Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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> "' w ^ *" ' ?, ?*. ^- ., - ,,-y* _3? ^ -, . v r '? ... /. :. jfe&y 7 * -r r ' , . | "^ ' ^ ^ ' =ssssgss ^gg_gg '" " ' ^ 55= ^ ... .... .. ...'._ ^ ^ ' lewis m. grist, proprietor. 1 An Independent Journal: For tlie Promotion of the Political, Social, Agricultural and Commercial Interests of the South. |?s perahhekin advabce. 1 vox,. 6. YORKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, JTJLY 5, I860. ISTQ. % Cljrilling Moinam WRITTEN EXPRESSLY FOR 1 ' . 0 KING'S M BY MRS. MAR CHAPTER X. Oh such a day. So fought, so follow'd and so fairly wod, Came Dot till now. [Shakspeare. 'Tell Miss Ellen to come to me immediately,' said Mr. Adams, as he stopped for a moment at the door of the Mansion House. r'What is the matter, Mr. Adams?' said Ellen in alarm, as she answered the hasty summons. 'Bessie, Bessie Craig is dying. Can you go to ber7' 'What do you tell me ! Bessie, Bessie, dying? Oh ! it cannot be!' 'It is too true. Go down if you can, for her father is helpless from paralysis, brought on. I suppose, by the dreadful strobe.' '0 ! this is dreadful,' cried Ellen ; 'but what is the matter? She was quite well when I last saw her, but a day ago.' 'I cannot tell; I only fear it is the foulest murder that ever was perpetrated. The old man cannot speak. I found him bound in a chair in his own house, and Bessie lying at his feet, her dress almost torn from her, and bathed in blood, from the rupture of a blood vessel I presume, for I saw no wound ; and she either could not or would not speak to me, but clung to her father, and biding her face on his knee, moaned as if her heart would break. I tried to get something out of Andrew, but he only muttered 'Tories,' and pointed to Be-sie.' 'Good Heavens,' cried Ellen, in pallid % terror; 'this is too terrible to realize?but I will go to her?will go at once. Oh ! the 1 flirt#- nnn 1A hnvp iitinrpi^ cruel, Ul UCl uauu tuuv vvuivi MM.v ...j-.vthat innocent girl?what Gend could have done it ?' 'I much believe it was that Ferris. He incited a party against me, that came and burnt the most of my library last night; swearing my covenanting principles made me the rebel I was, and threatening to take my life for that sermon at the church the other day. I judged from what I beard, that Ferris was up here robbing Mr. Willoughby of what he could lay hands on.' 'He was; and knowing the character of the man, my uncle saved himself from insult, perhaps frjtu injury, by making a complete surrender. He and his myrmidons swept everything. They literally rob bed us. It is likely, uncle Hubert will object to my going down to the homestead today; but I must go to Bessie.' t ? Mil J 'I do not tninK tnere win uc auy uaugcr. The Tories are now all collected in Fer. guson's camp;and even if they were not, r every principle of humanity calls for assistance at the homestead,' 'Are you going hack If so." said Ellen, 'I will go with you.' 'No,' replied the minister, compressing his lips, while a frown gathered on his usually placid brow, 'my duty is yonder today,' pointing to the heights of King's Mountain. 'If such scenes as yon I left behind would not arm every man, priest or layman, then would I say that charity had died in the human heart, and we deserve to be butchered, insulted anu dishonored ? I know not how I shall tell poor Uowen : it will go nigh to madden him.' Ellen turned tearfully away as the picture of Bessie, in the pride of her young beauty and timid love rose before her, and bidding the good minister good speed, with many an inward prayer for a blessing upon their arms, with many no anxious thought for one whom she wel! kuew would be in the thickest of that day's battle, she turned with a sad heart, to fulfill a woman's and sisters duties to little Bessie Craig. As the minister rode along, he met with many of the neighboring people hastening to the scene of combat. Some riding bare back with dangling trace ehains. roused by some fresh tale of terror in the excitement of the coming battle, to strike a blow for vengeance and freedom. As they rode aloDg together, no noisy boisterous tones or excited profanity, testified to the passions that were stirring their nature. No, the feeling was too deep and holy for the outbreak of speech. Occasionally, a tale of butchery would be told, but in low tones that spoke deeply of smothered passion, or hissing out, would come in spasmodic ut terance ; a story of dishonor and wrong that whitened the pallid cheeks to a still more deathly hue, and