FROM BOSTON TO EUTAW SPRINGS

                        A History of His Majesty's
                           64th Regiment of Foot
                                  in the
                            American Revolution

                          Written by Greg Urwin
                  A Former Member of the Recreated Regiment
                       HM 64th Regiment of Foot, Ltd.     
                         http://www.lxiv.org


FROM BOSTON TO EUTAW SPRINGS:
The 64th Regiment of Foot in the American Revolution

American writers have always exaggerated the prowess of the
British Army at the outset of the Revolutionary War. Drawing upon
biased information, they created a force far more formidable on
paper than it ever was in reality.
When the rebellious colonies made their break with the mother
country, Britain's standing, regular army was barely one hundred
and fifteen years old. It was still an adolescent; most of its
honored traditions and strengthening institutions belonged to the
future. Neglected and despised in peace, it found itself under
constant suspicion. An apprehensive Parliament, still haunted by
the specter of Oliver Cromwell and his military dictatorship,
practiced an unending policy of military containment. From the
day of its founding, the army was deliberately kept
understrength, underpaid and overworked.
Stifled in such an atmosphere, the army remained very much an
amateur affair. There was no military academy; commissions were
sold to young gentlemen and aristocrats, who learned the
officer's trade the hard way, in camp or on the battlefield. Many
essential military services, such as engineering and the
transport of troops, artillery, and supplies were handled by
civilian contractors.
To this undeveloped and mistreated bunch, King George III's
ministers entrusted a near impossible task, the conquest of North
America. The Redcoats were not only to defeat the Rebels, but to
befriend them as well; for reconciliation was the only lasting
way to keep the Provincials in the British Empire. A curious and
paradoxical mission. Just beating them would be hard enough.
From the standpoint of geography alone, the pacification of the
American Plantations presented an insurmountable hurdle. With
their vast, wide spaces and scattered centers of population, the
Thirteen Colonies threatened to swallow more military resources
than Britain could ever hope to possess. As General Edward
Harvey, the Army's Adjutant General, wrote on June 30, 1775,
"Taking America as it present stands, it is impossible to conquer
it with the British Army... To attempt to conquer it internally
by our land force is as wild an idea as ever controverted common
sense".
Then there was the question of numbers. Rebellious North
America's total population was roughly 3,000,000. Of that there
were nearly 450,000 males capable of bearing arms. In 1775 the
British Army numbered 23,063 men. Only a small fraction of them
were free to be concentrated into a field force to be sent
against the Rebels. The rest were spread thin through garrisons
in the British Isles, Gibraltar, Minorca, India, Africa, the
Mediterranean and Canada. A serious depletion of these garrisons
was unthinkable. France and Spain, still smarting from their
defeat in the Seven Years War, hovered in the wings, all too
ready to plunge in the knife when Britain's back was turned.
Holland too, England's major competitor for world trade, was
eager to gain an edge by force of arms. Thus the Revolution was
not only a threat to Britain's North American holdings, but to
her own security as well. Home defence was as much a priority as
the annihilation of Washington's ragamuffins.
There was only one viable course left open, to raise new troops
to relieve veteran regiments for active service in America. But
that was not easily done. As it was to be expected, service in
the British Army, with it's ill-pay, rigid discipline, and
exhausting duties, appealed to none but blockheads. The
Revolution, furthermore, was an extremely unpopular war, perhaps
the most unpopular in England's history. Patriotic Britons, who
would have leapt to the defence of their country, refused to bear
arms against their American cousins. Faced by the averseness of
its solid citizens to "take the King's shilling", the government
was forced to resort to two highly criticized means to fill the
ranks with the men it needed; the recruiting of Roman Catholics
and the hiring of Hessians.
While American historians have been ready and willing to play up
the advantages enjoyed by the King's troops in dress, arms,
training and supplies, very few have been willing to grant any
admirable qualities to the men themselves. No other figure in our
history has been more maliciously maligned or misrepresented than
the Redcoat. Our native chroniclers have cast him in many
loathsome roles; from incompetent coward to bumbling effeminate
or unminded brute. Yet if all this is to be believed, how did the
War of Independence last eight years?
Were the truth told, it would be found that the British soldier
was as brave and able a foe as Americans ever contended with. For
eight years he pressed the great Washington and the cream of the
Continental line, and for five he held the combined powers of
France, Spain and Holland at bay. The fact that Britain emerged
from the world's first global conflict with the loss of little
else save the Thirteen Colonies, says much in his favor.
Courageous, adaptable, hardy, and uncomplaining, the common
Lobsterback distinguished himself on many foreign fields, and he
actually won more battles than he lost. To recount all the deeds
of valor and battle honors attributed to each battalion would be
impossible in such a limited space, but perhaps the story of one
unit, the 64th Regiment of Foot, could be forwarded to typify and
represent them all.

