Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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BY JAMES A. HOYT. ANDERSON COURT HOUSE, S. C, THURSDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 20, 1860. VOLUME 1.?NUMBER 19. %u |ntmstiitg. j?ttt$: ?HS ?1? A Tale of the Carolinas. hi a small farm-house, towards the fclose of the year 17S0, sat an old man, his wife and only son. The face of the father appeared troubled; at times he looked thoughtfully on the floor, and then he- Would gaze long and wistfully at his son, a fine, manly youth of twenty. At j length he said: ''David, this.is disastrous news from Oamden. God knows -what will become of the country now! Congress needs ev? ery arm that is capable Ah, me ! I wish this old wound I got in the French war bad not lamed me; but for it, I sliould be how shouldering my musket and march? ing to defend my country." ? iJoth the son and wife looked up at these words. The old lady ceased knit? ting and gazed inquiringly at her boy, and it was evident, from the expression of her face, that patriotism and motherly affection were at variance in her bosom. The son, however, after encounter? ing his father's eye for a moment, turned confusedly away. Tho old man's brow darkened, and he said warmly: "David, David, why do you linger about the village when your country needs your services so much? Why, son, I am ashamed of you! Twice before this have I spoken to you upon this subject, but you appear to have no spirit. What! "will you see us trampled upon by the ^brutal mercenaries of Britain, and still lie here supinely! For shame, David? for shaino ! I will not cdl you my son ! Long since you ought to. have been in the army.'" "Joshua," interposed tke old mother, '?David is but a youth; then do not speak to him so harshly. He cannot yet fool wh?.c you feel, v.-ho have fought so often against oar country's enemies; Joshua, he is. but a boy." . "A boy, indeed, Deborah! Such boys as'David have already gained iinperisha bta laurels since the war commenced. I! could nanic a-host of them. "Why, wore it not for the boys of the land, where would be our army J?which, I dare say, K^r^fSK^r TfcTfrposed of toys ?f-Da vid's.age." The old man was excited, and it was the first unkind word that he had ever used to his bo}'. David arose and left the house. LTo walked some distance apparently in deep thought. - , "What will not woman do ?" he at last muttered. "Here I have been lingering aboct the village when I should have been off long ago. And what for ? Why, to meet a pretty girl, and to listen to her musical voice. BUt liow, I will be nvy self again ! What did he call me?was it not coward? jNow, by heaven! Lwill learn Him that ho has a son who posses? ses the spirit of his father. > Awa}', then, With love; for I feel that I am called up? on to act, and no longer dream! Ere a fortnight my father shall hear of m^ or else-1 lose my life in striving for it." And with this resolution he turned about, and retraced his ?teps. When ho reached home he sought the stables, saddled his horse, and mounting him struck into a gallop, which continued for several miles. At length he stopped and looked up at the windows of a farm? house, half hid between clustering trees. This was the residence of Mary Bunker, the mistress of his heart; the lights show? ed that the family had not retired, and he resolved to pay her a visit before his de? parture. She was alone when he entered, and a fe>7 words acquainted her with his determination. She burst into tears. "2iay, Mary," he said, "you must not unman me. At first I resolved to leave you without a farewell, for I knew how much you dreaded ray taking an active part in this struggle. But I could not bp bo cruel as to desert you without a word." "I will compose myself/' said tho fair with an effort to smile. "I know I bavo been wrong to persuade you to stay; but you cannot imagine the anxiety I suf? fer on account of my brothers, and I could not bear to have y ou too encounter their danger. But since this dreadful defeat . at Camden, I feel that every man is want? ed, by our country. Go, then, dearest, and God be with you. My pnryors shall attend you night and day." David pressed the now weeping girl to kis bosom, snatched a hasty kiss at tho sound of approaching footsteps, wrung her hand, and was gone. The next day he left tho neighborhood of his father's house, armed with a mus? ket and mounted on a sturdy horse. Iiis destination was the American camp, then far to the northward; but as the interven? ing country was filled with the enemy, he knew there would be considerable