an officer, sir.”  His antagonist not understanding the language, with an oath, more sternly demanded his sword.  The Baron then rode on with all possible speed, disdaining to surrender to any one but an officer.  Soon the cry, “a rebel General,” sounded along the line.  The musketeers immediately, by platoons, fired upon him.  He proceeded about twenty-five rods, when he fell from his horse, mortally wounded.  Presently he was raised to his feet, stripped of his hat, coat and neck-cloth, and placed with his hands resting on a wagon.  His body was found, upon examination, to have been pierced by seven musket balls.  Whilst standing in this position, and the blood streaming through his shirt, Cornwallis, with his suite, rode up.  Being informed that the wounded man was Baron De Kalb, he addressed him by saying:  “I am sorry, sir, to see you; not sorry that you are vanquished, but sorry to see you so badly wounded.”  Having given orders to an officer to administer to the wants of the Baron, Cornwallis rode on to secure the fruits of his victory.  In a short time the brave and generous De Kalb, who had served in the armies of France and embarked in the American cause, breathed his last.  He is buried in Camden, where a neat monument has been erected to his memory.

After being confined seven days in a prison-yard in Camden, Hunter was taken, with many other prisoners, including about fifty officers, to Orangeburg, where he remained until the 13th of November following, without hat or coat.  On that day, without any intention of transgressing, he set out to visit a friendly lady in the suburbs who had promised to give him a homespun coat.  Before he reached her residence, he was stopped by a horseman, armed with sword and pistols, who styled himself a Lieutenant of the station at the Court House, under Col.  Fisher.  The horseman blustered and threatened, and sternly commanded him to march before him to the station to be tried for having broken his parole.  No excuse, apology or confession would be received in extenuation of his transgression.  “To the station,” said the horseman, “you shall go—­take the road.”  The Tory loyalist was evidently exercising his brief authority over a real Whig.  Up the road his prisoner had