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Sarah Reeve Gibbes
No better picture of the distress and, indeed, the cataclysm
that the later campaigns of the Revolution brought into southern
life can be offered than the story of the experiences of Sarah
Reeve Gibbes. She was married when about eighteen to Robert
Gibbes, a man considerably older than herself, but who possessed
wealth and was in every case one of those gentlemen of the old
school of whom South Carolina has justly made her boast He had a
house in Charleston, which had been the girlhood home of Miss
Sarah Reeve, but they both preferred to spend most of the year
at his country seat and plantation on John's Island, about two
hours sail from the city. This was a splendid place, the various
clusters of buildings resembling a settlement rather than one
estate, while the beautifully laid-out grounds and shaded walks
gave a most inviting aspect, and earned for its large, square,
ancient-looking stone mansion the name of "Peaceful Retreat."
Here the young wife devoted herself with earnestness to the
duties before her. The children that came to them were many and
strong, but before they were fully grown she assumed the care of
seven orphan children of the sister of Mr. Gibbes, who at her
death had left them and their estate to his guardianship. Two
other children were before long added to her charge. Then she
saw her husband gradually become a chair-ridden invalid with
gout, and the management of the estate, with the writing on
business it required, devolved absolutely upon Mrs. Gibbes. The
multiplied cares involved in meeting all these responsibilities,
together with the superintendence of household concerns,
required a rare degree of energy and activity, yet the mistress
of this well-ordered establishment dispensed the hospitality of
"Peaceful Retreat" with such grace that it became famous. Unable
by reason of his affliction to take active part in the war, the
feelings of Robert Gibbes were nevertheless warmly enlisted on
the Republican side and their house was ever open for the
reception and entertainment of the friends of liberty. It was
doubt-less the fame of the luxurious living at this delightful
country-scat which attracted the attention of the British during
the invasion of Prevost, while the Royal army kept possession of
the seaboard about Charleston. A battalion of British and
Hessians determining to quarter themselves in so desirable a
spot,' arrived at the landing at the dead of night, and marching
up in silence, surrounded the house.
The day had not begun to dawn when an aged and faithful servant
tapped softly at the door of "Miss Gibbes' " apartment The
whisper "Mistress" the redcoats are all around the house' was
the first intimation of their danger. "Tell no one, Caesar, but
keep all quiet' she replied promptly, and her preparations for
receiving the intruders were instantly begun. Having dressed
herself quickly she went upstairs, waked several women guests
and requested them to dress with all haste. In the meantime the
domestics had waked the children, of whom with her own and those
under her care, there were sixteen, the eldest being only
fifteen years old. Mrs. Gibbes then assisted her husband as was
her custom, to rise and dress and had him placed in his rolling
chair. All these arrangements were made without the least
confusion and so silently that the British had no idea any one
was yet awake within the house. The object of all this
preparation, by the clever woman, was to prevent violence on the
enemy's part, by showing them at once that the mansion was
inhabited only by those who were unable to defend themselves.
The impressive manner in which Mrs. Gibbes drew the curtain on
her pathetic drama produced its effect even on the hardened
soldiers. The invaders had no knowledge that the inmates were
aware of their presence till daylight, when the heavy rolling of
Mr. Gibbes' invalid chair across the great hall toward the front
door was heard. Supposing the sound to be the rolling of a
cannon, the soldiers advanced and stood prepared, with pointed
bayonets to rush in when the signal for assault should be given.
As the door was thrown open and the stately, though helpless
form of the invalid was presented, surrounded by women and
children, they drew back and, startled into an involuntary
expression of respect, presented arms. Mr. Gibbes addressed
them, and for a moment the pathos of his words seemed to halt
the intended invasion. The British officers, however, soon took
possession of the house, leaving the premises to their men, and
making no proviso against pillage; so the soldiers roved over
the place at their pleasure, helping themselves to what-ever
they chose, breaking into the wine room, drinking to
intoxication and seizing upon and carrying off the Negroes.
Within the mansion, the energy and self-possession of Mrs.
Gibbes still protected her family. The appearance of fear or
confusion might have tempted the invaders to incivility; but it
was impossible for them to treat otherwise than with deference a
lady whose calm, quiet deportment commanded their highest
respect Maintaining her place as mistress of the household and
presiding at her table, she treated her uninvited guests with a
dignified courtesy that insured civility while it prevented
presumptuous familiarity. The boldest and rudest among them
bowed willingly to an influence which fear or force could
neither have secured.