ad? dress required to effect his purpose. Be-' fore his departure lie saw a few of his old playmates, who promised to follow him as soon as possible. Night found him near a lonelj- farm? house, to which he proceeded boldly in pursuit of a lodging. At first the occu? pant received him coldly; but a chance expression convincing David that his host was a tory, he affected the same political creed and was immediately warmly wel? comed. The royalist produced his cider after supper, and insisted that David should join him in his potations; this the young man did, taking care, however, not to indulge too freely; while the farnier, overjoyed to find what he suppostd a new recruit for his party, drank without stint, and became more and more communica? tive. To his horror David soon learned that a party of loyalists, led by a Major Wilson, celebrated for his toryism and ruthlessness. were to start early the en? suing day, on an expedition to seize and hang the two Bunkers, who had made themselves particularly obnoxious to tbe royalist lenders. David knew enough of this partisan warfare to be assured that no mercy woidd be shown his friends; he also knew enough of the Major to suspect that some strong porsonal motive had led to the planning of so distant an expedi? tion, when there were others as inviting nearer home. lie accordingly set him? self to discover from his half-inebriated companion the truth. Nor was it long before success crowned his adroit cross examination. '?Why," said his host, "I believe there's a little revenge for a slight received from these fellows' sister, mixed up with the Major's desire to catch the Bunkers. The girl is very pretty, they say. and th Ma? jor, when she was down here o:. a visit last year?before the Avar got to be so bloody?wanted to many her. but she would have nothing to say to him. Ever since, he has vowed to make her ruo Ihe day. You may depend on it he will have her on his own terms now?thank heav? en ! there's no law any longer to prevent an honest ro}'alist from doing as he pleas? es to those rascally rebels. But yonder is the Major now," suddenly said his host, starting up, "I'll introduce you to him at once?a merry fellow you'll find him? Lord love_you, he's-as brave as a Ivan/.1 ' "David, though horrified at the diaboli? cal plot he had heard, saw the necessity of dissembling in order to learn further of the tones' plans, and find means, if possible, to circumvent them, lie arose, therefore, and shook the Major's hand warmly?pledged him immediately in a brimmer; and soon contrived to make the royalist believe that he was anxious to join a troop and fight against the reb? els. This induced the Major to bo unusu? ally civil, for he wished to secure so athletic a recruit himself. It was not long before a bargain had been concluded between the two. David refused, howev? er, to sign the agreement that night; he protended that several others of his friends were disaffected and desirous of joining tho loyalists; and his object, he said, was to secure a commission for him? self by inducing them to join. This tempting bait took?the Major promised him a command in his troop in case of success, and David signified his intention of setting forth, alter he had taken r, few hours rest, in order to lose no time in gathering together his recruits. The dread of discovery had been con? stantly before our hero during the man? agement of this negotiation, for his per? son was well known to many of the Ma? jor's troop, and if any of them had come up, his feigned name would not have pro? tected him from detection. He wished to get off that night, as he had proposed; but to this nei^cr his host nor the Major would hear, and he was forced to remain till morning. What was his anguish to hear, on rising, that the Major had been gone some hours- and was already on his way to the Bunkers, with his troop. Dis? sembling his anxiety. David partook of a hasty breakfast, and mounting his horse, rode slowly away. But when out of sight of the house he struck into a fierce gallop, which he continued till he came in sight of a crossroad, where was a tavern. Here he stopped and learning that the royalists had taken the high road, ho tared aside into a narrow and more circuitous one. "It is my only chance to avoid them," ho said, again dashing into a gallop. '?Pray God, I may reach the settlement in time to collect a few of our lads and march to Bunkers. There is no other hope now left." Night had fallen, as they expected, be? fore the tones weroable to reach the vi? cinity of the house they were in search of. At length, however, after a silent