Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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JIMEi H. NORWOOD, EDITOR.] To thine otrnself be true; And it must follow as the night the day; Tkou const not then be false to any man.—H amlkt. [NORWOOD i DE LORME, PI HL1S1IKRS. VOL. 1. — DARLINGTON C. H., S. C., THURSDAY MORNING OCTOBER 9 1851. NO. 32 THE DARLINGTON FLAG, I* ITBLISIIED EVERY THIRSDAY MORNING, AT DARLINGTON, C. II., f». C., BY NORWOOD & DE LOR.RE. TERMS OF subscription: Iii advance, (per annum,) - - - 00 At the expiration of six nnnths - 2 50 At the tmd c#the year - - - - - - 3 00 who dare turn upon the oppressor!— I The scene which I now look upon, is ! enough to curdle the Mood of a free man. The graves of my fathers—the ! church of mv childhood—where a sainted mother brought me to the altar i of her faith, insulted, desecrated, and defiled by the presence of blasphe mers, hirelings and assassins! Had I you within, you may escape from the window, (iod help you Clarence, for I cannot think of evil to you and live.” Olieying the suggestion of his mis tress upon which indeel hung his only chance of escape Welsingham hastily descended the Hight of stairs, and quickly disappeared in the chamber in dicated by the maiden. Scarcely had face of his dying victim. “ Come, j ding to the superstitious of the vulgar, boys, let us move; the thing is done, ' tl'** of night when the uncloud dreamed of this. Rose, when I turned ! he done so when the heavy tramp of i r Sk advertising : Advertisements, inserted at 75 cents a square (fiurteen lines or less,) fir the first, and 37^ cts. f ir each subsequent insertion. Busin ess Cards, not exceeding ten lines, nserted at $5, a year. Ml SC £ LL AH 8 0 0 S. [From die Slack River Watchman.] RUSE OF PEE DEE. a legend of the old cheraw. (Concluded.) On the evening on which we have introduced our heroine, standing upon the b ilcouy that overlooked tlss river, she was momentarily expecting ffie ar- rival of WaLingham? who had con- trived to notify her of his coming upon that day. In order to guard against being massacred by a band of toiics, whose resentment he had provoked, and who, as he well knew, had con- spired for his destruction, he had been accustomed during his visits of late, to leave his horse at the house of a well known whig a few miles below, and proceed in his canoe, alone and unat tended, to a spot within a few hundred mv feet hither this day, the sword and the musket would now lie bristling around yon house of (iod. I knew we bad craven hearted foes in our midst, whom cowardice and n desire the soldiers was heard as they mounted the steps leading into the house. In another instant, they were standing in the hall, separated from the chandler in which he stood cancealed by only a against us, but I knew not until this moment that a garrison had been plantd among us to overcome the weak, and to drag to the gallows all who dare i arm in the cause of freedom.” “ Aye, and to insult the weak and defenceless,” answered Rose. “ Their very presence is painful, but doubly liateml when they presume to dally with the feelings of those whom they have Iteen sent to reduce to slavery.” “ They shall not long remain,” an swered Walsingham, •* to trouble the pence, and mar the happiness of our old friends and associates. When we part, and our parting must now be sooner than I anticipated, it is but that I may lead hither a band to scatter and destroy those willing instruments of a capricious tyrant. I need not ask you of their numbers, hr of their leader. You are a woman and have scarcely enquired of this.” “ Relieve it not,” answered Rose, their lender is McArthur, whom I have heard spoken of as a brave and generous man, and I will emerging into the open space, from the dense wood below, which extended to within two hundred paces of the dwel ling. In an instant her quick eye de tected the form of her lover, and wa ving him a wdeome, in answer to his mute hut graceful salutation, she d«s- cended into an apartment below to welcome her lover. We willingly draw a veil over this scene—the meeting of the lovers—af ter so long and so weary an absence. The days that had separated them were forgotten with the dangers that might have severed them forever, ny sighs heaved in secret dmiug the long tedium of absence. The mother of Rose, a modest and still beautiful woman, though now advancing