Battle of Ramsour's Mill

I am a newcomer to the history of the Revolutionary War. I grew up in the West, far from the eastern battlefields. To illustrate this point, when Benedict Arnold was defeated at the Battle of Valcour Island on October 11, 1776, Dominguez and Escalante were on the other side of the continent passing through an empty valley inhabited only by Paiute Indians. That empty valley is where I now live. Therefore, the stories and setting of the war are far removed from my own experience. 

Recently I visited North Carolina and was placed on ground zero of Revolutionary battlefields. Just being there brought the battles alive. Some of the conflicts were major and others minor. The Battle of Ramsour's Mill falls into the latter category. 

My study of the war has really made me wonder which side I would have been on had I lived back then. Loyalist or Patriot? It's easy to look back with hindsight and think I would have been a Patriot, but it wasn't so cut and dry. Having nothing besides ideology separating the two sides, it would be the equivalent—at least in my mind—of a modern war between Republicans and Democrats. 

They say that the Revolution was North America's first civil war. That point is illustrated perhaps no better than at the Battle of Ramsour's Mill. When all was said and done, many of the dead, Loyalist and Patriot alike, were buried in the same mass grave because they couldn't be told apart. 

Millstone on display at the battleground site.

The battle took place in Lincoln County, North Carolina, just twenty five miles northwest of Charlotte. That area now consists of an elementary and high school, complete with football field and playground. The former is fittingly named Battleground Elementary. Clark Creek flows roughly north to south on the west side. 

Leading up to battle the British had gained momentum with decisive victories in Georgia and South Carolina under the command of Lord Cornwallis. In early June of 1780, Colonel John Moore and Major Nicholas Welch, both natives of Lincoln County, returned home and issued a call for local residents to assemble and support the Loyalists. By June 19th, over 1,000 men and boys, most unarmed, camped on the east bench of Clark Creek on the land of Christian Reinhardt. On the west was a gristmill operated by Jacob Ramsour. 

Meanwhile, Patriot General Griffith Rutherford, who was camped near Charlotte, learned of the assembling Loyalists. He sent orders to Colonel Francis Locke and other militia leaders to call up their militia groups. Locke responded by gathering 400 infantry and cavalry at Mountain Creek, a location sixteen miles northeast of the battle site.—It was decided by Locke's group to attack at daybreak without waiting for Rutherford's group, fearing the British might gain extra reinforcements. 

Clark Creek.

The Battle 

The Patriot militia left Mountain Creek and made a night march toward Ramsour's Mill. A heavy fog blanketed the area surrounding the mill and Christian Reinhardt's farm. Led by the cavalry, Patriot forces marched to battle, coming close to the Loyalist encampment before being discovered. 

The cavalry attacked first, followed by the infantry. The British were caught off-guard, but quickly recovered and fired back. Fighting was brutal, much of it hand to hand. Sometimes muskets were used as clubs due to lack of ammunition. They wore no uniforms. Patriots pinned white paper on their hats. Tories (or British) stuck green twigs in theirs. 

The Patriots were able to gain control of the ridge, but when they were unable to reform their line, Colonel Locke ordered a retreat. Captain John Dickey, the legendary hero of Ramsour's Mill, refused to obey orders and led a group of militiamen to higher ground. The marksmen, led by John Hardin, picked off several Loyalist soldiers and turned the battle into a victory. Loyalists retreated toward the mill, crossing to the west side of Clark Creek where they dispersed into the countryside. The battle lasted less than two hours. 

Grave of John Martin Shuford on the battlefield of Ramsour's Mill.

South of the football field is a sloping grassy field and a log cabin with rock chimney. I don't know the age of the cabin, nor whether it was connected to the battle. Next to it is a large millstone for display on the grass, as well as an interpretive sign. Near this is a parking area where my brother-in-law and I parked to explore what we could of the battlefield. 

North of the cabin next to a grove of trees is the grave of John Martin Shuford, a farmer recruited by the British to fight in the war. He died during battle at age 36. 

We walked along a dirt path through the grove of trees, alongside what appeared to be a practice field for the football team. Soon we came to Clark Creek, a small stream by North Carolina standards. Being left to our own knowledge—which wasn't much on this subject—we had no idea of the location of Jacob Ramsour's Mill, nor of Christian Reinhardt's farm. We found a few remains of something, but wasn't sure how old, or what it was. 