When the news of the occupation of the Gibbes Plantation, no
longer, alas! in reality "Peaceful Retreat" by the British
reached Charleston, the authorities dispatched two galleys to
dislodge them. The men were given strict instructions not to
fire on the house for fear of injury to any of the helpless
family, but it could not be known to Mrs. Gibbes that such a
caution was to be taken, and as soon as the Americans began to
fire, she decided that she must seek a place of safety for her
family. The horses being in the enemy's hands, they had no means
of conveyance, but Mrs. Gibbes, undaunted and desperate, to
secure shelter for her helpless charges, set off to walk with
the children and her husband, the latter pushed in his chair by
a faithful servant, to an adjoining plantation. A drizzling rain
was falling, and the weather was extremely chilly; moreover the
firing from the boats was incessant and in a direction which was
in range with the course of the fugitives. The shot falling
around them cut the bushes and struck trees on every side.
Exposed each moment to this imminent danger, they continued
their flight with as much haste as possible for about a mile
when they were at least beyond reach of the shot
Having reached the house occupied by the Negro laborers on the
plantation, they stopped for a few moments to rest, and Mrs.
Gibbes, wet, chilled, and exhausted by fatigue and mental
anxiety, felt her strength utterly fail and she was obliged to
wrap herself in a blanket and lie down upon one of the beds.
Then, just when the fleeing party first drew breathe freely,
thankful that the fears of death were over, it was discovered,
on reviewing the trembling group that a little boy, John
Fenwick, was missing. In the hurry and the terror of the flight,
the child had been forgotten and left behind. Mrs. Gibbes not
being equal to further effort she was obliged to see her little
daughter, only thirteen years of age, set out upon the fearful
peril of a return journey to the house. The girl reached the
house still in possession of the enemy and persuaded the
sentinel to allow her to enter. She found the child in a room in
the third story, and lifting him joyfully in her arms, carried
him down and fled with him to the spot where her anxious parents
were awaiting her return. The shot flew thickly around her,
frequently throwing of the earth in her way, but with something
of her mother's intrepidity, she had pushed through in safety.
Sometime after these occurrences, when the family were again
inmates of their own home, a battle was fought in a neighboring
field. When the struggle was over, Mrs. Gibbes sent her servants
to search among the slain for her nephew who had not returned.
They identified him by his clothes, his face being so covered
with wounds that he could never have been recognized. Life was,
however, not extinct, and under the unremitting care of his
aunt, he eventually recovered.
In after years, Mrs. Gibbes was accustomed to point out the spot
where her eldest son when only sixteen years old had been placed
as a sentinel, while British ships were in the river and their
fire was poured on him. She would relate how, with a mother's
agony of solicitude, she watched the balls as they struck the
earth around him, while the youthful soldier maintained his
dangerous post not-with-standing the entreaties of an old Negro
servant who hid behind a tree.
So, we, who enjoy the liberty and peace purchased at such
fearful cost, can-not fully estimate the sacrifice of the
heroines of the Revolutionary War. Sarah Reeve Gibbs exhibited
always the same composure and the readiness to meet every
emergency with the same benevolent sympathy for all
unfortunates.
Mrs. Gibbes had a cultivated mind, and in spite of her many
cares, still found leisure for literary occupation. Volumes of
her writings remain, filled with well-selected extracts from the
many books she read and accompanied by her own comments; also
essays on various subjects, poetry, and copies of letters to her
friends. Most of her letters were written after the war, and
beside expressing the tenderest sensibility and refinement,
throw interesting light on the pitiable condition of the
southern sections at that time.
During the latter part of her life she resided at "Wilton," the
country seat of a friend, "Peaceful Retreat" having become
uninhabitable. At "Wilton" she died in 1825, at the age of
seventy-nine. Her remains, however, were laid to rest in the
family burial ground upon John's Island, the scene of her trials
during the days of bloodshed and ruthlessness in the
Revolutionary War.
Women of
America
Source: The Part Taken by Women in
American History, By Mrs. John A. Logan, Published by The Perry-Nalle
Publishing Company, Wilmington, Delaware, 1912.
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