in years, eatue forward and greeted the young soldier with the warmth and cordiality belonging to their anticipa ted relationship. Questions of an ab sent son were to be asked and answer- to he with the conqueror had arrayed narrow partition. Walsingham stepped softly to the window intending to leap from it and make Ids escape while they were still busy with the search within hut what his was his horror and dis may, to discern a mounted dragoon with his drawn sabre in his hand, guar ding tins only avenue by which he could hope to escajK?. “ I am doomed” muttered Walsing ham gloomly, and casting a glance around the apartment in hope of find ing some wei ' ght enable him to sell hie life as dearly as possible. To Ids great satisfaction his glance fell upon a rusty old sword, hanging against the wall of the apartment—a maiden’s room, how strange a place for such an instrument of warfare? Eagerly Walsingham drew it from its scabbard and grasped the hilt in his sinewy palm, while n momentary smile lit up Ids countenance. I shall at least die with her father’s sword in my hand,” thought he, as he planted hiinsel*' before the bolted door, against which his angry foes were now heating impatiently. He heeded not their angry curses, and their impatient outcries, hut like a victim doomed to sacrifice, he stondcalm and unmoved, awaiting but the bursunu of the door to throw himself upon the foremost adversary. I tell von men, he is there,” shout- yards of the house, where he landed, q U j t .| l | v . and on foot kept below the brow of the iv | mm ' |’ hill, which effectually screened him from the observation of those beyond, i , .. , , lr , * , : nave passed since thev have been amonu observation above hall an hour, when i „„ . ‘ , 11 .l , , • . <• , , , , I.,., us, and 1 am told that he punishes his she observed a manly and noble figure , -.l ... „ , r , . • T e men with promptness when complaints are made to him of insolence willingly iM'lieve it. Some two weeks pi or cru elty. Rut, Clarence, his inferiors in office are not thus careful of their hon or, and of the rights of others. Your cousin, too, is there; he is second in command, and how it pains me that one of a race so noble, should sell bis country, his honor, and his very soul for an empty title and a sbowy uniform.” “ Accursed dog!” muttered Walsiug- ham, lie is a dishonor to his blood.— Rose you have known Harry Cam pion from his boyhood, hftrjlras selfish . . ' i and uuscraiMkMS in wickenessfrom hi* U " 1 ‘ be very cradl“We have all pe.ished away; of my race and Mood, save Campion and myself. My kindred have died where it is an honor to die—upon the battle field, in the struggle for free dom and the lights of man. This, my only relative, lias conspired against me. My blood will alone satisfy him. There has never been any symptoms of kind- and Campion must be attended to at once.” So saving, the sturdy ruffian turned upon his heel, and followed hy his as sociates, left the room, bearing with them their ill-lated leader, whom they soon discovered to be severely ami even mortally wounded. He died that very night in great agony, cursing his king and his cause, and shrinking back in terror from the insatiable and greedy grave. Far otherwise died the victim of his hate. Though mortal, the wound of Walsingham had not lieen as immedi ately fatal as had been exacted. That night, about the hour of twelve, Rose and her mother sat by the bed side of the dying soldier, the latter deeply afflicted, hut bearing her pain ful dispensation with a patience which she had learned from a life of sorrow, hut the former bowed down to the very dust, by the bitterness of a mai den’s first grief, that overwhelmed her young heart that had only dreamed of love and gladness, and of a joyous and unclouded future. Oh! how hitter is the first settled grief of the heart, that I has entered npon life with joyous an ticipations, and without dreaming of the cares, the sufferings, and the sor- rows, that come, ruthless and unthought of, like the fierce tornado, or the scath- , mg lightning upon the dreamy quiet of I existence! Thus thought our fair young hero ine, as she stood by the bed-side of the dying man, with whom she had hoped and dreamed to journey through the whole course of existence! In a few brief hours—a few more tickings of the weary pendulum, and all her young : hopes, and her most cherished