forced the blood from lipbitter in strong determination to repress tinfury of oassion. Arid with their burning eyes fastened upon the bristling crest of the British encampment, they pressed on. The man of Cod, the minister of peace, roused ^ to holy vengeance ; the grey haired father V made childless by British butchery ; the stalwart man enduring his wrongs with he > - > L _ J1 L c. 1 roic tortituae J tne Dearuiess uuy iuiwu 10 premature manhood, quenching h's tears and nerving his heart by memories that curdles the blood to look back upon ; all, in a silence more onimous than words, hastened to the patriot's camp. As they reached it, an order was passed rapidly along the line. Laconic as it was appropriate, it agreed well with the character of the determined leaders of that day's action. 'Tie up 'overcoats ; pick touch holes; prime afresh, and be ready to fi<rht.' The party now entering, were warmly welcomed ; their familiarity with the ground and arrangement of the British camp, proving highly useful to the officers of the patriot army. Acting upon the information thus obtained, the officers determined 10 k divide their columns and attempt to surW round the mountain. By their division, I :t of t()c JMoMoit. 0 V?' THE YORKVILLE ENQUIRER. R, OUNTAIN. y A. EWART. 'Sevier's troop formed the right; Cleveland's 'and William's together, under whom were our heroes Davie and Bowen, the left; Campbell's the right of the centre, and 'Shelby's the left centre. Hurriedly as the order of attack was made, it could not be jexcelled for judgment and military skill. There was a common centre for these columns, and that was the standard of England on the crest of the ridge, fluttering i proudly and majestically over the scarlet uniforms and glittering beyonets of Fer jguson's undaunted regulars. Their game was before them, and these mountain hun ters Deeded neither leader nor captain to (show them how to fight. With a hope that ; he might be spared the necessity of telling i Captain Bow en his sad news, Mr. Adams, still urged by duty, rode through the ranks j in search of him. At length, he descried Ihirn handing a despatch to Campbell, which , his ubiquitous corps had just intercepted | on its way from Ferguson to Cornwallls.? It was read aloud at the head of the line. He said : '/ hold a posit ion on the King's Mountain, and all the rebels out of h?11 drive me from it.' i There was no boastful shout of scorn araong that determined little band, but a :grim smile, as each muscular hand gra?ped [the rifle or the 6word in a tightening clasp. onrt TuitVi tVinii- f.Viiuulrin luadorj n t their head, answering ;o their cry o? 'forward !' they struck into a gallop. Riding up to j Bowen, as he took his position in his troop, !Mr Adams said, | 'You are surprised to see me here, El1 lick, but T have had much to nerve iny arm ; since last I saw you.' i 'I have heard of it, Mr. Adams,' replied , Bowen, not comprehending the full import |of his words, 'and I sympathise with you deeply in your loss, but,' he continued with jan eager look, 'we are to settle such inat[ ters to-day.' Mr Adams could not find it in his heart to damp, by news of such sorrow, the impetuosity and ardor of the young trooper For some time he rode by his side in silence, and listened to the eager hopes of 'the patriot, or watched with a sickening heart, the excited flush on his manly cheek .1 1.1: - ? A. UUU lilt; himu U1 lUM UclltV C^l'5 ill j length with a manner of careless security, Bowen turned toward him, aud asked in a i low tone, with a smile trembling on his lip, 'How is Bessie?' '(rod knows, Ellick,' replied 31 r. Adams i with a cheek blanched in deep feeling.? i For an instant, Bowori gazed upon him, | every particle of color fading from his cheek, then in iin unnatural calmness asked : ! 'What has befallen my Bessie?' The manner and the calm tone deceived jMr. Adams, and he replied? ;The worst you can imagine.' The hitherto pale face of Bowen, flushed to the deepest scarlet, the blood started from the bitten lips, as with a shuddering | recoil he involuntarily reined his horse 'back upon his haunches, then burying his j spurs into his sides bounded madly on for a few paces, as with a thickened utterance he cried: 'And that is worse than death ? For God's sake speak and tree me from this terror or my brain will burst;'and he grasp cd the good miuistcr's arm in a clasp that left its blackened impression. Would to God, I could, Ellick,' replied the good man, frightened, as lie well might hp at ?hp noTinv hefore him . dint. T pan ;say nothing ? butwould to God, Bessie were i dead.' j There was a pause, and amid the clatterj ing of the hoofs around, Mr. Adams could ! distinctly hear the deep suffiooatiug respirations of his companion. At length, with a look of the most wretch;cd despair, he turned, and in those painfully inarticulate tones, said : 'When?' Only last night,' replied Mr. Adams, the tears springing to his eyes in his deep ; sympathy. And I so near ! My little wife ! Oh! Bessie.' The strong man was melted, the reaction saved perhaps his reason, and for an instant, his heart was flooded with a memory of ineffable tenderness, but only to be fullowed by a desire of uucouquerable vengeance. 