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In his travel guide to the Revolutionary War sites of South Carolina, Daniel Barefoot tells the following anecdote:

General [Richard] Richardson died during the war and was laid to rest on the grounds of his plantation... After Banastre Tarleton gave up his attempt to catch the Swamp Fox, he paid a visit to Richardson's plantation. Highly angered that General Richardson's widow had enabled Marion to escape by alerting him to the approach of the British cavalrymen, Tarleton sought retribution. He directed his troopers to dig up the body of General Richardson, who had been buried six weeks earlier. When asked the reason behind this ghoulish act, Tarleton stated that he wanted to "look upon the face of such a brave man." The Richardson family was forced to witness the hideous spectacle.¹

My, isn't that a gruesome little story? Ever since I stopped blindly accepting the Butcher legends, I've wondered what on earth might lie behind it. Tarleton could be ruthless, and he certainly held a more modern view of "the rules of war" than many of his contemporaries, but stories in this kind of psycho-sicko vein are normally confined to collections of undocumented anecdotes.

Yet even Bass accepted this one and attempted to explain it in a half-hearted way by suggesting it was Ban's reaction to news of his friend John André's execution in New York. The timing is certainly right for that -- the Legion was at the Richardson plantation in early November, 1780, roughly the time word of André's death (October 2) would have reached the south. This was also only three or four weeks after Ban arrived too late to save Pat Ferguson's command from disaster at King's Mountain. Descriptions of the aftermath of King's Mountain suggest it was enough to put anyone in a macabre frame of mind. Loyalist wounded were abandoned to die where they lay. Corpses were devoured by local wildlife, leaving bones and body parts scattered across the hillside. Three days after the battle, when the Legion arrived on the scene, the place must have been a good representation of Hell.²

Still, digging up a dead rebel general seemed a pretty bizarre response, even to that.

I didn't get around to actually chasing this one until I happened to be rereading parts of the Wickwires' Cornwallis, the American Adventure, and realized something I'd never consciously noticed before: they mention the raid and the burning of the buildings. They do not claim the general was disinterred. The Wickwires detest Ban Tarleton -- and anyone else who took the Clinton side of the post-war Clinton-Cornwallis controversy -- but they do not report gossip which they can't solidly document.³

This got me even more curious, so I started digging. (Figuratively only...)

Until I began sieving the reality of Tarleton's life from the mythology, I did not fully appreciate the power of folk myth. We all know stories grow with the telling, and many of us have played the game of "broken telephone" as children, but even so we tend to think that written history is a simple recording of facts. But it is truly fascinating to take an event from the RevWar and chase it back through generation after generation of accounts, searching for its seed. A modern historian may footnote his account to a writer from the 1950s, who will footnote his account to a writer from the 1890s, who will footnote his... You get the picture. And each one of them adds (unintentionally or not) his embellishments, so that after four or five stages, the story can have changed completely.

A trivial example of how things change: At Guilford Courthouse, Ban Tarleton was shot in the right hand and had part of his hand amputated. When he wrote (or, more likely under the circumstances, dictated) a letter to tell his brother about it, he said "I was shot in the right hand; half of which has been amputated." Another contemporary account says "Tarlton [sic] has lost two of his Fingers..."⁴

Nowadays, many historians (Bass, for example) say he lost his "fore and middle fingers," which is a seemingly reasonable extrapolation from the contemporary information. Yet it is far from a foregone conclusion. Ban's great-niece Mary, writing in her private journal about her last visit to Ban and his wife prior to his death, says he was missing "a thumb and forefinger." In casual speech, of course, our "fingers" include the thumbs. It's that easy for "facts" to become scrambled, leaving future generations to wonder which version is the truth. And, unfortunately, such changes aren't always accidental.⁵

The tale of Ban's gruesome encounter with the late General Richard Richardson seems to be a sterling example of this mythmaking process.

Some background on the situation: In October/November 1780, Ban Tarleton and Francis Marion engaged in a duel that was to help make Marion -- the clear winner -- a legend. Marion's band had been causing enough disruption of British supply lines for Cornwallis to point Tarleton at the problem and turn him loose, but tactics which were effective against military and militia units proved singularly ineffective against partisans who appeared, raided, and vanished back into the swamps.