After the battle had ended and the fog had lifted, it was revealed that many had died. Estimates say that perhaps 50 to 70 on each side had perished, and several more than that were wounded. Many were wounded so severely that they died days later. 

Like I stated earlier, this was a battle between friends and family members. There is a story of Peter Costner, a Loyalist, who was killed by his brother, Thomas, who buried his brother's body after the combat. Another story tells of a man who rushed to battle hoping to kill his sibling, only to find that he had already been wounded and carried off. 

We wandered to other parts of the arena. On the south side of the school complex is what is referred to as “The General's Grave.” A sign indicated that there were several Generals killed in the battle, but two of them, John Dobson and John Bowman were interred at the site. Others were returned to their hometowns to be buried. What made the General's Grave interesting was that years later, when other family members had passed away, they chose to bury them there also. 

"The General's Grave," located behind the Elementary School at Lincolnton, North Carolina.

On the north side of the Elementary School, across the street from the football field, is a mass grave. Due to the fact that many of the soldiers could not be distinguished from one another because they wore no uniforms, they were respectfully buried together. Shortly after the battle work began to help the wounded and bury the dead. A large trench was dug on the west side of the hill where Loyalist and Patriot were interred as one. 

There was a somber feeling as we slowly walked around the mass grave. Today it is manicured with grass and surrounded with cement curbing. Two small Colonial flags are displayed at the corners. As we pondered, light raindrops began to fall. 

A nearby plaque reads: “Underneath this hallowed ground, lying between the borders marked, are the remains of many of the seventy brave and true citizen-soldiers, names unknown, Loyalists and Patriots, their bodies unclaimed. They died fighting, their strong beliefs intact, on that 20th day of June, 1780. Sacred to memory are those who fell, defending their beliefs, at the Battle of Ramsour's Mill. May these stones cry out—lest we forget!” 

A mass grave, which includes both Loytalist and Patriot.

The Aftermath 

On that day in June, 400 Patriots defeated 1,300 Loyalists. The victory weakened support and morale for the Loyalist cause and began momentum for the Patriots. It provided inspiration for the crucial victory at King's Mountain just a few months later. 

And remember Captain Dickey, the man who refused orders and led an attack that would turn the tide of battle? He was hailed as a hero, and perhaps a legend. A Patriot soldier composed a ballad to honor Captain Dickey. It has been sung many times in his honor. One verse remains: 

"Old Colonel Locke kept pretty well back,
While brave Captain Dickey commenced the attack.
He, Colonel Locke, ordered us to retreat and reform,
Which made our old hero mightily storm." 

By this time the rain was picking up and now a downpour. We darted quickly for the truck. As we drove through the green Carolina countryside, I couldn't help but to ponder the history tucked inside these lonely dales. History that was crucial to our nation's beginning, but is lost to the majority of us who have moved on or live so far away. ♠

Grave of Mary Anne Ramsour Butler at White Church Cemetery in Lincolnton. Daughter of Jacob Ramsour.

 

Puerto Peñasco

The evening was perfect, just before sunset. The sweet smell of sea filled the air. Low tide left puddles of water reflecting orange hues. 

Shallow tide pools now revealed an array of small shells. As we walked gathering shells, tourist boats with mariachi bands sailed near the horizon. Somewhere behind us another band played their tunes. A couple tossed a softball back and forth, while a group of youth played volleyball. 

The four of us wandered away from the water and toward a sandy hill with food stands and shops. We found a small shack where we ordered four chalupas and a torta. The service was good, but slow, and we spent some time waiting in front. 

It was there, sitting in a red plastic chair, where I met Raul, a 78 year old Mexican from Las Cruces, New Mexico. We began our conversation in Spanish, but it flowed in and out of English. He spoke through a salt and pepper goatee and looked great for his age. He has a home in Puerto Peñasco, as well as Las Cruces. I learned all about his business ventures, including the restaurant he owns and the fact that until three years ago he had to make 800 burritos a day! He comes to Puerto Peñasco often to relax and enjoy his second home. 

The Point restaurant.

Port of Puerto Peñasco.

Thus was our first evening in this dusty Sonoran beach town on the Sea of Cortez. We had just driven over ten hours from our home, through four different states, passing mile after mile of Joshua trees, saguaro cactus and empty open desert. We had never done anything quite like this. 