'Tell tne all,' he said ; when seeing Mr | Adams hesitate, he continued, 'don't be i afraid?see yonder,' and he pointed with ' his gleaming sword to the heights they 'were now rapidly approaching. His active i fancy and knowledge of Ferris' hate, filled !up all that Mr. Adams could not underIstand, and the wild desire for revenge |could scarcely be restrained to a discipline {necessary iu ins luiiuurj poMiiun. ruriui nately, in thi^ moment of irrepressible vengeance, they came upon an advanced piquet 'of the royal army. The simple and laconic speech of Col. Cleveland suited well the !excited spirit of Kowen, and was a speech 'the men could understand : 'My brave fellows,' be said, 'we have I beaten the tories already, and we can beat ] them again. They are all cowards ; if they were not, they would support the independence of their country. Whcu engaged ' with them, you will want no word of command from me. I will show you how to light by my example. 1 can do no more. Kvery mau must be his own officer and act from his own judgment. Fire as fast as you can, and staud your grouud as long as you can. When you can do no better, run ; i but do not run quite off. Get behind trees >and retreat. If repulsed, let us return and renew the fight. We may have better luck the second time than the first. If any of you are afraid, let them retire, and I beg they may take themselves off at once.' The firing commenced. Some of the Atner' icans were on horseback, and others on foot; I some behind trees and others exposed; but every man, though obedient to the voice of I his commander, was fighting without the rejstraints of military discipline, and animated j with the enthusiasm of liberty. The piquet i soon gave way, and with loud shouts, the | mountaineers pressed them to the main I body, threatening, in their mad career, to break into their very encampment. Col. Ferguson ordered his men to charge, and suddenly the Americans listened to the voice of Cleveland as he commanded them to retire. They had scracely given wav when Shelby, who had completed the circuit of the mountain, poured in a well directed fire. Facing this new adversary, another bold and gallant charge of English regularp forced him down the hill. But another hand of uucrring rifles compelled the Brit ish commander once more to change his front, and wheeling rapidly, the patriot* I J_: i?i. TJ.r? .1 1,1 ; wtfrc u^uiii urivuu uuuk. jjuiuic int'jr uuuiu jeffect a route, Campbell had ascended the mountain and renewed the attack from that (eminence, compelling the British to wheel, which they did in double quick time, but in 1 perfect pood order ; and having received re iinforcements from within the line, the i charge was made with the whole British I force at the centre column. With Ferguson i at their head, animated by his voice, the 'shrill notes of his silver whistle rising hi?rh (above the din of combat, they made their j impetuous charge. Again the bayonet in ; British hands told, and Campbell gave way 'before it. But Cleveland had rallied, and Sevier was moving forward, and the double fire was terrific. Campbell's retreating col( umns heard it; they knew it was the voice ,of their compatriots, and rallying, they wheeled and rushed upon the advancing columns of the enemy. But Ferguson seeI ing his danger, threw his men iuto three col Lmn? pnlnnm fhp ndcjinfinn I y v"? " ? j patriots, and bore down on the entire Anieri jean line. But it was too late. The mounItain was encircled by foes as bold and de I liberate as they were prompt, active and j skilful. The British were fighting with I men who knew not what defeat was ; men ; whose arms they had themselves nerved to (the bloody action of that day. It was conjquorordie; it was the last hope of this bleeding State, and Carolina's blood was up and alike unconquerable, iu the unyield ing principle of right, or the fierce energy of despair. The mountain hunter calmly, but rapidly loading, and