march through the woods it broke upon their view. A light was burning in one of the windows, and when they ar? rived close to the premises the lively notes of a violin reached their cars, proving that'the brothers were not aware of their presence, but enjoying themselves in im? agined security. "Nowmcn," whispered tho leadci of the torics, "when I give the word,fire a volley at the house by way of introducing our? selves; we will then surround the place and enter it." At that instant the deep bay of a dog rang in their cars, and a large maetiff sprang from under the house and rushed at the major. "FireI" he cried. Twenty guns broke upon the stillness of the night?the dog fell dead?every pane of glass in the front of the house was shivered, and the torlos yelled like savages. In an instant the light in the bouse was extinguished?tho violin as quickly ceased, and a noise was heard at the door. The torics immediately made a rush at it. But it was ah'eady barred, and being made of stout oak plank, resist? ed all their efforts. A rifle cracked from one of the upper windows, and one of the tories fell desperately wounded. Another report succeeded, and another tory fell, and Major Wilson was now fully aware that both Bunkers were at home and wide awake. A shed turned the rain from the front of the house, and underneath this, the tories shielding themselves from the fire of the Bunkers, went to work at the door. Suspecting such resistance? perhaps from the knowledge of their char? acter?one of the men had brought an axe, with which he commenced hewing at tho door, and soon cut it to pieces. Here a desperate battle ensued. The two brothers were powerful men, and as cour? ageous as they were strong; and now with clubbed rifles they disputed the en? trance of the whole tory force. The door being small, the}* stood their ground for half an hour, felling during that time some of those who had the temerity to enter first; hut finally numbers overcame them, and they were flung upon the floor and bound. The tories, inflamed to madness at the great resistance which had been made, and at their own losses, now seized the mother and sister, and made prepara? tions to hang tho two brothers before their eyes. The ropes were already tied around the necks of the victims, when the major addressed Vis men. "Xow, friends, as soon as these villains are dead, we will set fire to the house; the old woman there," he said with a bru? tal laugh, "may be left inside, but the young one I reserve for myself." "Hist!" cried one of the men in a loud voice. The major ceased, and they heard a voice outside the house; Although the words were spoken low, the listeners dis? tinctly heard?"When I say tire, give it to thorn !" A man with blanched cheek now rushed among them, exclaiming, "The yard is full of men!" "Fire !" cried a deep voice from the yard. A general volley succeeded, and so well had the aim been directed in the door, that several of the tories fell either dead or desperately wounded. In turn the tories retreated up the stairs, when David, our hero, rushed into tho room which they had just left, and cut the ropes which bound the Bunkers and their moth? er and sister. "May God Almighty bless you for this!" cried one of the Bunkers. The two men sprang up, seized their rifles, which had been left in the room, and prepnreel to re? taliate the treatment which they had just received. Long and desperate was the battle.? The tories fought for life?and the whigs for revenge. But, at length, the latter triumphed, though not until their enemies had been almost wholl}* exterminated.? The major fell by the arm of our hero, who sought him out in the hottest of the fight, and engaged him single-hand? ed. No language of ours can express the emotions of David as he pressed his be? trothed bride to his bosom; and his heart went up in thankfulness to Heaven for his timely arrival, when he thought that a delay of half an hour longer would have consigned her to a fate worse than death. The gratitude of her brothers were ex? pressed in many words, but her's was si i lent and tearful, yet 0, how much more gratifying! "I almost called you a coward, son Da? vid," said his father to him when they met, "but you are a chip of the old-bJock, and I did you wrong. Deborah, he is a boy to be proud of?is he not ? You may founder one of my horses every day that you do such a deed ; it beats anything I saw in the old French Avar!" David's gallantry in this act drew around him in a few weeks more than a score of hardy young followers, who fought with him to the close of the war. when he returned, and was