Puerto Peñasco is known as a resort town on the edge of the sea. It is a lure to those from the United States, especially Arizona, as it lies just 60 miles below the Mexican border. From the internet I knew what the beach and water looked like. But it was the town that drew my curiosity. No one really talked about the town of Puerto Peñasco. I knew it wasn't ancient nor Colonial in architecture like many other Mexican villages, but still there had to be an inner heartbeat that made it move. That's what I set out to find. 

Photos at sunset.

The life-blood of the town is the Malecón, a popular street filled with shops and high-pressure shopkeepers trying to sell you things you don't need. This place was pure chaos. “Come in,” they would say, “because we have exactly what you're looking for!” 

Any kind of souvenir you might want, you could find it here: t-shirts, sunglasses, bracelets. We gave in and bought a chess set. There was also the aroma of fish and seafood, a reality given their proximity to the sea. If you needed to book a tour, this was the place to come. You couldn't walk down the street without an aggressive salesman shadowing you. 

The Malecón was even worse at night. Loud music blared everywhere from speakers. There were twice as many people and half of them, it seemed, were drunk. The smell of alcohol, cigarette smoke and fish filled the air. Just a block away were street vendors selling tacos and elotes. On the balcony overlooking the sea a mariachi band played for money. 

Puerto Peñasco hoped to become the next Cancún. So far, that hasn't happened. Venture capitalists have come in, but for many of them things haven't panned out. A drive around the beach area reveals many abandoned hotel projects or other buildings that are now skeletons attracting dust. I've got a friend who is buying rental property down here. He plans on fixing it up and hiring a third party to manage. 

The main street coming into town is busy. Parking stalls in the area are small and sometimes hard to find. Some areas of town are shadier than others. The streets are a combination of dirt or pavement. 

Dirt roads at Cholla Bay.

Mural at Cholla Bay.

On the north end of town is a peninsula called Cholla Bay. We drove there out of curiosity. Before arriving at the quiet settlement the pavement ended and all the roads became sand. Most of them seemed drivable in our car, but we were cautious. 

Most of the peninsula consists of what I assumed were houses. There were a handful of restaurants. Several times we saw trucks hauling a boat behind it with several men in the boat. I don't know what that was about. 

Completing a satisfying lunch at Cholla Bay.

There was no beach, but we saw a place or two where a boat could be launched in the water. There was no view either. Houses aligned the coastline and I am sure that many of them had wonderful views out their backyard. 

We chose to eat at one of the few restaurants. I made it a point to order fish. As a note, the prices here weren't too different from what you'd find in the States. I suppose it's too close to the border and too many rich Americans come and visit. 

Storefront at Cholla Mall.

On our way back into town we came across another unexpected find. Cholla Mall, as it is called, almost looked like a scene from the apocalypse. This long street with shops on both sides boasted no visitors other than those of our family. Shop doors were open with goods inside, but no customers to find. These were the days of Covid-19 and the effects of the pandemic, I'm sure, made customers more sparse than normal. 

We walked up and down the street, poking in and out of shops and surprisingly not getting hassled. We were still looking for a few final souvenirs to buy. As this little strip mall sat on the edge of town, I felt as if it were part of the expansion movement, a shopping complex built to accommodate future growth. If you build it, they will come. Kind of in the same vein as all the abandoned hotels. Perhaps the growth didn't happen or the economy tanked. Or maybe it was Covid. Who knows? But Cholla Mall was pathetically empty. 

I did, however, enjoy one of the murals on the side of a building. The painting consisted of two saguaro cacti and two Native warriors. One wore a headdress of a deer and looked like he was jumping in the air doing a karate move. 

Interesting mural at Cholla Mall.

Most of our time in Puerto Peñasco was spent with the water, not the town. The Sea of Cortez and the desert that comes to its edge is what attracts the people. The biosphere of the sea is unique and has over 1500 different kinds of species. We took a cruise out to an island and saw sea lions and dolphins. 

When back in town we drove around to find a place to eat. The food here is nothing special and was similar to what you'd find at a taco shop in the States. I enjoyed eating in outdoor settings with the din of the town at our ears. 

Puerto Peñasco cemetery.