Birth of the Regiment
The 64th Regiment of Foot can only trace its origins back to the
year 1756, not even twenty years before the Revolution. At that
time England was embroiled in a war with France, and it was
decided to expand the Army by adding a second battalion to a
number of infantry regiments. One of them was the 11th Foot, and
it received authorization to raise its second battalion on August
25. By 1758, however, the two battalion idea had gone out of
favor. The second battalions were made regiments in their own
right, and then added to the British line. Thus, on April 21, the
11th Regiment's second battalion became the 64th Regiment of
Foot.
The 64th was instantly dispatched into action in the West Indies,
participating in the capture of Martinique and Guadaloupe.
Returning to England at the end of 1759, the regiment landed at
Portsmouth and had a short stay in the county of Suffolk. There
it picked up 200 recruits, nearly half of whom came from London.
In 1760, the 64th was sent to patrol the Highlands of Scotland.
After three years it was transferred to Ireland.
The Emerald Isle was enjoying a rare spell of peace, and the
regiment spent five happy years there, collecting recruits and
indulging in the spit and polish discipline of domestic
soldiering. Brewing unrest in North America over the Stamp Act
and ministerial policies called for preventative measures. Early
in 1768 the 64th Regiment began to catch rumors of a possible
transfer to the scene of trouble in the spring of the following
year. Then, in the summer of 1768, England was rocked by the news
of the Liberty riots. British customs officials had seized the
Liberty, a sloop belonging to popular Massachusetts merchant John
Hancock, for smuggling and the evasion of import duties. A large
Boston mob had gone berserk over the affair, attacking the
commissioners' homes and driving them out of the city.
Ten days after he received this report, Lord Hillsborough, the
Secretary of State for the Colonies, ordered that the 64th and
65th Regiments in Ireland "should be immediately sent" to Boston
after being "completed by Draught from the other Regiments in
Ireland to five hundred men each". The Admiralty was responsible
for procuring proper transports "with the usual allowance for
women, servants and baggage". (Each regiment was allowed to take
"54 women, 10 servants, and 50 tons for baggage".)
Numerous delays prevented the 64th and 65th from setting sail
during mild weather. The Irish regiments selected to supply the
drafts were naturally reluctant to part with any able men; they
only sent their sick and over-aged. The 64th and 65th refused to
be shortchanged, and they turned away any new men older than
thirty. As the embarkation date drew near, both regiments were
nowhere near the size Lord Hillsborough authorized. It took the
intervention of the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland himself, who put
in a hard August week, before the 64th Regiment was brought up to
strength.
There were still more foul-ups. The transports were all late. It
took until September 4, 1768, for all the troops to be crammed
into their dark berths below deck... all needless discomfort.
Foul weather kept the ships in the Cove of Cork until the 10th.
Then the clouds lifted and the brave little expedition, escorted
by the 38-gun frigate Hussar, ventured into the unknown.

Boston
The 64th set sail with a little apprehension and a lot of
confidence. With 500 picked men, and its own Colonel, Brigadier
General John Pomeroy, accompanying it to Boston (quite an unusual
occurrence among British regiments serving abroad during the
eighteenth century), the 64th had never known a healthier state.
Like other battalions in the British line, it was divided into
nine companies. The tallest and strongest men were placed in the
elite Grenadier company. The remainder of the rank and file,
average, run-of-the-mill fellows, were distributed among the
eight Battalion companies.
Leaving so late in the sailing season, the 64th's convoy endured
a rough passage. Storms buffeted the little fleet every step of
the way, finally scattering it across the North Atlantic. The
first transports managed to reach Boston on November 10. Others
followed on the 13th and 15th. The Dolphin didn't get there until
November 25. Making a poor show as an escort, the frigate Hussar
was blown into New York. Losing her foremast and main topmast,
the Raven, another transport, was driven as far south as the West
Indies. She didn't get to Boston until April 30, 1769.
Boston was a rough station. The Redcoats were all in "raptures at
the cheapness of spiritous liquors", but they were insulted by
the sullen hospitality of the inhabitants. Pomeroy worked hard to
see that his regiment was not overexposed to either. His efforts
were rewarded; the 64th behaved exceptionally well.
On the evening of January 30, 1769, three thieves tried to escape
from the new jail on Boston's Queen Street by setting it on fire.
According to a contemporary account, "the fire got to such a
height before it was discovered, that the flames spread rapidly
through every apartment and in a few hours entirely consumed the
same, leaving nothing but bare walls". The terrible, dancing
lights brought the 64th out of its quarters, and the Redcoats
joined with some British sailors and citizens to beat the blaze
and save the town. The regiment's gallantry certainly changed the
mood of the Massachusetts Whigs, and one of their selectmen
personally waited upon General Pomeroy the next day to tender his
thanks. Even the radical Boston Gazette was forced to admit that
the officers and men of the 64th "were very serviceable in
assisting and relieving the inhabitants".
The Queen Street fire ushered in a short era of good feelings.
Deceived by the temporary calm, General Thomas Gage,
Commander-in-Chief of the British Army in North America, began to
think that there were too many Lobsterbacks in Boston. For some
time, Pomeroy, bored by inactivity, had been petitioning for a
transfer. Eventually Gage decided to comply with his request, and
on July 4, 1769, four companies of the 64th sailed for Halifax,
Nova Scotia. Pomeroy and the other five joined them three weeks
later. Shortly thereafter, Pomeroy returned to England, leaving
Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Leslie in charge of the regiment. An
able, if not brilliant, officer, Leslie was described by Ann
Hulton, the Tory sister of a Boston customs official, as "amiable
and good". The son of a Scottish Earl, his pedigree alone marked
him out for distinction in Britain's hidebound, class conscious
army.