happily mar? ried to the heroine of our story. -o Honesty is the best policy. Walking a Raft. There was a fellow once stepped out of a door of a tavern on the Mississippi, meaning to walk a mile up the shore to the next tavern. Just at the landing there lay a big raft, one of tho regular old-fashioned whalers?a raft a mile long. Well, the fellow heard the landlord say the raft was a mile long, rtnd he said to himself, "I will go forth and sec this great wonder, and let my eyes behold the tim- j bers that the hand of man hath hewn." So he got on at the lower end and began to ambulate over the wood in pretty fair time. But just as he got started, the raft started too, and as he walked up the river it waiked down, both traveling at the same rate. When he got to the end of the sticks he found they were pretty near ashOre, and in sight of a tavern ? so he landed and walked right straight into the bar room he came out of. The general sameness of things took him little aback, but he looked at the landlord steady in the face, and settled it in his own way: "Pnblienn," said ho "arc- you gifted with a twin brother, who kept a similar sized tavern, with a duplicate wife, a com? porting wood pile, and a corresponding circus bill a mile from here ?'.' The tavern keeker was fond of fun, and accordingly sjtid it was just so. "And, publican, have you among your drv goods for the entertainment of a man and horse, any whisky of the same si/.o as that of your brother's V And the tavern man said, that from the rising of the sun even unto tho going down of the same, he bad. They took the drinks, and the stranger said, "Publican,thattwin brother of yours is a fine young man?a very fine man. in? deed. But do you know, I'm afraid that he suffers a good deal with the Chicago I diptheria V -Arid what's that?" asked the toddy sticker. "It is when the truth settles so firm in a man,that none of it over comes out. Common doctors, of the catnip sort, call it lyin'. When I left your brother's con? fectionary, there was a raft at his door, which he swore his life was a mile long. Well, publican, I walked that rait from bill to UaLfrf>m-hi* door to yours_JS-Ojjl,. I know my time, and just as good for my? self as for a hess, and better for that than any man you ever did see. I always walk amile in exactly twenty minutes, on a good road, and I'll be busted with an overloaded Injun gun if I've been moro'n ten minutes coming here, stepjung over them blamed logs at that." -1 What wk auf. Made ok.?Oliver Wen? dell Holmes tells what we arc made of, in the following complimentary style to hu? man pride : " If the reader of this paper lives anoth? er year hU self-pride principle will have migrated from his present tenement to another; the raw materials even of which are not yet put together. A portion of that body is to be well ripened in the corn of next harvest. Another portion of his future person he will purchase, or oth? ers will purchase for him. headed up in the form of certain barrels of potatoes. A third fraction is yet to be gathered in the southern rice field. The limits with which he is then to walk will then be clad with flesh borrowed from the tenants of many stalls and pastures, and now un? conscious of their doora. The Very or? gans of speech with which he is to talk so wisely, plead so eloquently, or speak effectively, must first serve his humble brethren to bleat, to bellow, and for all the varied utterances of bristled or feath? ered barn-yard life. His bones themselves are to a great extent in posse and not esse. A bag of phosphate of lime, which he has ordered from Prof. Mapes for his grounds, contains a larger part of what is to be his 'skeleton. And more than all this, by far the greater part of his bod}- is nothing at all but water, the main substance of his scattered members is to be looked for in the reservoir, in the running streams, at the bottom of the well, in the clouds that float over his head, or diffused among them all. - A young backwoods lawyer lately con? cluded his argument in a case of trespass, with the following sublime burst: "If, gentlemen of the jury, the defendant's ! bogs nre permitted to roam at large over the fair fields of my client with impunity and without yokes?then?yes, then, in deed, have our forefathers fought, and bled, and died, in vain!" -4? Virginia Offers.?The Norfolk (Va.) Argus is "credibly informed" that the va? rious offers to Governor Gist, of South Carolina, of the personal services of Vir? ginians, in case she should need them, al? ready embrace bands comprising in the aggvegato about 16,000 men. -<? Be just and fear