We drove to a cemetery and took ten minutes to walk through. As expected the entire graveyard consisted of a dirt floor and shrines built above the ground. I found many figures of Jesus and his mother, Mary, and the cross. 

On our final evening we found ourselves again at the Malecón. We just couldn't get enough of the hustling, I guess. We arrived just before sunset and the golden light that comes at that time of day. The same mariachi band played at the sea's edge, serenading seagulls and all others walking past. 

Mariachi band playing on the Malecón.

In an amazing coincidence, we stumbled across some friends of ours who also made the ten-hour drive. We had a good visit and took a picture together. They pointed us in the direction of a taco stand that provided an evening snack. 

Just a block away from the Malecón is the facade of a church that appears colonial-like in it's exterior—the Sagrado Corazon de Jesus. The pastel-colored church is painted yellow with orange trimming and has two bell towers. I'm sure this recent construction is an attempt to make this modern town appear more like the stereotypical old Mexican village. I appreciated that. 

Back at the Malecón we once again found the chaos of the shops and the music and the smells that brought this village alive. You couldn't tell there was a pandemic. We rubbed shoulders with those we passed, smelt their breath and guarded our wallets. The street lamps came on and the sky overhead turned dark. I heard as much English as I did Spanish. The shopkeepers knew what they had. We had bought all our souvenirs by now so we kept our eyes forward and walked toward the car. ♠

Sagrado Corazón de Jesús Church.

 

Jewel by the Sea

"And God said, Let the waters under the Heaven be gathered together unto one place, and let the dry land appear: and it was so.  And God called the dry land Earth, and the gathering together of the waters he called Seas: and God saw that it was good." - Genesis 1: 9-10

"In the beginning there was no land or earth. There was nothing except salt water.  This covered everything like a big sea.  Two brothers lived under this water; the oldest was Teaipakomat.  Both of them kept their eyes closed, for the salt would blind them.  The oldest brother, after a while, went up on top of the salt water and looked around.  He could see nothing but water.  Soon the younger brother too came up.  He opened his eyes on the way and salt water blinded him.  When he got to the top he could see nothing at all, so he went back.  When the older brother saw there was nothing, he made first of all little red ants.  They filled the water up thick with their bodies and so made land." - From the Kumeyaay Creation story.

"Over the mountains,

And over the waves,

Over the fountains,

And under the graves;

Over the floods that are deepest,

Which do Neptune obey; Over the rocks that are steepest,

Love will find out the way."  

- Thomas Percy (Bishop of Dromore)

"On the following Tuesday, the 3d of the month of October, they departed from this port of San Miguel, and on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, they held their course a matter of eighteen leagues along the coast, where they saw many valleys and plains, and many smokes, and mountains in the interior.  At nightfall they were near some islands which are some seven leagues from the mainland, but because the wind went down they could not reach them that night." - From the voyage of Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo in 1542.

"We have seen Indians in immense numbers, and all those on this coast of the Pacific contrive to make a good subsistence on various seeds and by fishing." - Junipero Serra, Spanish Priest (1713-1784).

 

"Flowers were plentiful that spring because of the winter's heavy rains.  The dunes were covered with mats of sand flowers, which are red and have tiny eyes that are sometimes pink and sometimes white. Yuccas grew tall among the rocks of the ravine.  Their heads were clustered with curly gloves no longer than pebbles and the color of the sun when it rises.  Lupines grew where the springs ran.  From the sunny cliffs, in crevices where no one would think anything could grow, sprang the little red and yellow fountains of the comul bush." - From Island of the Blue Dolphins by Scott O'Dell.  

"This being the spring season, San Pedro, as well as all the other open ports upon the coast, was filled with whales, that had come in to make their annual visit upon soundings.  For the first few days that we were here we watched them with great interest, calling out 'There she blows!' every time we saw the spout of one breaking the surface of the water, but they soon became so common that we took little notice of them.  They often 'broke' very near us, and one thick, foggy night, during a dead calm, while I was standing anchor-watch, one of them rose so near that he struck our cable, and made all surge again.  He did not seem to like the encounter much himself, for he sheered off, and spouted at a good distance." - From Two Years Before The Mast by Richard Henry Dana, in 1835.

