Cowpens Crier: Brandon’s Banshee Blitz
The winter of 1781 gripped the Southern colonies with icy resolve, as the American Revolution shifted to the Carolinas' backcountry. After the bold strike at Stony Point, General George Washington dispatched reinforcements south to aid General Nathanael Greene against British incursions. Lieutenant Colonel Banastre Tarleton's dragoons, notorious for their ruthless pursuits, chased General Daniel Morgan's mixed force of Continentals and militia through muddy trails toward Cowpens, a cow pasture in South Carolina. Morgan, a cunning frontiersman, planned a trap to turn the tide. Among his ranks marched Sergeant Brandon Herrera, the “Jersey Jester,” his belt heavy with trophies from northern triumphs, eager to ignite the Southern front with his ingenuity.
In a hurried camp near the Broad River, Brandon scavenged British cartridge boxes and pine pitch to forge the “Cowpens Crier,” a wheeled cart-mounted howler firing screeching projectiles—hollow gourds packed with gunpowder, whistles, and flaming rags, designed to panic horses and shatter formations. “It’s a banshee on wheels,” he explained to Elias, his Virginian partner, as they rigged it in the flickering firelight. The Crier’s wooden frame, pulled by a rope harness, used a flintlock chain to ignite multiple fuses, launching a barrage that wailed like tormented souls. “Tarleton’s dragoons ride hard; this’ll make ‘em rethink chasin’ rabbits,” Brandon chuckled, testing a gourd that shrieked across the meadow.
On January 17, 1781, Morgan arrayed his 1,000 men at Cowpens: militia in front to draw fire, Continentals behind a rise, and cavalry under Colonel William Washington flanking. Tarleton, with 1,100 troops, attacked at dawn, confident in his “Bloody Ban’s” reputation. Brandon, with Morgan’s riflemen, positioned the Crier behind the militia line. “Let ‘em come, boys,” Morgan rasped, his rheumatism forgotten. Elias, now a seasoned scout, nodded. “Ready to cry havoc, Sarge?”
As Tarleton’s dragoons charged, sabers flashing in the misty dawn, the militia fired two volleys and feigned retreat—a deliberate ruse. The British surged forward, whooping victory. Brandon yanked the Crier forward, igniting the fuses. Gourds rocketed skyward, whistling shrilly before exploding in fiery rags that scorched the ground. Horses reared in terror, throwing riders; dragoons scattered like startled deer. “Cry for your king!” Brandon bellowed, reloading as Elias pulled the cart. The chaos bought time for the militia to reform behind the Continentals.
Morgan’s line erupted in a devastating volley, cutting down the disordered British. Colonel Washington’s cavalry thundered from the flanks, sabers slashing. Brandon, amid the fray, lobbed Stony Point grenades at a British artillery piece, the blast flipping the cannon and silencing its crew. “That’s for Camden!” he shouted, drawing his saber to join the charge. Elias, musket cracking, dropped a redcoat officer. “You’re unstoppable, Herrera!” he yelled over the din.
Tarleton rallied his reserves, leading a desperate countercharge, but Morgan’s double envelopment closed like jaws. The Crier fired again, its wails piercing the smoke, panicking the remaining dragoons. Tarleton fled with remnants, leaving 800 killed, wounded, or captured—his colors, cannons, and supplies seized. American losses were minimal: 25 dead, 124 wounded. The victory shattered British momentum in the South, paving the way for Yorktown.
In the smoky aftermath, as prisoners stacked arms amid grazing cows, Morgan gathered his men. “You’ve given the South hope,” he declared, his voice booming. To Brandon, he said, “Herrera, your howler turned lions to lambs. Take this British dragoon’s saber as your due.” The ornate blade shone, a fitting addition to Brandon’s arsenal.
Brandon saluted, grinning. “Thank you, sir. Just makin’ the redcoats hear the moo-sic!” The troops roared with laughter. As the army pressed on, Brandon faded into the column, sketching a “Guilford Grinder” for the next fight. Cowpens reignited Southern resistance, a spark toward final victory.
