Lydia Isom Mackey, wife of Charles Mackey
Most genealogists live for the moment when they can find information of an ancestor that is noteworthy. This story has been that moment for me. I first heard of this story from my mother’s cousin and have done my best to confirm its authenticity.
My great, great, great, great grandfather Charles Mackey fought in the Revolutionary War under General Francis Marion. This is supposedly a true story about an incident that took place in 1781 during the War. Online accounts of Marion’s battles track with this information although there is no record of this particular incident or any mention of Charles Mackey. My great, great, great, great grandmother Lydia Isom Mackey used to tell this story to her grandchildren, one of whom was James Marion Sims, the father of modern gynecology. He later published Lydia’s story in his memoirs, and this is my interpretation. It is written as if Lydia is telling the story.
Back in 1781 Charlie and me and our two boys lived in South Carolina up near the North Carolina border. We had a good life there until the British troops moved into the area. Then Charlie had to decide whether to pledge his allegiance to England or to America. If he chose America, he would become a traitor to the crown of England and if caught could be sentenced to death. But the Mackeys were Scots-Irish immigrants and they came to America to be free so Charlie pledged his allegiance to America.
My Charlie is not a big man, but he’s very strong. And back then he was very active and energetic. He was a fine horseman and a splendid shot. And he had been bustin’ his britches so to speak to get in the thick of the fighting, just as soon as the British moved into South Carolina. He sure didn’t want the British killing his family and destroying our property. So Charlie and the other Scots Irish who lived in the area joined up as patriots under General Francis Marion, also known as “The Swamp Fox.” They didn’t get paid for fightin’. They didn’t even have uniforms, and they had to furnish their own horses and weapons. And sometimes the only food they could find to eat was sweet potatoes. The patriots occupied and held the southern portion of Lancaster County until the summer of ‘81 when British troops arrived, led by Sir Banastre Tarleton. Tarleton was an evil person. Americans called him “The Butcher” because he usually massacred our troops rather than take prisoners. With Tarleton’s arrival, our rebel troops were driven back across the Pee Dee River.
My Charlie is a good husband and a wonderful father, but the man can be hotheaded and impulsive. He used to drive me crazy worrying about him because of his daredevil deeds and the foolish risks he took. You see, I’ve always been the levelheaded one in the family. I had to be or we would never survive. I have always been the one to stay calm and think things through. If I’d let Charlie have his way, no tellin’ what trouble we’d be in.
I think you’ll understand better when I tell you about the time during that summer of ‘81 when Charlie just outdid himself with foolishness.
Charlie and his troops had to retreat and it wasn’t easy to stay in touch with me and the youngins. He was especially worried because of my condition see’in as how I was goin to have another youngin in another month or so. He knew it was foolhardy for him to sneak home because Tarleton’s camp was just two and a half miles from our house, but Charlie never let a little thing like that stop him when he set his mind to something.
We lived in a double log cabin, with cultivated patches of corn and potatoes on either side of a lane leading to the front, but Charlie never approached the house from the front. Our kitchen was on the ground level at the back of our house, surrounded by a half-acre or so of garden extending back to a large huckleberry swamp. Now it was mighty difficult for man or beast to get through this swamp. It was surrounded by water from ten to thirty feet wide, making it almost like an island. But Charlie had figured out a way to come and go through this swamp by jumping from tussock to tussock of moss-covered clumps of mold, a foot or two in diameter and rising six or eight inches above the black jelly-like mire, which shook in every direction when he passed over it. He had a plank that served as a temporary drawbridge. After he set foot in our garden, he pulled the drawbridge back into the swamp so no one could see it. As additional protection, we had two large watchdogs that Charlie had trained to bark whenever someone approached our house.
It was early June and Charlie had been coming and going from our house for about a week. He’d spend the days in the swamp or spying on the British, and then sneak home late at night. Although I was worried about his safety, it was nice having him home at night. He was on the eve of leaving with some valuable information for the rebel generals, gained by his prowlings in and about the headquarters of Colonel Tarleton.