Halifax
The 64th Regiment remained in Halifax for three years, where, in
1770, it underwent a structural change. Impressed by the
performance of Ranger units and provisional Light Infantry
battalions during the French and Indian War, a considerable
number of English officers had been suggesting the addition of a
Light Infantry company to each Regiment of Foot. Their strong
recommendation received official sanction on November 30, and in
the following year the 64th formed it's tenth company. The Light
Infantry company consisted of fast-thinking and fast-moving
individuals. Small and agile, they were trained for scouting,
skirmishing, and wilderness combat.

Castle William
In 1772 Lieutenant Colonel Leslie and the 64th returned to
Boston. In order to avoid unnecessary clashes between the Whigs
and off-duty soldiers,the battalion was billeted at Castle
William, an island fortress two miles out in Boston Harbor.
Determined to keep his men fit, Leslie had them ferried to the
mainland for daily marches through neighboring towns and
countryside.
Leslie's marches were motivated by more than a belief in the
benefits of frequent exercise. The Scottish Colonel hoped that
the martial sight of his regulars, in full kit under arms, would
awe the inhabitants of Massachusetts Bay and discourage the
dissident spirit. As a show of force, Leslie's bluff was a dismal
failure. For the time being, Boston was in the complete control
of Sam Adams and his famous "Sons of Liberty". The 64th couldn't
even enter the city without the invitation of the civil
authorities, and they were in the pockets of Adams and his
ruffians.
On the evening of December 16, 1773, the "Sons of Liberty",
thinly disguised as Mohawk Indians, boarded three East Indiamen
and dumped 342 chests of tea into Boston Harbor. Watching in
anguished helplessness from Castle William, Leslie offered to
suppress the tea "riots", but the Massachusetts Council refused
to let the 64th Regiment into Boston.
The Boston Tea Party, as the incident was called, severed the
last hope of peace between the Thirteen Colonies and the Mother
Country. Enraged and fuming, Parliament closed the port of
Boston, placed Massachusetts Bay under martial law, and sent
General Gage ten regiments of foot to terrify the radicals into
submission. Instead of being frightened, they were angered. They
raised an army of their own, and collected powder and shot for
it. Faced with a wholesale cold war, General Gage strove
desperately to prevent a hot one. When threats, pleas, and
promises failed to soothe the Provincials, he tried to disarm
them.