deliberately aiming, sent a death messenger in every bullet. Then came the rage of battle. The mortal : hatred between Whig and Tory along the border, rendered the contest bloody, vindictive and relentless. Every one turned in revenge. The cruelties that had been practiced during the Torv dominion nerved I every arm, and private feelings of individu 'al exasperation met then n bloody satisfaction The advancing columns'met. The ' English soldier, with his admirable discip line and indomitable courage, here proved his breeding, and met with the generous I forbearance a brave foe always yields to another. The Tory looked upon the circle of fire encompassing him, and read the bitter hate and relentless fury of those who were bearing down upon him, and charged the closing flame with the energy of despair. Hut the circle narrows and the 13rit ish cavalry were ordered to mount. Ferguson, with a gallantry as indomitable us it was desperate, was seen in every part of his ranks cheering and encouriDg his men. Determining in one desperate charge, he took his position at the head of his cavalry, and high above the din of battle cried, 'crush the d?d rebels to the earth." The Americans heard it, and there was a pause ; then the mountains shook with the ; tramp of coming steeds ; and horse and foot icame thundering down its side. The rifles i . .1 .11 l i /* .1 iweresuent; mere was me tow ciick or tne [cock; sixty paces intervened between them and the coming foe; then a pealing discharge, a recoil, and the patriots rushed for ward upon the charging enemy. The era! ven Tory felt his hour had come, as the hot J breath and fierce glance of his foe met him ; for an instant he crouched, then a spring of despair, a terror stricken shriek, a wild yell for mercy, the groan of ttie panting spirit, and a mutilated corpse. With dripping ; sword and bloodshot eyes, Bowen had fol lowed the fortunes of the day. The command to advance, had been followed by a reckless charge that made the succeeding escape miraculous. Sullenly retreating before the advancing foe, he disputed every inch of the bloody ground, till again the [shout of 'forward" sent him spurriug into i the thickest of the ranks. Where the shot fell thickest, there his black steed, flecked with foam, was seen plunging through the , smoke, his sword sweeping in fiery circles : about his head, and his thrilling.shout summoning his followers to the charge Again and again he met the object of his fury, but only to he drawn from him in the tide of contending parties. Still with unflinching purpose he followed hiui, and if ever man suffered death in Proteun shapes, that . dav the traitor Ferris suffered. The glare .* U ^.Uii ehnt nitnc *1(2 Km' cniwrlit Ittiii , Ul IliUSi; Uiwu J7UVI \,j\o7y wo nn-jr ouu^in ii mj iu the fury of battle, seemed to scorch his ! inmost soul, and with a terror, his brutal nature had hitherto been a strauger to, he jshrank in pallid dread front the encounter. At each shock that face of vengeance burst upon him, and left him weak, crouching and pitiful, iu mortal dread. It Was iu the last encounter they met, and nerving himself to battle for life, Far is met his adversary. Striving to conquer the startled terror which the memory ol' his crimes had ever left hiut, iu his usual surly doggedoess, he awaited Iloweu's approach. There was a deadly struggle?the one lighting iu the oueigy of despair for a life that had no preparation for the future?the other in a j reveuge that knew no satisfaction but life I blood and a dttermination to send the sinj ner to the doom he so richly merited. The 1 contest was short as it was severe. Bower Icranplinjr with his enemy, dropped hitu from his horse, and a blow from his broad' sword brought him bleeding to his knees ? j There was an agonizing cry for mercy, as the ! guilty creature fell, and saw in terror, Bower j reigning his horse to trample him where he ! lay. The ear that a short time since would j have answered the call, so in sympathy with i the charities of his own heart, was now deal ] to its cry, and trampling the wretch beneath the hoofs of his horse, Bowen saw without remorse, the writhing agony, heard the vain appeal, and as the quivering, mutilated corpse lay still in death, shouted his triumph, and calling to his tnen to follow,saw them dash over the bruised remains of his mortal foe, and led them to the last charge. Resistance was in vain, but the unconquerable spirit of Ferguson refused to surrender llis men were falling on every side, and the success of his bayonets gave him barren j ground, which he could