Early the next morning, an hour or two before daylight, our usually faithful watchdogs failed to give warning of the approach of strangers. The first notice we had was when we heard someone shout “Hallo!” in front of the house. I jumped out of bed, threw open the window shutters, and saw the silhouettes of six horsemen near our front gate. As I think back on that day, I am amazed at how calm I was, as I shouted back, “Who’s there?” The leader answered, “We’re looking for Charles Mackey. Is he home?” Without hesitation, I answered back “No.” In the meantime Charlie had raised the loose plank in the floor and was ready to make for the swamp in the rear. Just then, one of the horsemen said, “Well, we are very sorry indeed, for there was a big fight yesterday on Lynch’s Creek, between General Marion and the British, and we routed the damned redcoats completely. We’ve been sent to General Davie at Lansford, with orders to unite with Marion at Flat Rock as soon as possible, so we can attack Tarleton. Since we don’t know the way to Lansford, we came by for Charlie to pilot us.”
In the past, the British had used many ploys to try to capture Charlie, and I was determined to stick with my story . . . just in case this was another one of those ploys. So, I said, “I’m very sorry, but Charles is not at home.”
But this sudden news of victory, after so many reverses, was more than my sweet, impetuous husband could stand. He rushed past me out the front door of the house into the midst of the horsemen, shouting hurrahs for Marion and Davie, and shouting vengeance on the redcoats and Tories. Then he began to shake hands enthusiastically with the boys, and to ask particulars about the fight, when the ring-leader of the gang coolly said: “Well Charlie, old fellow, we have set a good many traps for you, but never baited ‘em right till now. You are our prisoner.” And they marched him off just as he was, without hat or coat, and without even allowing him to say goodbye to me and the youngins.
I was frantic all that day and night. I didn’t know if Charlie was alive or dead. The next morning, I decided I had to find out for myself, so I gathered some fruit and eggs, put them in a basket, and headed for Colonel Tarleton’s camp. The British always welcomed the food brought by the local folks, and I was readily admitted to the camp. I asked where I might find Colonel Tarleton, and was told he was on parade. A nice young officer paid me for the eggs and fruit, and I confided that my basket of food was merely a pretext to get to Colonel Tarleton’s headquarters. I explained that my husband Charles had been captured, and I didn’t even know if he was still alive. My greatest fear was that the men who captured him had hung him from the nearest tree.
The officer told me that Colonel Tarleton wouldn’t return from parade for two hours when he came in for his mid-day meal. I knew I had to find a way to stay in camp until then, so I started talking to this nice young officer. I told him all about my youngins at home and how my next one was going to be born any time now. I even added a few tears to gain his deepest sympathy. He told me Charlie was under guard nearby; that he had been tried and sentenced to death as a spy; and that he feared there was no hope of a reprieve because of all the evidence against him. Then he told me how cruel and unforgiving Colonel Tarleton was. “Mrs. Mackey,” he said, “Even if he agrees to talk with you, he will promise you anything just to get rid of you, but he will never fulfill his promise. However, just in case I’m wrong, I will prepare the necessary documents for your husband’s release, filling in the blanks, so all Colonel Tarleton has to do is sign. But, frankly ma’am, I think this is almost hopeless.”
At 12 noon, Colonel Tarleton rode up, dismounted, and entered the adjoining tent. As he passed along, the young officer said: “Wait until he dines. Another charger will then be brought, and when he comes up to mount, you can approach him, and not till then.”
At the expected time, Colonel Tarleton came out of his tent. It was hard to believe that someone so young and so handsome could be so cruel. I was scared to death, but I knew what I had to do. As Tarleton walked toward his charger, so did I. “Colonel Tarleton,” I called out. “I must talk with you!” Tarleton quickly answered that he was in a great hurry and could not stop to consider my cause. “Colonel Tarleton, my husband Charles Mackey has been sentenced to death and you alone have the power to save his life.” What happened next was just like the nice young officer had warned me about. Tarleton replied, “Very well, my good woman; when I return, later in the day, I will inquire into the matter.” Saying this, he placed his foot in the stirrup and sprang up. I knew I couldn’t let him leave, so before he could throw his right leg over the saddle, I caught him by the coat and jerked him down.
I’ll never forget his face – that horrible scowl. I again told him I needed his help NOW. I could tell by his eyes, he was getting angry, but I kept pleading with him. He again told me he would take up my case on his return. Then he again tried to mount and I again pulled him down. “Tut, tut, my good woman do you know what you are doing? Begone, I say, I will attend to this matter at my convenience.”