Salem
In the middle of February 1775, one of Gage's spies informed him
that the Whigs had assembled eight cannon, a large amount of
gunpowder and other military stores at Salem, a bustling seaport
fifteen miles up the North Shore from Boston. Gage meant to have
those fieldpieces, and he ordered Leslie to take his regiment and
confiscate them.
The military governor had many good reasons for sending the 64th
on such a delicate mission. Due to its long service in
Massachusetts Bay, the regiment was well acquainted with Salem
and the surrounding area. Gage also seemed to have a great regard
for the 64th Foot; he had chosen the unit as his bodyguard on
numerous occasions. Finally, since the 64th was quartered in
distant Castle William, far from the inquisitive eyes of Sam
Adam's agents, it had the best chance of any regiment in the
British garrison to slip  away from Boston undetected.
So, early on the morning of February 26, 1775, the 64th Regiment
of Foot, 240 men strong, tiptoed from the castle casements and
barracks, boarded the waiting boats, and set sail for Salem. But
all the cloak and dagger posturing went for naught. Forewarned by
the bustle and uncharacteristic veil of secrecy that fell upon
Gage's army, the Boston Whigs were on the alert and spotted the
flotilla before it got away.
When Leslie landed on the nearby coast and tried to march inland
to Salem, he found the Provincials ready and waiting. Some of
them had pulled up a drawbridge on his route and others went to
rouse the countryside. Already there was an armed mob at the
bridge, growing with every second as hundreds of Minutemen
converged on Salem.
Putting on a bold front, Leslie demanded permission to enter the
town, but Whigs refused to lower the bridge. Spotting some
gondolas below the bridge, Leslie decided to ferry his men over
to Salem. The Americans, however, were one step ahead of him, and
a number of them raced to scuttle the boats with axes. Terribly
irritated, Leslie sent his Redcoats to drive the Yankees away.
The soldiers set to work with a will, jabbing at the boat
wreckers with their bayonets; they pricked some of the Americans
and drew blood, but the stubborn Yankees didn't stop chopping
until the gondolas were no longer seaworthy.
Robbed of any peaceful way to enter Salem, the frustrated Leslie
contented himself with a shouting match with the town fathers.
After some involved negotiations, he was able to save face by
marching a few rods into the village and out again. Having made
his "search" as ordered, and finding nothing, the sage Scotsman
withdrew and returned to Boston.
It was well that Leslie chose the meeker course. Had he attempted
to fight his way into Salem, the Revolutionary War would have
begun two months earlier than it did. The first shots would have
brought a horde of maddened militia down on his regiment, and the
64th would have gone to glory in a matter of minutes. As it
turned out, Leslie got his Redcoats out of harm's way, with
little time to spare.
On the evening of April 18, 1775, Gage sent 700 Grenadiers and
Light Infantrymen on another powder hunt. This time the target
was Concord, a small village twenty-six miles west of Boston. At
dawn the next day, the Lobsterbacks bumped into seventy
trigger-happy militiamen at a place called Lexington. Shots were
exchanged, men were killed, and the War of Independence stepped
into history.

Evacuation of Boston
For the first fateful year, the 64th hardly knew there was a war
on. Guarding the approaches to Boston Harbor from American
privateers and raiders, the regiment was kept safe and snug in
Castle William. After the disastrous British victory at Breed's
Hill, the siege of Boston settled into deadlock. It was not
broken until George Washington was able to drag those famous
captured cannons down from Fort Ticonderoga and place them on the
commanding promontory of Dorchester Heights. With his every fort,
trench, and barracks in range of Washington's guns, Major General
William Howe, the newly appointed British commander, decided to
quit Boston, reorganize his forces, and seek greener campaigning
pastures elsewhere on the Atlantic seaboard. On March 17, 1776,
he embarked his troops onto their crowded transports and set sail
for Halifax. Left behind to mine and demolish Castle William, the
64th became the last British regiment to evacuate Boston.
Howe completely reorganized his army in Halifax. He detached all
his regiments' Grenadier and Light Infantry companies, forming
them into a separate, elite, ad hoc organization. The 64th lost
its Grenadiers and Light troops to the 2nd Battalion of
Grenadiers and the 2nd Battalion of Light Infantry, respectively.
Lieutenant Colonel Leslie was promoted to Brigadier General, and
put in charge of Howe's three Light Infantry battalions. The
64th's Major was also given an administrative job. This left the
rest of the regiment, the eight remaining battalion companies,
under the command of a Captain McLeroth. McLeroth and his men
were assigned to General Agnew's Sixth Brigade, along with the
44th, 57th, and 23rd Regiments.