"We rode out to the Indians' huts.  The little children were running about the huts, stark naked, and the men were not much more; but the women had generally coarse gowns of a sort of tow cloth.  The men are employed, most of the time, in tending the cattle of the Mission, and in working in the garden, which is a very large one, including several acres, and filled, it is said, with the best fruits of the climate.  The language of these people, which is spoken by all the Indians of California, is the most brutish, without any exception, that I ever heard, or that could well be conceived of.  It is a complete slabber.  The words fall off of the ends of their tongues, and a continual slabbering sound is made in the cheeks, outside of the teeth." - From Two Years Before The Mast by Richard Henry Dana, in 1835.

"The country seems to be alive with cattle, horses, mules and jackasses.  Passing the San Luis Rey Mission we turned left and marched up a mountain, from the top we could see the ocean, we judged it to be about 5 miles away.  This was the first time I ever saw the ocean and it was the case of many of my comrades, all felt to rejoice to know we were so near the end of our journey.  In the evening we camped in a little valley near the seashore.  We could hear the roaring and dashing of waves all night.

"The whole face of the country is alive with cattle, bands of horses, mules and donkeys.  One of the guides said he knew one man who owns twelve thousand head of cattle.

"The earth is carpeted with green grass and wild oats and any amount of wild mustard and white clover.  I see some mustard stalks high as ten or twelve feet and six or eight inches thick." - From the journal of Henry W. Bigler, member of the Mormon Battalion, on January 27, 1847.

" . . . several very heavy gusts of wind came driving madly along, completely filling the whole atmosphere with thick and impenetrable clouds of dust and sand, so much so, that one who was in the street could no more see around him than if he was surrounded by an Egyptian darkness; this continued for a considerable length of time, the violence of the wind still increasing, until about one o'clock, when it came along in a perfect hurricane, tearing down houses and everything that was in its way." - From the Daily Alta California on the October 2, 1858 hurricane.

"For how many thousands of years did it lie alone? How long did the great gray waves batter at its granite shore, its sandy beaches, its clay cliffs? How long did it wait for men to come with their dreams, their ships?"- From Frontier by Louis L'Amour.

 

“The aisle of autumn sunlight settling on 

The mobile corrugations of the sea 

Fragments and forms at once, is here and gone, 

A durable, elusive energy: 

Pure presence and repose—mere lovely being, 

To feel which is as natural as seeing 

The dog that dashes up the beach and back 

Or, to a pair of onlookers' applause, 

Goes skidding to a posture of attack 

And leaps to snatch a Frisbee in his jaws.” - Poem by Timothy Steele.

“The wind dies, and the cloud Alps disappear, 

And where the sun now sets, the sky's so swirled 

With smokey colors that the atmosphere 

Seems like the abstract beauty of the world. 

The swells more regular, there floats at rest 

A pelican, long beak tucked to its chest.” - Poem by Timothy Steele.

"The sea lions felt it and their barking took on a tone and a cadence that would have gladdened the heart of St. Francis." — John Steinbeck

"All the wild world is beautiful, and it matters but little where we go, to highlands or lowlands, woods or plains, on the sea or land or down among the crystals of waves or high in a balloon in the sky; through all the climates, hot or cold, storms and calms, everywhere and always we are in God's eternal beauty and love. So universally true is this, the spot where we chance to be always seems the best." - John Muir

"Took my chances on a big jet-plane
Never let 'em tell ya that they're aw-ooh-all the same
Hoh, the sea was red and the sky was grey
I wonder how tomorrow could ever follow today-hee
Mountains and the canyons start to tremble and shake
The children of the sun begin to awake." - From Going to California by Led Zeppelin.

 

“Flashing between curved sea plants in the sand 

There darts a shining company of fish. 

Swirling through the sea's green depths they go, 

Gleaming like silver ripples in a pool 

That dance and sparkle in the moon's cold light. 

Then they are gone, as quickly as they came, 

And the wildly waving seaweeds move 

More slowly and at last are still once more. 

Now through the silent forests of the sea 

There slowly drifts in shimmering radiance 

A lustrous jellyfish. Suddenly, 

From pale pink opalescence swiftly changed, 

It turns translucent and is almost gone, 

Only to gleam once more, far off, against 

Black rocks where shadowy forms move hazily. 

There at last it melts into the distance— 

Ghostlike, drifting slowly out of sight.” - Poem by Everett Ruess.

All Is Well In Zion

 

Out of Zion, the perfection of beauty, God hath shined. - Psalm 50:2