I knew he didn’t mean what he said, so as he prepared to mount a third time, I reached up and grabbed his sword’s scabbard and again pulled him to the ground. I fell to my knees and cried, “Draw your sword and slay me and my unborn babe, or give me the life of my husband for I will never let you go till you kill me or sign this document.” And I drew from my bosom the document the nice young officer had prepared for me and I waved it before his face. By now Tarleton was trembling with rage and was as pale as a ghost. He turned to the young officer, who stood close by intently watching, and said “Captain, where is this woman’s husband?” “Under guard in yonder tent” he replied. “Order him to be brought here.”
I couldn’t believe my eyes when in just a short time Charlie was standing before me. And was he ever surprised to see me. Tarleton said, “Sir, you have been convicted of bearing arms against his majesty’s government. Worse, you have been convicted of being a spy. You have dared enter my lines in disguise, as a spy, and you cannot deny it. But, for the sake of your wife, I will give you a full pardon on condition that you will take an oath never again to bear arms against the King’s government.”
Can you believe that? Tarleton was actually going to free my husband. Just as I was about to run into Charlie’s arms, I could hardly believe what I heard him say next. “Sir, I cannot accept pardon on these terms. It must be unconditional, or I must die.” What was Charlie doing? He knew the youngins and I couldn’t survive without him. Without even thinking, I cried out “I, too, must die” and on my knees I held onto Colonel Tarleton and pleaded with such fervor that he seemed lost for a moment and hesitated. Then turning to the young captain, he said “Captain for God’s sake sign my name to this paper, and let this woman go.” As Colonel Tarleton rode off, I sank to the ground totally exhausted, hoping with all my heart that he felt at least a little happy for having spared the life of my beloved husband Charles Mackey, so that he could live to fight another day for our freedom as Americans.
Living in Hawaii Kai on the Island of Oahu
It’s been awhile since I’ve posted any blogs. The biggest excuse is that I haven’t had much to say, and I haven’t taken the time to write about my family members.
However, in anticipation of an upcoming class I will be co-teaching — “Clips “Quotes” & Cameos” I’ve decided to get serious about writing about the 9 years I lived in Hawaii. I have written some stories previously, and I’m using this one about when I shared a house in Hawaii Kai to jumpstart my memories about that very precious time in my life.
It was 1983 and I had been in Hawaii for three years. First I shared a condo with a woman from Hungary and then I moved into a small furnished studio apartment by myself. I’d been attending the Religious Science Church for a short while and that’s where I met Ann Caston, another single woman about my age, who was also living in a small partly furnished apartment. We both indicated we wanted more space so we decided to pool our resources and find a place we can share.
Housing was expensive in Honolulu, and we set our limit at an amount equal to the sum of our individual rents, which was $750. We talked about what we wanted in a place and set about looking at various advertised rentals. After several weeks of looking, we started to get discouraged and were talking about staying where we were. Then on Sunday morning Ann called and told me there was a townhouse in Hawaii Kai advertised and we needed to be there by noon if we wanted to have a chance at it. Unfortunately, the ad didn’t give the rental amount, but we decided to take our chances.
Hawaii Kai is about a twenty minute drive Diamond Head direction from downtown Honolulu. The drive is beautiful along the coast. Just one block from the ocean we turned into the townhouse complex and started to have our doubts. It’s beautiful. An L-shaped group of buildings with four to five 2-story townhouse units in each, with a community building in the middle and a marina running behind the complex. Each unit has a small fenced privacy yard in the front.
As we walked into the unit, there was a small den, followed by a small living room, dining room and kitchen at the back of the house. From there we went out onto a covered lanai that looked out over the marina. Upstairs there were two bedrooms in the front with a bathroom, and a larger master bedroom at the back, with its own bathroom. This master bedroom had a small balcony from which to view the marina. The place had all the major appliances, including a washer and dryer. This seems like heaven to two women who have been using Laundromats for the last several years.
Wow! Could we be so lucky to get something like this for the price we are willing to pay? We quickly huddled with each other and agreed that this is just what we wanted and we would be willing to go as high as $800 per month. The actual rental price had not yet been revealed, but we signed our names to a list along with many others, talked briefly with the owners and expressed our interest in the unit, and headed back home to wait. If this doesn’t work out, we know it will be difficult to find another location that we both like as well.