In early November, Tarleton came up with a plan to lure the elusive Marion to him. He spread rumors that his main body of dragoons had returned to Camden, hoping Marion would decide to risk an attack on the small, "weakened" corps that was left behind. It might have worked except that Mrs. Richardson -- at whose plantation the Legion was encamped -- found out what was going on and sent one of her sons to warn Marion. Marion had indeed been advancing for an attack, but he retired hastily to safety. Meanwhile, according to the version of the story reported by Bass, a British prisoner escaped from Marion's camp and informed Tarleton that Marion was retreating. He gave pursuit, but failed once again to catch the Swamp Fox. When they finally gave up, the dragoons returned to the Richardson plantation, and burned the plantation's buildings as punishment for Mrs. Richardson's actions.⁶

Except for the addition of the usual emotional embellishments, that is how the incident was first recorded, in a letter from Governor John Rutledge to the Continental Congress, dated December 8, 1780. The relevant portion is quoted by Ramsay:

"Tarleton, at the house of the widow of general Richardson, exceeded his usual barbarity, for having dining in her house, he not only burned it after plundering it of every thing it contained, but having driven into the barn a number of cattle, hogs and poultry, he consumed them, together with the barn and the corn in it, in one general blaze.

"This was done because he pretended to believe that the poor old general was with the rebel army, though, had he opened his grave before the door, he might have seen the contrary."⁷

Rutledge was close to the scene, and no doubt heard of the incident first or second hand from eyewitnesses (perhaps even from Mrs. Richardson or the general's son, also named Richard, who was then a colonel with the rebel forces). Yet his words specifically contradict the possibility of an exhumation. And notice the wording: "...had he opened the grave..." Pretty easy to get from there (via intention, mistake or simple typo) to "...he opened the grave...", wouldn't you say? Keep that in mind, I'll get back to it later.

The first generations of American historians recount essentially the same story. Even William Dobein James -- who provided the description of Waxhaws which produced the whole modern version of the Bloody Ban myths, and a bunch of other nasties -- made no such claim. His version is:

"On this expedition, Tarleton burnt the house, out houses, corn and fodder, and a great part of the cattle, hogs and poultry, of the estate of Gen. Richardson. The general had been active with the Americans, but was now dead; and the British leader, in civilized times, made his widow and children suffer for the deeds of the husband and parent... What added to the cruel nature of the act, was that he had first dined in the house, and helped himself to the abundant good cheer it afforded."⁸

Again Ban just burns the buildings, leaving the old general to rest in peace. William Johnson, writing in 1822, adds another layer of confusion to the tale by recounting essentially the same details, yet substituting Lord Rawdon for Tarleton even though he cites the same primary source (the Rutledge letter):

"The following facts, taken from a letter of Governor Rutledge, to the Delegates in Congress, dated December 8th, 1780, shall conclude this article. ...

"General Richardson, who was then dead, had been an active officer on the American side. ... Subsequent to his death, Lord Rawdon in person called at his plantation, on the route from Camden to Charleston, and partook of the hospitality of his widow. But whilst dining in her house, his men were employed in collecting the cattle, horses, and other stock of the plantation into the barn and buildings connected with it. Fire was then set to the buildings, and the whole, including the crops of the year, consumed together. Lord Rawdon affected to believe that General Richardson was absent on service. I say affected, for the grave of General Richardson, was visible from the house in which Lord Rawdon and his officers had dined."⁹

So by 1822, it was a little unclear which officer had dinner with Mrs. Richardson and set the fires, but either way the general was still safely buried.¹⁰

Yet if we jump forward a century to 1901, Edward McCrady (from whom Bass seems to have gotten his version of the incident) gives this account:

"[Richardson's] remains had been interred but a short time before Tarleton occupied the establishment. He ordered the body of General Richardson, it is said, to be taken up, and left it exposed until, by the entreaties of his family, they were permitted to reinter it. His pretext for this act of barbarity was that he might examine the features of a man of his decided character; but the true object was, it was believed, to ascertain if the family plate had not been buried in his grave."¹¹

So, what happened in the middle? McCrady cites two sources for his description of the whole Marion/Richardson story: William Dobein James and Johnson's Traditions and Reminiscences of the Revolution in South Carolina (1851). In this particular case James is innocent, but Johnson begins his discussion of the Richardson incident with this reassuring little statement: "The numerous distinguished descendants of General Richard Richardson, have many interesting traditions, legends and incidents of his life and family..."¹²

He goes on to provide a sketch of the general's life, and a version of the burning of the plantation which includes the accusation that "[Tarleton] ordered the body of General Richardson to be taken up, and left it exposed, until, by the entreaties of his family, they were permitted to re-inter it." He has no first-hand documentation to offer, just a vague general statement that "Most of these facts" (emphasis mine) were given to him by one of Richardson's descendants in a letter dated 1845 -- sixty-five years and at least two full generations after the event.¹³