not. Equal to the Emergency. Not many years ago two Frenchmen one wealthy and in possession of ready .cash, and the other poor and penniless occupied, by chance, the same room in a Suburban hotel. In the morning the "seedy" one arose first, took from his pocket a pistol, and holding it at his fore? head and backing against tho door ex? claimed to his horrified companion: "It is my last desperate res?rt; I am penniless and tired of life; give me 500 francs, or I will instantly blow out ray brains, and yo\i will be arrested as a mur? derer." The other lodger found himself the hero of an unpleasant drama, but the cogency of his companion's argument struck him "cold." Ho quietly crept to his panta? loons, handed over tho amount, and the other vamosed, after locking the door on the outside. Hearing of this, another Frenchman, of very savage aspect, one night tried to room with a tall, raw boned gentleman from Arkansas, who had been rather free with his money during the day, and evi dentlj* had plenty more behind. Next morning "Pike." awaking, discovered his room mate standing over him, with a pis? tol leveled at his own head, and evidently quaking with agitation. "What the deuce are you standing thar for in the cold?" said Pike,propping him? self on his olbow, and coolly surveying the Gaul. "I am desperate!" was the reply.? "You give me 3100, or I will blowout my brains!" "Well, then, blow and be d-d V re? plied Pike, turning over. "Bote you vill bo arrested for ze mur daire!" persisted the Gaul, earnestly. "Eh, what's that?" said Pike; "oh. I sco ;" and suddenly drawing a revolver and a five pound bowio from under his pillow, he sat upright. "A man may as well be hung fora sheep as a lamb," he coolly renrarked; and, at the word, he started for the Gaul; but the latter was too nimble; the "boss pistol," innocent of load, exploded in the air, and with one frantic leap our little Frojj&te^tT.J was starring mlu^i^ foot i^flrtWffrTrTa^c?a proof that what may suit one person will not answer at all for another. The Prince at Mount Yernon.?A few weeks since a little group gaff/ered reverentially around a plain and humble tomb on the banks of the Potomac.? There is nothing in such a scene which, of itself, need excite our special wonder. It is the familiar' lesson of mortality, that friends and kindred often frequent the resting place of the loved and beautiful who have gone before them into the dark and silent land. And were this an ordi? nary visit of surviving affection to the grave of tho departed, we would not tear away the vail of privacy which should guard the sacred scene. The rude world should not know with wlicft griefs the heart is breaking, and how the eyes over? flow with manly tears. It is rather a representative scene, a historic pageant, which we are beholding. It is even something more than the reconciliation of personal enmities at the tomb of a gener? ous foe which wc are witnessing. The spectacle is One of World-wide significance"; leaving its lesson of wisdom to this and to all coming generations of men. The tomb is Washington's, and he who bares and bows his head before it is tho imme? diate aosCendant of one who, three gener? ations ago, branded the man, when living, as a rebel, set a prize upon his head, would have handed him over to the exe? cutioner, and hung and quartered his body as that of a traitor. But what a sirbfime vengeance has his? tory, or rather Providence, taken1 upon the past! That grave is now a hallowed spot, planted around with laurel and palm, aud adorned with trophies; and this youthful visitant comes to it, not to in? dulge in recriminations, but fihat he may muse upon the changes of time', and in? flame his breast with the memorials of pa? triotism and virtue. An heir-apparent of j the Euglish throne doing homage to the remains of Washington ! There is something of the morally' sub? lime in such a sight, which should coni mend itself to the lovers of the truo and the good. It symbolizes a triumph over enmity and detraction, never to be for? gotten by the brave aud pure. Let patri? ots hereafter revert to it as an illustra? tion of the ultimate vindication of their fame among men, and let all who strug? gle for the right hencoforth do so with a more abiding faith that time will bo the avenger of their dishonor, and bring even their enemies to do reverence to their memory.?Philadelphia Inquirer. -? When we are alone, wo have our thoughts to watch; in the family, our temper; in company, our tongues. Winter is Here.: Tho year has fulfilled its duties and is now prepared for hibernal repose, that it may be