New York
In June Howe's greatly enlarged army, 32,000 Redcoats and
Hessians, sailed to Staten Island and initiated a contemptuously
slow campaign against New York City. After weeks of hesitation
and inexcusable delay, Howe made his move. On August 27, 1776, he
attacked Washington's raw citizen soldiers on Long Island, and
routed them in a most magnificent display of adept Generalship.
The 64th played its role in the triumph, helping to pin the green
Continentals in place while Howe sent half his army round their
left flank and in behind them. Washington tried to make some half
hearted stands on Manhattan and the Hudson, but New York was
lost. Howe simply brushed him away from the city and drove the
rebels across New Jersey and the Delaware into Pennsylvania. Had
the procrastinating Briton pushed himself harder, he might have
destroyed the Continental Army and ended the Revolution. But Howe
let the opportunity pass, and the war went on.
Content in their winter quarters, the officers and men of the
64th were positive the coming spring's campaign would finish the
infant United States. Even Washington's minor successes at
Trenton and Princeton could not dampen their confidence. The
melting snows did bring the regiment some action, although the
dilatory Howe did not attempt to launch his heralded "knockout"
blow for some time to come.
The 64th spent the spring raiding. In March 1777, a detachment
from the regiment sailed forty miles up the Hudson with an
expedition formed to destroy Washington's magazine at Peekskill.
The adventure was a complete success; the Americans ran at the
first sight of the Redcoats, leaving all their stores behind. The
British troops burned 400 hogsheads of rum, 150 new wagons,
several sloops and boats, numerous entrenching tools, and
captured large quantities of food, arms, artillery equipment, and
ammunition. On April 23, 1777, General William Tryon selected 250
regulars from the 64th Regiment to join his 2,000 man sortie
against Danbury, Connecticut. British arms were victorious again;
all the rations stored there for Washington's famished army were
burned. But the Rebels fought back this time, and the local
militia bushwhacked Tryon's column many times before it reached
the safety of its ships. Nearly 200 Lobsterbacks were shot,
including three officers and eleven other ranks wounded from the
64th.

Philadelphia
As spring wore into summer, Howe, newly knighted for his capture
of New York, roused himself for the final showdown with
Washington. The dilatory Briton decided to take the Rebels'
largest city and capital, Philadelphia. Hoping to draw the
Continental Army out into the open in the process, Sir William
was sure he could wipe out the enemy forces and break the back of
the rebellion in one swift stroke.
Despite his good intentions, Howe never picked up any speed. It
took him until July before his expedition was all packed on its
transports. The army had undergone some slight organizational
changes for the coming campaign, and the 64th found itself in
Agnew's 4th Brigade, along with the 33rd, 37th, and 46th
Regiments.
Sailing from New York to the Chesapeake Bay, Howe landed his
troops at Head of Elk on July 25, 1777. The Redcoats inched
toward Philadelphia with leisurely marches. Sir William was in no
hurry to reach his objective. Trusting in the superior discipline
of his Lobsterbacks and his own tactical skill, he wanted to give
Washington time to pick a battlefield to his liking. Howe knew
that if he could get that canny old fox to stand still for a day,
he would beat him.
Washington very obligingly threw his army between the British
host and the capital on September 11, 1777. Hoping strong natural
defenses would add bite and backbone to his untried Continentals
and untrustworthy militia, he drew up his battlelines on the
bluffs overlooking Chadd's Ford and Brandywine Creek. It was a
good position, too strong to take by frontal assault, so Howe
simply went around it.
Sir William pulled the same tricks he had used so well at Long
Island, an end run and a stab in the back. This time the 64th was
in the flanking column, and it received the glamorous job of
turning Washington's right and falling on his rear.  But the
Continentals had come a far way since their humiliating defeats
around New York. When they saw the Redcoats coming from behind,
two American divisions wheeled in front of them and fought a
valiant rear guard action while the rest of Washington's army
escaped from Howe's well-laid trap.
Instead of finding open fields full of surrendering Rebels,
General Agnew's four regiments ran right into the 1,600 ready
muskets of Nathaniel Greene's crack division. Undaunted, James
Agnew's Redcoats levelled their bayonets, cheered, and charged
forward. On the right end of the brigade's line, the 64th found
itself holding the post of honor and greatest danger. As the
British neared their foe, the 64th was caught in a savage
enfilading fire from Peter Muhlenburg's Virginia Brigade.
Captain Johann Ewald, commander of the Hessian Jagers, was
horrified by what he saw: "There was terrible firing, and ...
nearly all of the officers of these two regiments, the 44th and
the 64th, were slain". Ewald inadvertently exaggerated, but the
truth was bad enough. Out of 312 men on the field, the 64th
Regiment suffered 47 casualties; McLeroth, recently upgraded to
Major, five of his officers, and 36 enlisted men were wounded;
one officer and four common soldiers were killed. Ignoring the
cries of the fallen and writhing bodies rolling and kicking under
the legs, the men of the 64th closed their ranks and pressed
home. An anonymous British officer drank in the grim, magnificent
scene, and expressed his admiration with these words: "...the
heat of the action fell chiefly on the 64th Regiment who suffered
considerably enduring with utmost steadiness a very heavy fire".
The 64th held its ground until two light 6-pound fieldpieces were
dragged up. Peppered by solid shot, Greene's men finally pulled
off the field, leaving McLeroth's bloodied gamecocks in
possession.
Howe eventually occupied Philadelphia two weeks later, but the
wily Washington was resolved to drive him out. Nine days later he
shook Sir William severely with a surprise attack on the main
British camp in Germantown. But Washington's green troops were
not trained and steady enough to keep the momentum, and England's
impeccable regulars were able to stop them short and send them
packing. The 64th participated in the later stages of the battle,
suffering only five casualties.
"Gentleman Johnny" Burgoyne's surrender at Saratoga on October
17, and France's ensuing entry into the war, made Philadelphia an
untenable post. Sir William Howe resigned as Commander-in-Chief,
and his successor, Sir Henry Clinton, fearful of being caught in
the city of brotherly love and cut off from his main base at New
York, gave word to evacuate. On June 18, 1778, Clinton's column
began its northerly trek across New Jersey. Hovering like a
vulture, Washington struck at the British rear guard near
Monmouth Court House on June 28. A full scale battle developed,
but nothing came of it except men were killed. The 64th Regiment,
reinforced during the winter to 394 rank and file, didn't see
much action. It only lost one man missing and four dead of
heatstroke in the 96 degree heat. After a night's rest on the
savagely contested field, Clinton's army continued its march to
New York.