but for a moment j retain. Still, to be conquered by such a set of half-naked savages, wet, dirty and | bloody as they were, from scenes of thai hot October day. was too palling for hu pride, and he fought with the desperatior of a dying ambition, as again and again hf drove the patriots to the foot of the hill.? But Campbell cries, 'follow me!' and the wild men of the mountains spring with ? madaeuing cry to the charge, as they an swer the fearful daring of their leader; aoc Sevier's sword is seen glancing, like a glean of light, as he gallops with a clatter anc crash at the head of his meu, through the . devouring fire; and Cleveland's excited ap peals, infuse new spirit into his troops, ai they charge after him like semi devils a! they are. And Shelby, the able officer anc impetuous warrior, brought his uienupwitl a skill and courage worthy of him; and th< I fiery valor of Williams, as he passed un j heeding through the iron tempest, and wit! . | the chevalier gallantry of his nature, tos I sing his gun from him as he saw Fergusor | armed ouly with sword and pistols, anc jcrying, 'I will have a single hand tussle with him or die:' dashed on to victory 01 i death ! Charging up the rugged hill aide; they drove the flying eDemy before them with a strength and terror as prompt anc deadly as a bolt from heaven. It was at awful moment?the destinies of Americ: , were in these patriots' hands and they kuev ; it, and fought like men and like martyrs J Foemen were mingled hand to hand; re jvengeand patriotism on the one hand? I rage and despair on the other. From th< thick haze of curling smoke, arose now i loud aud fierce huzza?now a yell of terro i?now a cry of triumph, mingled wit! j itroaus and shrieks of anguish. Occasion iully might be seen a speeding horseman ! the twinkle of polished steel, or the eterr ;face of a patriot, as the flash of his gun fo a moment illumined determined features ; Id the midst of the deadly charge, a whiti | horse was seen galloping riderless down thi ; hill, the shrill Dotes of that silver whisth that had so often cheered the men througl ; heat and burden of that stormy hour, wa i MiviJL?ujuiv was a viy ui a yvi : fur quarter, a triumphant shout of 'the flag are struck,' and'victory !' victory!' 'vie tory !' resounded from the mountain CHAPTER XI. And she was los' and yet I hmith'd, Cut not the breath of human life; ! A Berpont round my heart was wreathed, j And stung my every thought to strife. ! Byuox. The sun was yet an hour high when tin ;j battle was ended ; Ferguson lay dead on tin field. Williams lived to hear the shout o i victory, with prophetic fervor to thank Got i for his countrys' deliverance, blessed th< ibrave boys, his sons, who bore him in thei iarms, and died Sjontent.' The havoc hat ibeen terrible?not. one of the British forct escaped. Two hundred and forty wer< ikilled and two hundred wounded; ovei (seven hundred were taken prisoners, ant fifteen hundred stands of arms fell into thi i hands of the Americans. Tt was a loss o jone fourth or Cornwalhs ariny. Ihe as jsailauts lind the honor of reducing a nuui ' ber superior to their own, and for this crown !ing victory, one hour sufficed?'.a crowding hour of glorious life.' Of the patriots twenty-eight were killed and sixty wounded 'I A large proportion of these were officers 1 from the fact that wi'h American volunteers 11lie officer not only commands his men, bu !<:oes before and shows the way, and how ti ! tiirht. Perhaps this exasperated the Whig: jyet tnore against the conquered, and in tht I moment of unsubdued and rankling passion [ten of the Tories were hanged: amon*: | these, the two tory troopers who had accom 'panied Ferris in his murderous errand, met ! their doom. It was deemed necessary to guard the passages of the Catawba in order to delaj the news of the victory from the knowlcdgt [of Coruwallis, who was then at Charlotte. i waiting ft r a convoy of stores. Troop; ] were accordingly sent to secure these passes land so effectually did they intercept all im j telligence, that but confused accounts ol | the affair, reached the enemy. At length, j CurtiwuHis was compelled, fur the safety ol I Ninety Six, to bring his army, though weak' cued by sickness, across the Catawba river. ! lie then received his first intelligence re jspecting the different posts in the province. iand discovered that he had now to contend .with all the difficulties of a defensive war Scarcely was victory proclaimed, ere Bow len, blood and travel stained as he was, wa> seen galloping from the scene of combat The fierce passions of his