visions , of life, would be buried with him, in the dark and gloomy grave. With the strong man—the man of fortitude, and of iron nerve, who has ed the well known voice of Campion : ^ felt the vanity of life, and knows the “Down with the door and let the d—d uncertainty of human hopes, the strug- traitor be seized and eibbetted on the gl« '» indeed painful, when all that he first tree.” loves is to be laid in the dust—His “ Rreak it down yourself then and Ik* heart may lie wrung, hut an iron will is (I d” answered the voice of another there to support it—his bores may be of the assailants, who shrank from fa- crushed to the earth, but reflection and cing a man of the well known courage philoshphy, are there to mitigate his ed moon was abroad, there might be seen standing upon the balcony of this deserted mansion, the proud figure of a noble youth with a lovely maiden leaning u|>on bis ami- But an early acquaintance with the facts which we have related, banished from our mind any untoward impres sions which may have been made upon relate too much to external show, rath er than to the true interest of the soul. Earth is full of adonnents for the body, hut meagre in polish for the mind.— Contemplate u|H>n the scene before you, and Ire wise for the future dream of life is over, what then will avail all its agitations if not one trace of utility re mains behind?” “Devote thyself to useful life having the good of mankind ever in view study to learn the true laws us by the stories of the ignorant and ' of his being, which alone can make the su|>ersti(ious. There it was our delight to linger, when the shades of evening stole over the earth, to muse u|M>n the |iast, and to dream of the fu ture. Often have we reclined in the balcony of this deserted mansion and looked down upon the world, the busy world below, with a sigh over the past and a hope for the future. It has taught us to think of man as an ephe meral creature, whose days run swiftly away like the sands of the hour-glass; but it lias learned us to look with more than ordinary syuqiatliv upon the suf ferings which are incident to his lot. Who would fill bis hand in hatred a- gainst his brother worm of the dust, a short lived and ephemeral being, whom one single act of hostility may rob | forever of all those hopes and sweet ness of existence, which we can never restore, and which may plunge his whole existence into a settled sorrow, which the sympathy of the world can- not cure. [From the Poughkeepsie Telegraph.] A SABBATH IN GREENWOOD CEMETERY.” “Who telleth a tale of unspeaking death Who liftuth the veil of what is to come? Who painteth the shadows that are be neath, The wide winding caves of the peopled tomb; Or uuiteth Ihe hopes of w hat shall he, With the fears and the love for that which we see!" It was autumn when the sear, yellow and falling leaf, added solemnity to the place and cast an air of humility and and sorrow o’er all the surrounding scene. A sober stillness pervaded all the winding ways rolling mounds syl van groves, retired nooks lonely vales, watery |»ools, and elevated plains, and hardihood of WaUiugham. “This giief, and perchance support him nutil gether in this inimitable habitation is your business, and you must lead the * »» wav. “Move!” shouted Campion, casting an angry look at the last speaker, and advancing to the front of the door with a billet of wood, by a single well direc ted blow, he tore the holt from its place, and casting the door wide open lie stood confronted with the man whom he bad sworn to destroy. Though a traitor to bis country, and him happy in obedience, and forever miserable in violation. Teach by pre cept and example, as nature shall un- fold her hidden truths on interrogating her unerring oracles. Beware of hoa ry error and time-honored falsehood, which in every department of useful knowledge plead strenouslv for univer sal sway.” Prove all things and hold fast that which is good.” “Buy the truth and sell it not;” cast it abroad among the children of men. Cease not on all pro|»er occasions to “let your light shine,” ns it shall be increased by diligence in its pursuit.