New England
The remainder of 1778 turned out to be a fine year for raiding.
In July the 64th, brought up to 446 effectives with drafts from
England and Ireland, accompanied Major General Charles Grey, the
notorious "No Flint" Grey of Paoli fame, on a short tour of the
New England coast. Grey's expedition visited Yankee privateer
nests at Fairhaven, Massachusetts, and New Bedford, Rhode Island,
spreading havoc and destruction. Grey's men burned over seventy
ships, twenty six storehouses, several whaleboats and destroyed
great quantities of rum, sugar, molasses, coffee, tea, tobacco,
medicines, cotton, gunpowder, sailcloth, cordage, and a salt
works. Sailing on to Martha's Vineyard, the British blew up more
supplies and thirteen artillery pieces, and they carried off
10,000 sheep and 300 cattle for the garrison at New York.

Old Tappan
Pleased by Grey's bravura performance, Sir Henry Clinton sent him
to deal with another problem farther inland. As the summer faded
away, the New Jersey militia began to make a nuisance of
themselves, ambushing British foraging parties and attacking
outposts. Clinton gave Grey the 2nd Battalion of Grenadiers, the
2nd Battalion of Light Infantry, and the 33rd Regiment, and told
him to hunt down and scatter the marauding militiamen, believed
to be gathered near the Hackensack River. The 64th, now down to
420 rank and file, went along too.
"No Flint" Grey never caught the militia; he found an even
greater prize instead. Approaching the village of Old Tappan on
the evening of September 27, 1778, the British came across an
enemy cavalry regiment, Colonel George Baylor's 3rd Continental
Light Dragoons, also known as "Mrs. Washington's Guards", asleep
and unaware of their near presence. Repeating the brutally
effective tactics he had employed at Paoli, Grey had his Redcoats
stalk towards their prey with unloaded muskets: they would have
to rely on the bayonet for the night's deviltry. Maintaining
rigid discipline and silence in the ranks, the Lobsterbacks
closed in unobserved until they came up behind a dozen sentries,
the sergeant's guard posted near Baylor's headquarters. They were
all bayonetted before they could cry out. Grey then soundlessly
surrounded the three barns in which the dragoons were sleeping.
Baylor's troopers never knew what hit them. The night exploded
with a cacophony of shouts: brass butt plates splintered into
barn doors, forcing them open; and then the doorways were filled
with hundreds of redcoated demons, bellowing bloodthirsty roars
and rushing in with those ugly blades fixed and thrust out in
front of them. Few dragoons were able to even so much as sit up
and grab for a pistol before they were nailed to the floorboards
by fourteen inches of cold steel. Thirty six men were stabbed
where they lay. Colonel Baylor was wounded and captured, and his
major, Alexander Clough, was mortally wounded. Saved by the
humanity of one of Grey's captains, the whole 4th Troop, forty
men, surrendered. Only thirty seven dragoons escaped the
slaughter, dodging past the thrusting bayonets unarmed and half
naked.
Following a quiet winter, detachments of the 64th Foot sallied
out of the lines at Paulus Hook to raid American outposts in New
Jersey. During one particularly successful excursion in May of
1779, the regiment captured an officer and sixteen other
prisoners.

Stony Point
On June 1, the 64th landed near Peekskill with Clinton and 6,000
English, Hessian, and Loyalist troops and stormed two of
Washington's weak forts on the Hudson River, Stony Point and
Verplank's Point. Leaving small garrisons to hold them, Clinton
returned to New York, but he soon came bustling back again. Just
before midnight, on July 16, 1779, "Mad Anthony" Wayne and the
Continental Army's Corps of Light Infantry retook Stony Point
with a brilliant bayonet assault. Carrying off 543 prisoners, the
Americans levelled the works and withdrew. To the 64th Regiment
fell the unwelcome task of reoccupying the place and rebuilding
the fort. It took two months of backbreaking work, but by the
time the regiment left Stony Point, its entrenchments were
stronger, and deeper, and better than ever.