soul were not yel ; quelled?they yet breathed from his com j pressed lips and bloodshot eyes, and in the I involuntary spur which he gave to his fleel and noble steed. Like an arrow he speed ed on, till arriving at the homestead, he threw the reins over the neck of the obe dient animal and hurried in. One hasty glance at the torn and ruined garden, one shuddering look at the cold and inanimate j corpse of ojd Andrew Craig, stretchee; 1 where last he had eat at his hospitable board : - j and with a lowering brow and tearless eye, ijcuided by the voice of Bessie's song, he eni! tered the chamber. Propped up in the bed, i(she was singing in the wild delirium of j fever, the songs he had so often listened to -' in happier times, when Beide's warblings 11 were to him sweeter than the song of i! matin birds. Her cheek was still rounded > in the full oval of health, and flushed to the deep glow of burning fever, her eye sparki led in unnatural brilliancy, as slowly and F lingeringly she twined the brown curls ai round her white fingers, and sang in low nod touching song, a plaintive Scotch melilody. She did not see, or did not notice I the trooper as he entered, but called to EI. len Campbell, who was standing near, and said :? i ?Miss Ellen, will you give me the flowers, now? and the glass??for Ellick is coming and I'm tobehiswife?his bride the morn, J I ) TT T huu us time id ue reuuy. nave 1 on my i white drees? <Yes,' she cried, pulling at i the sleeve of her gown, 'but its not fixed nice,' and she rolled her sleeves high, leavi ing her dimpled arras bare. 'Now the flowI ere, Miss Ellen, and the glass. [ must see L my bonnie face once more, thatEllick's so s proud of. Do you know what Ellick tells i me, Miss Ellen ? That he loves me for my > beauty, but dearer far, for the love that . lights it; and I smile and say nothing, when ? he asks me if I love him?and I never tell \ him how, when I dream of him at night, . I wake with beating heart and hide my face I in my pillow, fearing, in great shame, the II love that burns my cheek and starts the 1 tears to my eyes, though no one sees me but ; my maker; or when I smile in happy memories of him, I start and shrink if a step i conies near, thinking they will read my s dear secret in my tell-tale eyes. And so, 1 though he knows I love him right well, he i j does not know how much little Bessie longs l- l: :r- ..i t __t t i .iio ue nlis wue, mut i may go wnen x picase, . without auy shame, and kiss his manly i J cheek, or press my arms around him and tell him all my love. And I do not know ) why I tell you now, Miss Ellen, but some1 thing makes my tongue talk, and oh ! my > heart is bursting;' and her tones sank in r! wretched memory to a low wail, as she s wept. 'But I'll never be his wife; never, never rest my head on his leal heart?never | see his brave form more, never smile in his j dear face again ; never, never feel his lips t on mine as they whisper, 'I love you, Besj sie,' and wailing and weeping, 'never, nevler, never,' she moaned herself into a low I . song? "Soon my wenry e'en I'll close? " j Never mnir to wukou?never, never, never, never malr to ! J waken," " I until she sank into unca9y slumber. I Ellen had in breathless entreaty, motionjed to Bowcn to be silent, and as poor Besjsie fell into sleep she led him, unresisting, jin his deep despair, into the next room. ^ i By the assistance of Mr. Willoughby, who j was with her, she prevailed upon him to 1 change his blood-stained clothes and to '; wash the marks of the bloody conflict from his person. He asked no questions, but J. quietly submitted to their direction, when ~ | they told him his appearance might shock i Bessie, who had returns of hemorrhage 1 i from a ruptured blood vessel. His determination, however, was unalterable to reS j i turn to the room, aDd no sooner had he j cleaned himself of the revolting stains, i than again he hurried to the chnmber.? : Bessie was again moving in restless slum: ber, her cheek was crimsoned to the deepjest damask as she tossed her white arms jaud moaned in agony. Sudden)} starting, ! wide awake, she uttered a most appalling lory of terror, as she clasped her hands a?!bove her head and cried, 2 j 'Save me, save me ; 0I1 ! God, save me.? f j Father, where are you 1?they will murder 3 your Bessie ; oh !' she cried, cowering un 2,der the bed clothes and clutching them rj around her person. 