What wild and gloomy thoughts had possession of her soul is evident from the desperate idea, afterwards confessed to, which ccurred to her of playing a Roman matron's part and mixing poison, which she had in the house, with the food they had to eat. But her noble nature shrank from such an expedient. She well knew the brave spirit that animated her husband and his comrades, and that her husband would not approve of such a desperate deed. They might even now be tagging the footsteps of this enemy; they might be watching the opportunity for an attack. She would not have them owe to a cowardly stratagem the victory they should win on the battlefield. So, having calmly prepared the repast, she retired with her children to an upper apartment.
After they had eaten, the British officer drew his men to another house about half a mile off to pass the night. They lay in camp about it, the guard keeping negligent watch and little dreaming of the scene that awaited them. Mrs. Bratton had, in the meantime, dispatched a trusted messenger to her husband with word of the position and number of the enemy. He thereupon marshalled his pitiful troop of only seventy-five men and proceeded against the impromptu British encampment attacking it rear and front at the same time. The British officer failed to rally his men, and the spirit and determined fervor of the patriots carried all before them. This victory was due to the presence of mind of one loyal American woman.
About daylight, when the firing had ceased, Mrs. Bratton ventured out, fearful of finding her nearest and dearest among the dead and dying lying about the building, but none of her loved ones had fallen. She opened her house to the wounded of both sides and humanely attended the sufferers in person, giving them indiscriminately, Loyalist and Whig alike, every relief and comfort in her power to bestow. The sequel to this chapter of her courage and resolution is interesting. The leader of the British troops having been slain in the battle, the next officer in command took his place and he was among the prisoners who surrendered to the Whigs. They determined to put him to death. He entreated as a last favor to be conducted to the presence of Mrs. Bratton. She instantly recognized him as the officer who had interfered and saved her life. Gratitude, as well as the mercy natural to woman's heart, prompted her now to intercede for him. She pleaded with an eloquence which, considering the share she had borne in the common distress and danger, could not be withstood. Her petition was granted. She procured the officer's deliverance from the death that awaited him and entertained him in her own house until he was exchanged. There is hardly a situation in romance or dramatic fiction which can surpass the interest and pathos of this simple incident.
Another anecdote is related of Mrs. Bratton. Before the fall of Charleston, when resistance throughout the state was in a great measure rendered impossible by the want of ammunition, Governor Rutledge had sent on a supply to the regiment to enable them to harass the invading army. The portion given to Colonel Bratton was in his absence from home confided to the care of his wife. Some Loyalists who heard of this informed the British officer in command of the nearest station and a detachment was immediately sent forward to secure the valuable prize. Mrs. Bratton was aware that there could be no chance of saving her charge but she resolved that the enemy should not have the benefit of it. She therefore