Charleston
The winter of 1779 saw a dramatic change in British strategy and
the course of the war. Heartened by the capture of Savannah,
Georgia, and its defense against a superior Franco-American siege
force, Sir Henry Clinton decided to switch operations to the
southern theater, the Carolinas and Virginia. On December 26, he
sailed with 8,500 men for Charleston, the capital and queen city
of South Carolina. The 64th Foot, worn down to 350 troops, formed
a part of the expedition.
Disembarking his sea-weary soldiers on February 11, 1780, it took
Clinton seven weeks to invest the port city. The 64th led in this
effort, and it was with the party that cut Charleston's last
avenue of escape. The regiment spent the rest of the siege as a
covering force, chasing away any relief parties that tried to get
in, and intercepting any fugitives that tried to get out. It did
its work very well, capturing twenty-two prisoners, including the
Governor of South Carolina, John Rutledge. Charleston fell on May
12, and 5,000 Continentals surrendered in the gravest American
defeat of the Revolution.
Following the surrender ceremonies, Sir Henry Clinton returned to
New York, leaving Lord Charles Cornwallis in charge of the
Southern Army. Cornwallis promptly moved north, attempting to
conquer North Carolina and Virginia, and ultimately ending up
pinned, his back to the wall, at Yorktown. By a stroke of good
fortune, the 64th did not accompany the noble Earl's doomed field
army, but remained in South Carolina to safeguard Cornwallis'
lines of communication and serve on garrison duty in Charleston.
Perhaps the term, "garrison duty", with its attendant conjuration
of images of sedentary pleasures and peaceful routine, is
misleading. Even with the fall of Charleston and the departure of
the big armies, war continued to ravage South Carolina. The
conflict was not maintained on a mammoth scale as before, but it
was just as bloody and even more savage. The province was gripped
in a civil war; Americans loyal to the King and Americans loyal
to the Congress found weapons and went for each other's throats.
Neighbor fought neighbor, family fought family, and brother
killed brother. Roving bands of partisans made life hell for the
Redcoats.
For their part, the British made strenuous exertions to keep
South Carolina under the royal standard. Captured guerrillas were
often hanged, and the homes of known Patriot sympathizers were
burned. Major McLeroth and the officers of the 64th reacted to
such cruel excesses with horror, and they avoided them whenever
they could. Many of their common soldiers were Irish; they knew
what it was like to be burned out by English troops, and they
didn't relish assuming such a loathsome role. For their
reluctance to revert to barbarism, McLeroth and his men acquired
a reputation for humanity. It stood them in good stead in one of
their run-ins with the Rebels.
During a guerilla hunting sortie in the region between the Peedee
and Santee Rivers in 1781, An officer of the 64th, Lieutenant
Torriano, was hit by an enemy rifleman at three hundred yards
range. Because of his kindness to American civilians, Torriano
and six other injured soldiers were given a safe conduct to
Georgetown to have their wounds treated.
On another occasion, Major McLeroth outfoxed the legendary
Francis Marion, the Old Swamp Fox himself. At the head of 200
soldiers from his regiment, McLeroth was escorting a supply train
meant for Loyalist troops manning Fort Ninety Six, a stout
stronghold in western South Carolina. Twenty five miles east of
Nelson's Ferry, McLeroth's Redcoats ran into an ambush. A troop
of horsemen from Marion's brigade fell upon the rear guard,
killing a few and panicking the rest. McLeroth was able to
restore order, and pushed on, eager to be out of the tangled
swamps Marion knew so well. Before the train had gone a few
miles, the Swamp Fox hit again, striking the column from the
front and behind. A full-fledged battle developed.
Heavily outnumbered and without cavalry, the valiant McLeroth
fought his way through a narrow, forested road for a mile and a
half. Spotting a large clearing, he wheeled his men onto it, and
drew them up in line. If Marion wanted to finish them, he would
have to come out in the open and suffer heavy losses in the
process. Sure of victory, the Swamp Fox was all too ready to do
battle. Outguessing his opponent, McLeroth put on a bold front,
manoeuvering to upset Marion's deployment until the sun went
down.
With nightfall, Marion's hopes for an immediate win were
postponed to the return of sunlight. Undaunted, the Swamp Fox
waited for morning, but when it came, his quarry had vanished.
McLeroth had decided to choose the better part of valor. Piling
his campfires high with wood, he abandoned his heavy baggage and
beat a rapid escape. Marion sent his cavalry in pursuit, but the
64th brushed the partisans out of the way and continued on with
no further loss.