— “Darkness covers the earth and gross darkness the people.” The will of God is clearly expressed in his laws of nature. As you value health long life and happiness, so should you estimate the importance of a correct knowledge of natural law and a consistent walk therein. To be decently buried is proper but to be rationally living is no less impor tant. Millions are not to find this love ly spot for their remians to moulder away. Rude and unbroken will be the place of their graves. Poverty and vice cannot adorn the tomb ; virtue, and intelligence and wealth jmsses the power, and often the will to show evi- dence of honor to the dead. Temjier- ance, industry, economy, and know ledge form the basis of tiie glory of God among mankind. They can ex tend to all the blessings of life ami the flowery place for graves. Go forth from the tombs resolved to live for time and eternity duly apprecia ting that wisdom’s ways are way of pleautnntness and all her paths are peace.” The dead are beyond earthly influence ; seek the welfare of the liv- _ _ _ ing. Health is ever the companion of which so exquisitely commingle to- , happiness; aches and pains accompa the sunlight of to-morrow shines upon the gloomy trials through which lie must pass. But to what refuge can the young heart flee, that has never been called upon to practice philosophy or exercise its fortitude in the trials of life. The dying man uttered a faint groan and the maiden starter! and turned a ga/.e of siteechless agony upon him. Slowly he unclosed his eyes, and with was silent holy and and true. My of graves. Just far enough from the mul titudinous city, to be lulled into snb- I dued tenderness by the mournful tones of its church bells, fainfly reverlierating through these mansions of the dead.— No aurlible voice was tiiere to divert my silent and instructive medita tion. No devotee of false fash ion or senseless victim of ignoMe pride was there, to excite pity or disgust; all ed, and after a brief hour the matron withdrew, leaving the lovers to their own dreams and anticipations of the future. “ You will find much of change around us, Clarence,” said Rose, a ter a pause, “ our neighborhood is not so quii t as when you were here last. The soldiers of ft tyrannical king—always odious—but more than ever when they seek to insult those whom they have injured, have lieen forced among us to blot out the little remnant of peace that our distance from the theatre of war has left us.” “ What mean you,” exclaimed Wal- siugliam, quickly. “ Have the inva ders reached you even here ?” “ Follow me and yon shall see,” an swered the maiden, rising and leading the way. Walsingham followed her as she lightly tiipjied along the staircase, un til they stood side by side in the bal cony, on the rear of the house. Here, while ness between us, and the present trou- stained with hideous and revolting bles of the country, and the wealth of! crimes. Gammon possessed a reckless which I am to inherit, have milled ac- and unfaltering spirit; in an instant his tivity to the venom of his hate; my path is beset by assassins who have been hired by hi u to take my li e. He or I must perish, but I pray God that it may l»e in battle.” While this conversation was passing, Walsingham and our heroine was still standing in the balcony that overlook- sword was drawn from its scabbard just in time to parry tne well directed blow of Walsingham who had leaped into the doorway where he might be enaMed to prolong the contest, and fight ii|M)n less unequal terms. The reckless brsvery of Walsing ham completely set at defiance all the ed the temporary lairracks of the Brit- skill of Campion, who was ns intent up. ish Regiment. While yet speaking, Walsingham beheld a bank of of moun ted soldiers, amounting to about a half score, issuing from the gate, and urging their horses at full gallop to the dwell- i ing where he stood. With a sudden start our hero hastily sprang into the interior of the dwelling hoping to es cape observation. He well knew that if found so neara British post, his doom was sealed. The band of outlawry bad gone forth agvinst him, and to fall into the hands of the British was speedy death. On came the band of soldiers. on preserving his own life, as taking that of his adversary. They had not been engaged more than a minute in the contest when the sword ot Cain- a dying look, fixed them upon her.— The sands of life were fast running away, and the dying man seemed col lecting himself for a last effort A glass of water seemed for a moment to revive him, and taking the hand of Rose in his own, he drew her yet nearer to his side, and calmly but sor rowfully gazed upon her pale but beau tiful face. “ Poor Rose,” murmured he, at length, “ we must soon part forever.