'Spare me, for God's 3 j sake spare me; or kill me, though so young, 2 j I am not afrairl to die. In mercy kill me, 2land God will bless you. Ellick, Ellick, oh, r God! your Bessie, Ellick! Is there no 1; mercy ! mercy ! mercy !' and shriek after 2 Uhriek followed in startliug peals, till Ellen, f perfectly unnerved, throws herself upon the ! bed in bitter, and passionate grief, while | poor Mr. Willoughby, with tears streaming -jdowa his cheeks, in vain tried to console r j her. Iu suffering, scarcely less intense , j than poor Bessie, Bowen stood by her side ?she did not know him, nor did 9he know .jany one. In tearless silence he watched J ?he delirious struggle till uature relieved t'the sufferer, and again the bloud gushed ' p __ i i: rr^^i ? * i .1 _ ' irom ner 11pa. ne inougntsne was aying, and his livid face was now contracted to -! greater endurauce. But Ellen quickly a, rose, and with her gentle woman's hand, - wiped the oozing life-blood, as she whispered to Bowen, that it was not yet death.? I The hemorrhage ceased and relieved the delirium, and in perfect exhaustion, Bessie's white face now rested on the pillow. She exhibited no surprise as she opened her : 1 eyes and gazed long and earnestly at Bowen; , jat length, stooping to kiss her damp brow, ? he whispered, , 'Doyou know me, Bessie ?' She smiled, . and clasping his hand, whispered in almost fi inaudible tones, ,| 'I knew you would come.' Drawing him fi down toward her, she stroked the brown l hair from the fuce that was almost as white las her own, and smiled in sweet childish | trust. But gradually her face became j troubled ; memory that had been hushed for i l ?i..: ) I a IUUIIIUI1L lO IL'Sl, ilgUlll UiUlliicu lu punci .'she moved restlessly. Again the fever j burned her cheek and quickened her pulses. 5 j She looked uneasily around. . j 'Father is sleeping, Ellick,' she said, Lj -but I'll go and rouse him, directly. He's j no well, but he'll be better the morn, he > says. Unconsciously, she used much of the t, Scotch dialect of her childhood, which, . i with the plaintive tones of her voice, made ?i it doubly touehiug. Her eager glance .! sought out every object iu the room, her i mind was evidently working in rapid ; thought, her lips opened to speak, then as ;jif impatient at some inward consciousness, I j closed again, only to move once more iu ; j restless eagerness. 'Ellick !' at length 6he cried ; 'who says I cannot be your wife ? Do you not love your little Bessie V And without waiting for a reply, she continued : 'If I smiled on other lads it was na that I loved you less; but that I loved to see you follow me with your eyes in jealous fear, lest Bessie should think more of another. How often I smiled in other faces for the dear delight of winning you, by a simple word, to forgive your Bessie ! How often I refused the kiss you pleaded for, that I might watch my moment, and looking up in your face tempt you to snatch what I was so ready to grant! How , often at the kirk, dear Ellick, I would not | meet your eager look, till in the instant of parting, I would send the blood rushing to your face, with a laughing glance ! Oh ! Ellick, you do not, you cannot know all the wiles of Bessie's love, teasing you with its change, binding you with its trust, and loving you dearly, loving you through it < all, Ellick !' she laughed. 'Do you mind the 1 night you asked me ? How bashful you were; and how I teased you, though long ing to hear your loving tale?and how you [forced me to listen to you, while I pouted land loved you all the dearer for the nianlij ness that bade me be quiet ? And I laughed [and said 'No,'and you did not speak ; and j would not understand how Bessie longed to [hear it all again ; and you bid me good bye .and would have left me, but when you took I my hand, somehow you did not give it up, [and 1 could not iuke it from you till, dear Ellick, I found myself weepiug in your arms and you so proud, (and so happy) of your capricious little lassie. And I thought then T never would tease you again; but 1 did, Ellick, and you forgave me till?'Oh !' she shudderingly cried, 'that awful dream? it chokes me. Air, air!' she suffocatingly gasped Panting a moment, she cried, 'Ellick, dear Ellick, I never wronged you in thought, word or deed. You were dearer than all the earth beside. Oh ! how II loved you ! so proud of your free, bold ofon en nrniiA nf rnnr mnnlr Kcormrr on jOLtp J OV piuuu V74 juttft IUUUIj yvuiiu^ ; ow j proud of your love, but prouder than all of {your honest heart. And now to lose you! What terror is this between us V she cried, clasping her bauds to her heart. 