Eutaw Springs
Despite such minor successes, the tide was turning against the
British in the South. Outmaneuvering and eluding Cornwallis' army
to the north, Major General Nathaniel Greene returned to liberate
the Carolinas with several thousand militiamen and Continentals.
Tiny British garrisons were either snapped up or fled to the
coastlands. By September of 1781, the only territory the King's
forces controlled in South Carolina was a narrow strip of land
between Charleston and the camp of Lieutenant Colonel Alexander
Stewart's 2000 man field army at Eutaw Springs.
At dawn on September 8, 1781, Greene charged Stewart's camp. The
Rebels held a slight numerical edge with 24,000 troops, and they
achieved total surprise. In the first rush, they captured forty
Tory scouts and an unarmed rooting party of 100 men Stewart had
unknowingly placed in their way. Among the unfortunate foragers
were an Ensign and sixty-two other ranks from the 64th Foot.
Warned by the shots, the rest of the regiment, just eight
officers and 172 enlisted men under Captain Dennis Kelly, formed
up with Stewart's army and awaited Greene's onslaught.
Eutaw Springs was one of the most ferociously contested
engagements of the war, a real see-saw affair. At first, luck
favored the British. The 63rd and 64th Regiments charged two of
Greene's artillery pieces at the center of his army. The entire
American front line, four battalions of militia, broke and ran.
But the Continentals behind them stood firm and pressed forward,
enveloping the two outnumbered regiments. Then it was the
Redcoats' turn to lose heart and turn their backs. Unaccustomed
to victory, the Americans discarded discipline and began to loot
the abandoned British camp. This respite gave Stewart a chance to
rally his men, and those magnificent Lobsterbacks returned to the
fray and kicked the Continentals off the field.
But Eutaw Springs was a dear victory; Stewart lost a full two
fifths of his force: 85 dead, 351 wounded, and 430 missing. The
64th Regiment was practically crippled; twelve enlisted men were
killed, two officers and fifty other ranks wounded, and two
officers and fifty four men missing. With the survivors
threatened by swamp fever, Stewart retired behind the batteries,
redoubts, and entrenchments of Charleston.

Combahee River
Cornwallis' surrender at Yorktown on October 19, 1781,
effectively suspended hostilities in America until the official
peace treaty was signed, but the 64th found itself called to one
final battle. In August 1782, the Rebels set up a howitzer on the
Combahee River to prevent British ships from bringing supplies
into Charleston harbor. The 17th, 64th, and 84th Regiments were
sent to deal with the gun on the 23rd of the month. Landing
undetected near Combahee Ford, the Redcoats took the gun and its
entire crew. This bold stroke brought 300 Continentals, mad as
hell and out for blood, down on the raiders. A covering force of
140 men, consisting mainly of the 64th and a few volunteers from
the 17th, was formed to protect the rest of the expedition as it
made its way to the waiting boats.
Captain Kelly arrayed his Redcoats for an ambush, preparing a
position of piled logs and brambles behind a screen of high
grass. As expected, the unsuspecting Americans came on in a
headlong fashion and ran straight into a concealed volley. One of
Washington's most beloved officers, Colonel John Laurens, the son
of a former president of the Continental Congress, was killed
instantly. The Americans charged the 64th once again, but it was
to no avail. The Lobsterbacks cut down twenty of the attackers
and got away without a loss. It was probably the last action of
the war.
Four months later, the 64th sailed out of Charleston forever. The
men must not have been overly saddened to bid South Carolina
adieu. In the course of just two years of service there, the
regiment had lost 400 members to wounds or illness, more
casualties than in any other similar phase of the conflict. Only
eleven out of the battalion's thirty nine officers were present
and fit for duty, and 135 other ranks out of 407 were too sick to
stand on their feet. Transferred to Jamaica, the 64th waited out
the final days of the Revolution in peace and quiet.
It had been a long war, and, for the British, a lost war, but the
64th Foot came out of it with a high head, and the honor of the
corps went unsullied. Seeing more action than most of the King's
forces, it never lost a battle or its colors. Unlike Burgoyne,
Cornwallis, and their luckless followers, the 64th had escaped
capture, even after being cut off by a superior enemy. And at the
eleventh hour, when the King's forces had lost all else, the 64th
Regiment saved face for all the Redcoats engaged by cheating the
Americans of that final victory on the Combahee River.