— A church-yard feeling is creeping over me, and 1 will be gone from this world, that I sake. heart in unuttered and sincere sponta neously invoked the “Great Spirit” for whilom and consolation commensurate with its necessity in a world of folly and deceit. Amid such circumstances, all nature was vocal to my mental ear. Every tomb, vault, monument, tree, leaf hill dale mound |>onl, and winding way were loud in proclaiming useful lessons ny sighs; death and health cannot com mingle ; they have no affinity for each other ; their properties repel and nev er attract “Wash and be clean,” is the voice of God ; heed it, lest you prematurely die. The pure living fountains cannot corrupt your blood nor poison your life but will wash awav, and prevent disease in many of its thousand forms. Apply the antidote, with a temperate life in all tilings, and much sorrow will be dissolved and many a pang reli >ved. Thus the day passed until the wes tern horizon began to receive the set ting sun and weariness to mingle with pleasure, when my attention was turned toward the din of the restless city. With feelings mellowed and sub dued I could only exclain, “Ob for a quiet hour to die in ; when the world may let me go—its labors its schemes, of sublimest instruction. By-gone hopes, its whirl and in some seclu- with a gesture of indignation w„„e vvitll haste, and as they approac, the blood mounted to her eloquent | ^ n “ arer the dwelling, their leader, cheek, she directed the ri j »> pion was dexterously twisted from his but the same bright sun will shine grasp by an unexpected manoeuvre up- down from heaven, upon the places on the part of Walsingham. who dealt where we have so often wandered, and him a severe Mow over the eye that which I must revisit no more. 1 had sent him reeling to the further side of, dreamed that many a joy was in store the apartments. for us, but lo! I am hastening to my “ Shoot the traitor,” shouted Cam- grave! Remember me when 1 am gone, pion still reeling under the fierce Mow j Were our love but the idle passion of days flitted Indore my mind and many an anxious thought rested upon my memory. A dear Mother was number- have loved so much for your | ed among the distant dead perhaps The grave must close over me, prematurely fallen thro’ the want of attention of Walsingham to the village church, now profaned by the disorderly and licen tious soldiers. The church was not more Uimi one- fourth of a mile distant, upon the un broken plain in the rear of the dwell ing, and Walsingham, from the posi tion which he occupied, could distinct ly recognice the scarlet uniform of the British soldiers, as they wandered indo lently around the enclosure of the sa cred edifice. The blood mounted in dignantly to the cheek of the fiery young soldier, as his eye rested upon the scene pointed out to him by bis fair companion. “ It is our doom, Rose*” said he, “ with tlie feelings of freemen, to be daily subjected to the insults of a wan ton and lawless soldiery.” Our coun trymen have drank the cop of bitter ness to the very dregs, and will you yet nearer the dwelling, in whom Walsingham at once recog nized Campion, pointed with his draw’ll sabre to the passage into which our hero had just retired. In an instant the truth flashed across his mind, that his presence Nias discovered and that his capture was determined on. Rose*,!! exclaimed he, turning to his fair companion, while his cheek grew pale with strong emoiton, “my doom is writteifT I hnvedreamed of sunny hours of unbroken happiness with yon, in times of glorious peace, bought by vic tory. Rose we must part—yes love, |>art for ever. It is a latter won!, to one who has loved as I have done—it w hich he had received. “ No quarter to the d—d rebel.” It was a critical moment for Wal- hnm. The five troopers who had ac companied Campion into the house had been unable to take part in the In-ief common hearts, this would be an hour too solemn to recur to it; but with us it has been a sacred sentiment. 1 am on the brink of the grave, but I cherish it still. Farewell, dear Rose! my sight these solemn remembrances is gone—the shadows of death are strife between our hero and their lea- a rtt * ie, 1 V , K a ~« Un ^ ,? le '* ^ xr ^> der. Hut at bis bidding, these pistols were withdrawn from their belts and levelled at bis bosom. With the in stinct of sel.'