Common sense would seem to dictate that such a sensational and ghoulish incident would not have remained hidden and unmentioned for sixty-five years. It seems especially unlikely that it would escape the notice of both Governor Rutledge (who clearly believed the exact opposite, and is the main primary source available) and writers like James and Ramsay who were eager to report anything negative they could find about the British forces in general and Tarleton in particular, whether or not they had any evidence that it was true. Even as late as 1850, Elizabeth F. Ellet's anecdotal history of the war -- which is filled to the brim with violently anti-British sentiment -- contains only the comment that Tarleton "ravaged the plantation and burnt the dwelling" of the late general. The only sensible explanation for the lack of mention seems to be that the story did not exist even as an oral tradition prior to Johnson's publication of it.¹⁴

Several months after this article was first written, I stumbled over what I believe is another piece of the puzzle of how this tale grew up. In History of the Presbyterian Church in South Carolina, George Howe tells the story of another South Carolina Richardson who was, indeed, exhumed from his grave and placed on view for his horrified wife. The circumstances, however, were entirely different.

According to Howe, in July, 1771, Reverend William Richardson of Waxhaw Church died suddenly and under peculiar circumstances. Howe delicately suggests that mental derangement drove him to hang himself with some horse harness in his barn, but his neighbors were of a different opinion. When the young and attractive Mrs. Richardson remarried with inappropriate haste, rumors began to grow that she had had a hand in his death.

This proceeded so far, that a most superstitious and revolting test of her innocence or guilt was at length resorted to. About a year after his interment, the whole community was collected around his grave, the body of Mr. Richardson was exhumed and exposed to view, and Mrs. Richardson was subjected to the shocking ordeal of touching his corpse, on the absurd idea which at that time prevailed, that blood would flow if the murderer should touch the corpse of his victim. She was compelled by the cruel necessity of the case to lay her hand on the forehead of her deceased husband...¹⁵

So, here we have poor Mrs. Richardson standing by the open grave of her husband in shock and horror and... Does this begin to sound familiar?

In the end, there is no solid proof of either the truth or the falsehood of the tale, but personally I don't believe General Richardson was ever dug up. I think it is infinitely more likely that Rutledge's original comment "...had he opened the grave..." planted an idea in someone's mind, and that idea got blended together with some half-heard or half-remembered details of the incident involving Rev. William Richardson's widow to produce a tall tale to scare the kids or put down the British. And over the years that bedtime story evolved into "the truth" simply because it was copied and recopied by so many writers that it has gained an air of respectability. It wouldn't be the first time, and unfortunately it won't be the last.

Just to demonstrate that the folk process is far from dead, Holley stumbled over something on the George magazine website which is most probably another stage in the evolution of this tale. While describing Colonel Tavington's supposed connection to Ban Tarleton in a review of The Patriot, the reviewer offered this bizarre flight of fantasy:

A fellow officer whom Tarleton despised was killed in battle during the Revolution. Never one to let go of a grudge, "Bloody Ban" returned to the United States years after the war and dug up and defiled his nemesis's body.

I'd be fascinated to hear exactly where he turned up that "fact." I'd also like to see his source come up with a gap in the documentation of Ban's life in England and Europe which gives him time to sneak off to America. Perhaps he went along with Mary Robinson when she moved to Charleston, and lived out his life there, sipping mint juleps and exhuming old enemies on slow Saturday nights. I'm sure somebody somewhere is more than willing to claim that he did.¹⁶

You just gotta love the folk process...

Yeah, right.

[I visited the Richardson family cemetery in 2001. Check out the photos.]

Notes:

¹ Daniel W. Barefoot, Touring South Carolina's Revolutionary War Sites (Winston-Salem, North Carolina: John F. Blair Publisher, 1999), pp9-10. [ back ]

² Robert D. Bass, The Green Dragoon; The Lives of Banastre Tarleton and Mary Robinson (New York: Henry Holt and Company, 1957), p111. Alexander Leslie wrote to Cornwallis about André's death from Virginia, in a letter dated Oct. 24, 1780. See PRO 30/11/3/275-6. [ back ]

³ Franklin and Mary Wickwire, Cornwallis: The American Adventure (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1970), p258. [ back ]