reinvigorated when Spring calls upon it for action. Autumn gives place to winter, but it does riot leave1 u& with? out some remembrances of its beauty and its prodigality. Now and then a beam of sunshine glows among the barelimbed trees, which stand like giants around the throne of the Frost-king, and the moun? tain streams still murmur overthe pebbles tho same delicious music which fell upon the autumn-laden air of October. Some? times a breath from the sweet South steals like a placid slimmer dream over us and the emerald-tinted grass seems to have caught a deeper hue from the ceru? lean concave; these linger as if loth to part from tis, while all tho delicate flow? ers have hidden themselves away and the song birds hf.vc winged their night to balmier ?mc?. But the bright a?tumn nal smile of the sunset yet remains/ and tho'ugh it may be compared to the linger? ing, beauty of death, before " decay's .effa? cing finger's" destroy it, still it is ineffa? bly grand1 in its wealth of purple. and gold. But soon all will be hushed in Na? ture's night; the streams? frill seek' their winter sleep, curtained by ice and canopi? ed with snoWj and the winds will form hillocks of the earthstrewn leaves, to stand like grave marks in tho woods; but the germs.of the water lillies will, re? pose beneath the coverlids of every rivu? let and at the foot of every leafless tree, the spring flowers will nestle with closed eyes awaiting the breath of May to awa? ken therm. And thus We' may read the moral of the season. Man sinks into the slumbers of the tomb fco rest and dream, but the immortal spirit is not confined by the icy fetters of the grave nor kept down, like the ehaiaed Titan's, by the superimposed structures of monuments or urns storied with deeds of human worth and dignity. Under the genial influences of Divine love it prepares itself to " burst its cerements" and rise to an eternal bloom and fruitage in the heavenly* iSden of ctern^.--^uisuiHp. Journal. , _ The Dead Wife.?In comparison with the loss of a wife, all other bereavements arc" trifles. 'Tho wife; she who fills so l large a space in tho domestic heaven j ! she who \? busied, so unwearied; bitter, bitter is the tear that falls on her clay. You stand beside her grave, and think of the past; it seems an amber colored path? way where the sun shone upon beautiful flowers,- or the stars hung glittering over? head. Fain would tho soul linger there. No thorns are remembered above the sweet clay, save those that your own hands have unwittingly planted. Her noble, tender heart lies open to your-in? most sight. You think of her as all gen : tlen-essy all beuty and purity. But she is dead. The dear head that has so often lain upon your bosom, now rests upon a pillow of clay. The hands that adminis? tered so untiringly are ?tded, white and cold berre'Seh the' gloomy portals." Tho heart whose every beat measured an eter? nity of love, lies under your. feet. And there is no white arm over your shoulder now?no spoak-?ng /ace to look up in the eye Of fove?no trembfffrg lips to mur? mur,'-Oh, it is too sad!" There is a !strange hush in evcr^' room! No smile i to meet you at nightfall?and the clock ticks, and ticks, and ticks ! It was sweet music when she COuld hear it. Now it seems to knell only the hours through which you watch the shadows of death gathering upon the sweet face. But many a talc it telleth of joys past, sor? rows shared and beautiful words register? ed above. You feel that the grave can? not keep her. You know that she is of? ten by your* sfcfcy ah angel presence.? Cherish these emotions, they -will make you happier. Let her holy presence be as a charm to keep you- from evil. In all new and pleasant connections give her a place in your heart. Never forget what she has been to you?that she has leved you. Be tender to her memory. flSf" To spend tho spring time of our existence in dissipation; to consume the brightness and the vigor of our days in selfishncSjWorldliness and vanity: to live till i we are old in idleness and self-indugence; and then, when the senses'grow doll, and pleasure palls upon the appetite, and we have become incapable of much benefit cither to ourselves or others, to turn to the calls of our duty and the pursuit of our salvation, is to extract fhs sweet' ness from the rose of life, and present iUt withered leaves to God. -0 jjgy- Pure love is the sunshir-.e -whicii steals slowly and silently up to t!?e barreo hills of life, and stays to bless us with its presence through all lifo's weary way. jSQf A good way to light some cities with gas would be to set fire to their editors.