Marion often spoke of this part of the war, as of a transaction which
he remembered with sorrow. "We arrived," said he, in a letter to a friend,
"at the Indian towns in the month of July. As the lands were rich
and the season had been favorable, the corn was bending
under the double weight of lusty roasting ears and pods of clustering beans.
The furrows seemed to rejoice under their precious loads --
the fields stood thick with bread. We encamped the first night in the woods,
near the fields, where the whole army feasted on the young corn,
which, with fat venison, made a most delicious treat.

"The next morning we proceeded by order of colonel Grant,
to burn down the Indians' cabins. Some of our men seemed to enjoy
this cruel work, laughing very heartily at the curling flames,
as they mounted loud crackling over the tops of the huts.
But to me it appeared a shocking sight. Poor creatures! thought I,
we surely need not grudge you such miserable habitations.
But when we came, according to orders, to cut down the fields of corn,
I could scarcely refrain from tears. For who could see the stalks
that stood so stately with broad green leaves and gaily tasseled shocks,
filled with sweet milky fluid and flour, the staff of life;
who, I say, without grief, could see these sacred plants
sinking under our swords with all their precious load,
to wither and rot untasted in their mourning fields?

"I saw every where around the footsteps of the little Indian children,
where they had lately played under the shade of their rustling corn.
No doubt they had often looked up with joy to the swelling shocks,
and gladdened when they thought of their abundant cakes for the coming winter.
When we are gone, thought I, they will return, and peeping through the weeds