Whenever the British and tories charged with the bayonet, under Ferguson, De Peyster, or some of their lieutenants, the mountaineers were forced back down the hill; but the instant the red lines halted and returned to the summit, the stubborn riflemen followed close behind, and from every tree and boulder continued their irregular and destructive fire.

The peculiar feature of the battle was the success with which, after every retreat, Campbell, Shelby, Sevier, and Cleavland rallied their followers on the instant; the great point was to prevent the men from becoming panic-stricken when forced to flee.

The pealing volleys of musketry at short intervals drowned the incessant clatter of the less noisy but more deadly backwoods rifles.

The wild whoops of the mountain men, the cheering of the loyalists, the shouts of the officers, and the cries of the wounded mingled with the reports of the firearms, and shrill above the din rose the calling of the silver whistle.
Wherever its notes were heard the wavering British line came on, and the Americans were forced back.

Ferguson dashed from point to point, to repel the attacks of his foes, which were made with ever-increasing fury.