⁴ Letter from Banastre to John Tarleton, April 6, 1781, quoted in Bass, p171. Letter from Charles Magill to Thomas Jefferson, March 19, 1781, quoted in Thomas Jefferson, The Papers of Thomas Jefferson, ed. Julian Boyd, 28+ vols. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1950-), 5:183. [ back ]

⁵ Both versions are found in Bass. He makes the former comment on p170 and quotes from Mary's Journal on p452. [ back ]

⁶ It is all too common for authors to personify the British in the Carolinas as a gang of mindless pyromaniacs who ran around trampling crops and burning buildings for the sheer, bloody heck of it. Needless to say, this is ridiculous. In fact a) they did a lot less of it than legend claims and b) when they did it, there were solid reasons for it. (I would never say "good solid reasons" because in the long run it worked very heavily against them -- but they weren't blessed with the 20/20 hindsight we bring to the situation when we look back on its results from 200 years later.)

It is a basic military goal to keep supplies away from your enemies. In this situation, that meant that the crops and goods of people known to be in open rebellion against the Crown were subject to forfeiture. (Proclamations to this effect had been circulated.) Whenever possible, this "punishment" took the form of confiscation, because the British army desperately needed the supplies themselves. It was Cornwallis's policy to leave a portion of the property and goods for the use of the wife and children of the rebel involved, so they would not be made to suffer. (The Wickwires present a lengthy discussion of how the system was designed to work, as well as why and how it generally failed.)

In other cases -- normally when confiscation was impractical -- forfeiture took the form of destruction. There was a war on, after all, and from the British perspective the rebels were armed terrorists.

The destruction or confiscation of property was a form of punishment used by both sides. For instance, Lawrence E. Babits, A Devil of a Whipping, The Battle of Cowpens (Chapel Hill, N.C. & London: University of North Carolina Press; 1998), p48, has this comment to make on Daniel Morgan's army shortly before the battle of Cowpens: "Morgan's men plundered [Alexander] Chesney's property of everything usable, including grain, trees, clothing, and blankets. ... By camping on a Loyalist's property, Morgan punished Chesney, intimidated other Tories, and lessened his army's impact on local patriots."

One of the points The Patriot actually got right was Ben Martin's speech about the consequences of starting a war that would be fought in your own back yard. The cost can be heavy.

In addition to serving as a punishment, the destruction of rebel property had another aspect which many writers overlook. It robbed the enemy of building materials such as finished lumber and also of strong points which could be fortified. We tend to underestimate the value of finished materials nowadays, but especially in remote locations, they were rare and hard to replace. (Yes, they had plenty of trees, but they needed time and sawmills to turn raw wood into lumber.) There are cases recorded of buildings (including a church) being disassembled and their raw materials used to construct fortifications. And areas were sometimes accepted or rejected for military purposes based on the presence or absence of defensible buildings. [ back ]

⁷ David Ramsay, The History of the Revolution in South Carolina from a British Province to an Independent State, 2 vols. (Trenton, 1785), 2:160. The full letter, complete with Rutledge's idiosyncratic spelling and punctuation, is printed in John Rutledge, "The Letters of John Rutledge," ed. Joseph W. Barnwell, South Carolina Historical Magazine 18 (1917): 44. [ back ]

⁸ William Dobein James, A Sketch of the Life of Brig. Gen. Francis Marion, and A History of his Brigade (1821), n.p. [ back ]

⁹ William Johnson, Sketches of the Life and Correspondence of Nathanael Greene, Major General of the Armies of the United States, in the War of the Revolution 2 vols. (Da Capo Press, New York, 1973), 2:471. [ back ]

¹⁰ Reports from Tarleton to Cornwallis support Rutledge's letter in identifying it as being Ban's action not Rawdon's. [ back ]

¹¹ Edward McCrady, The History of South Carolina in the Revolution, 1780-83 (New York: Russel and Russel, 1902), p817. [ back ]

¹² Joseph Johnson, Traditions and Reminiscences Chiefly of the American Revolution in the South (Spartanburg, S.C.: The Reprint Company, 1972), p158. [ back ]

¹³ Joseph Johnson, p162. [ back ]

¹⁴ Elizabeth F. Ellet, The Women of the American Revolution, 3 vols. (New York: Haskell House Publishers, Inc., 1969), 1:270. [ back ]

¹⁵ George Howe, History of the Presbyterian Church in South Carolina, 2 vols. (Columbia, SC: Duffie & Chapman, 1870-1873), 1:417-418. [ back ]

¹⁶ See Perdita's in Charleston for a recounting of the tall tale connecting Mary to that city. [ back ]