Two days later we were amazed when the call comes telling us we have been approved and that the rent is, yes, $750 per month! How about that? We start packing and are ready to move in over the next weekend. The place looked as clean as a pin, so although friends suggested we bug bomb the place before we move in just in case there are cockroaches lurking around, we ignored the suggestion. Our first BIG mistake!
Ann had a few items of furniture; I had a TV and a sewing machine. So we made a visit to the local Salvation Army Store and came home with a couch and two chairs for the living room, a buffet for the dining room and a dresser for my bedroom. My sewing machine came in handy for making slip covers for the chairs. I purchased a new bed for me. With a few makeshift bookcases made from cinder blocks and lumber, we were ready to set up housekeeping.
We drew straws to assign the bedrooms, and I got the master bedroom overlooking the marina, with the private bath. Ann got the two front bedrooms and the bath off the hallway.
A year or so later, we switched so she too could enjoy the sounds and the beauty of the marina.
Our first challenge came when Ann started hanging her pictures on the walls throughout the house. I didn’t have any pictures to contribute to the project, but I was determined to have a say in what goes where. Most of Ann’s pictures had some sentimental value, rather than artistic value. “This oil was painted by my friend Joan or I brought this Chinese drawing back from my trip to China.” Most are reasonably acceptable to me except for a black and red oil painting of a Spanish building. This is something Ann’s former husband had painted when they lived in Spain. I could understand that it is meaningful to her, but that doesn’t make it any more beautiful to me. We finally agreed on a corner in the kitchen, out of immediate sight. On our first Christmas together, Ann gave me a Hawaiian print I had admired. I hung it in my bedroom. Now it felt more like home.
We were both working and usually arrived home around six o’clock in the evening, so we didn’t have too much time to enjoy our new home. When home, we spent a lot of our time on the lanai, watching the few small boats and the many ducks that would go by. There was a small boat loading dock down a few steps from our lanai, but little good it did us since we had no boat. We bought several potted plants for the lanai, and a friend gave us a nice table and chair set so we could eat our meals out there.
Ann loved to cook; not me. So without any formal discussion of the matter, she took on the job of cooking; my job was to clean up the kitchen afterwards. We shared the housecleaning and laundry tasks. I hadn’t had too much experience living with other people, except my family. Ann had quite a bit of experience. Fortunately Ann and I got along just great most of the time. Our habits, interests and lifestyles were quite similar, and our birthdays are just one day apart. Ann moved to Hawaii in the late 1970′s from Santa Barbara, California, after living in many different places around the country. I moved to Hawaii from Santa Barbara, California in 1980, having lived most of my life in Colorado. So we had another common interest to share — Santa Barbara.
We each had our individual friends and we both had mutual friends from church. Now that we had space to entertain, we often hosted holiday dinners at our house. Our guests were usually single women and men who were also living far away from their families. One of our dinners was especially memorable. Ann worked for a Chinese fellow who owned a taxi company. We invited her boss and his wife and several of the drivers for Christmas dinner. Ann also invited an attorney she was dating. Everyone offered to bring something. Lucky for us we prepared a complete meal, because most of the fellows brought wine, bread or candy. We were a little concerned that we might not have anything in common to talk about over dinner, but we had a delightful time. Interestingly enough, soon after the dinner, Ann’s attorney friend called and asked me to do some contract work for him.
After living in Hawaii for a few years, I realized that cockroaches are a common occurrence. You are more likely to have them in your house, than not. Soon after we moved in, we started finding small cockroaches lurking around the kitchen. We had some resident geckos that tried to keep the population low, and we set out roach traps for them. But they kept multiplying and growing until it became necessary to have a professional exterminator come in to set off bug bombs. By now we realized it would have been best to do this when we moved in because now we had to move everything out of the kitchen and start all over again.
Another minor problem we encountered was the mosquitoes. Living so close to the water, we were often bothered by these little pests. We put out bug zappers and mosquito repellent candles, and learned to live with these pests.
We lived together for about 3-1/2 years. During this time I had quit my law-firm job and was doing freelance office administration. I had an opportunity to move to the Pearl Harbor area to share a place with a Navy officer whose husband was being assigned to submarine duty for six months. I jumped at the opportunity since this was a rent-free arrangement. Ann found other housemates and we continued to be friends.
In 1988 I return to the mainland, Ann returned in 1991 and is living in Patagonia, Arizona. We still are good friends and stay in touch. Even though sharing a house with Ann was a pleasant experience, I still prefer to have my own living space.