-prervation, Walsingham leaped back into the a|>artmcut in which he had Liken refuge and hurriedly closed the doors in the faces of his adversa ries. But his doom had gone forth— his destiny was sealed. The door jarred upon its facings, the sharp re port of a pistol rang through the apart ment, and bursting through by the thin door, the bullet pierced his bosom in is hard to give up the dreams of youth, flicting a painful and a mortal wound and to go down to the dark and dismal grave, hut be it so; a Walsingham must die bravely.” “ Fly to my cnamher below! Clar ence,” almost shrieked the lieautilul “There is yet one hope of es- believe it, though we are trampled u>t i ma '^ cn> “There is yet one hope of es- the very dust, how few of us there areT ca P«- While they are searching for With a half suppressed cry upon bis lips, the unfortunate partisan stagger ed for a moment, and lell to the floor. “Thgt haiidone for him,” cried the savage rufflan who had given him the fatal shot, kicking open the door, and with savage exultation gazing upon the and dismal. Thus died the young soldier, clinging in death to the love which he had cherished in life. We follow not the heroine of our story through tho sad life of maiden widowhood which she lived, true to the memory of her young and brave lover. Many a heart like her own has beaten in silent grief, through a long life of sorrowing tor die loved and lost that can return no more, but none ever more faithfully guarded its early aflection. When long years had passed, it was our lot frequently to visit tho scene where our story is laid. The old dwel ling house was deserted and tenanflees, and it was associated with many a fear ful tale ef nightly apparitions by the sufierstitious who dwelt in its vicinity. It was long known by the fearful name of the haunted house, and often, accor- day’s knowledge o' - the laws of health and nature’s remedies. Might she not have been living now had her know ledge and practice been according to nature’s as written in the human con stitution by the hand of its Maker?— I often queried as I paused to view some monument sacred to the memory of departed affection. Left in early childhood without a Mother’s watchful kindness and tender monitions, my feelings were perhaps less sensitive to of those sustaining motherly relations, than many who visit these grounds. Yet the day the place and all the afflicting realities of reflecting nature conspired to overwhelm my tender sensibilities, and call up in a panoramic view, a life of experience printing forgotten in incidents not always cheerful and hap- ! py. The spirit of the departed seemed to commune with mine in suggestive thought “Why hast thou come hith er!” said they ; “aeekest thou the liv ing among the dead ?” We live not in the external, hut in the apirit, whose nature differ* widely from the concep tions of mortal bodies. This chosen spot of earth so beautifully adorned by nature and art exhibiting so interesting ly to the living form, affection’s last G ’ft calls here, for other motives than ve for the destiny of our race. These finely wrought and costly monuments i ded spot, where there is silliness at night and the solemn sunlight falls through the day as it falls at evening where the soul may leasurely lay off its incumbrances, and adjust itself to i its destination ; and with peni tential surveys of the |>ast, and humble, but hopeful forelooking to the Culture wait the great Teacher’s arrival; and then with clear vidon, commending tbespi.it to Eternal Mercy, thus to lull asleep and pass away.” Jan. Flagek. New-Y’ork, September, 1851. PAT AT ThTpOST OFFICE. The following colloquy actually took place at an eastern post office. Pat—“I say Mr. Postmaster, is there a litther for me. P. M.—“Who are you my good sir 1” Pat—“I’m meself, that’s who I am.” P. M.—“Well, what’s your name ?” Pat—“An’ what do ye want wid the name? isn’t iton the litther?” P. M.—“So that I can find the letter if there is one. Pat—“Well, Mary Burns, thin if ye must have it P. M.—“No, sir, is none for Mary Burns.” Pat—“Is there no way to git in there hut through this pane of glass ?” P. M.—“No sir.” Pat—“Ita’a well for ye there isn’t— I’d teach ye bitter manners than to in sist on a ginttetuin’s name: but ye didn’t git it after all—so I’m aven wid ye, di*U the bit is my name Bums!”