'I feel it here, but I cannot tell what it is,' and she : looked in agony around. Gradually a look | of settled despair passed over her face, and j moaning, 'I know it, I know it all now/ 'she buried her face in her pillow and beseechingly moaned for him to leave her.? Clasping bis arms around her, Bowen bent down and whispered low and lovingly in her ear. Gradually the clenched hands | relaxed, gradually the hidden face turned j to him, till burying ber head on his shouli der and weeping quietly, she whispered her ; tale of terror there. Fainter and fainter, i grew the whisper, as closer he drew the dear : form. j >Wake, father / she said, 'I miss him.' They looked on each other in troubled j consternation. She smiled, j 'Is it so? Thank God! He would have |been very lonely without his la?sie. And !you, Ellick?' she looked at him long and jlingeringly?'1 cannot comfort you/she I i n _ _ i_ i ? i . _ i_ y satu, ana caimiy conunueu ; 'tuat wicKea , man is?' lTn hell,' said Bowen, in uncontrolled passion. 'Hush Bessie,' and the wrathful ; tones were muttered in deep curses, while a jscrowl of deudly wrath gathered on his j brow. i 'Poor Ellick !' said the girl, from whose iheart every emotion of wrath or terror haa faded, as she lovingly stroked his face.? |'Miss Ellen,'she smiled, and grasped her I hand ; rested one kind look on Mr. Wil loughby, then turned as if glad once more ; to rest on Bowen's bosom.. She smiled in his face, and murmured some low words of . love, the flush died from her cheek, her eyes closed like a weary child sinking to rest, a long sobbing sigh, and Bowen was j forever alone. Reverently laying the dear 'head upon its white pillow he knelt by 1 her side, and placing his hand upon the j breast that had so lately beat in loving puliation to his touch, he took a solemn vow, j ! devoting himself to the cause of liberty, ! wholly and entirely, till God should drive i.u- c .u. :i o : nit; upprtissur IIUUJ me HUM. oeveiiu^ u : ! long brown tress, and kissing the pale lipsj i that still smiled in sweet serenity, with uj firm step and stern purpose, he turned from ! jail that was dear to him, to wait the mo' ment that was to consign the parent and (child together to the earth. [TO BE CONTINUED.] [We can supply the back numbers of the paI per from the commencement of this story.] For the Yorkvllle Enquirer. A NEGRO WEDDING. Messrs. Editors: It would utterly a?tonjish the visions of any of our Yankee brethren who have never been at the South, if | they could witness a regularly got up ne| sro wedding, such as we are accustomed to I see in the city, and sometimes on the plantations. The refinements of city life have rendered all the paraphernalia of carriages, ; bridal processions, and suppers, as indis: peusable to a ' 'spectable colored pusson's' j wedding, as to those of the wealthiest of the i'white folks.' It Is not unusual to see 'ladies and gemmen' with the blackest faces, arrayed in garments of immaculate whitei uess and most delicate drapery, alighting 1 from equipages that would adorn the Bat| tery of un afternoon, in front of an imposing ; looking mansion, to join the merry group ; of bridesmaids and groomsmen on their way j to church, or returning from the nuptial ceremony, to spend the balance of the evening in the festivities incident to such occasions. The apartments dedicated to the reception of guests, are exclusively confined to the invited company. Outside of or just J withiu the doors and at the wiudows, the i members of the white family with a few i friends, prompted by curiosity or interest, 'take their position, geuerully as spectators i of the rich scenes about to be enacted. The ladies are first seated, as far as the accom; mcdations will admit, where they remaiu fanning or giggling, after the most approved 1 fashion of the white ladies, whose eccen ;ricities they ape very scrupulously, until jp( nterrupted by the formal approach of some fit young gentleman,' about to act the part of th i gallant for the evening. This interrup- m :ion is usually precipitated by some at first la uashful youth being pushed forward by the in rest to take the initiative, when he dis- ai ;harges his responsible duty somewhat af- Si ;er the following programme, which will be ti ecognized a9 not unlike that adopted by st iheir betters under similar circumstances. w Mr. Gumbo is introduced to Miss Dianah, fa vho holds a clean white pocket handker- fu ihief between her forefinger and thumb, ind uses her fan energetically. He assures her that he is 'berry happy to hab de felicity'?informs her that it is <a pleasant ebening,' that there has been mo rain for a long 01 <pell,' and that it is 'delightful to take a b ride round de Battery.' This last piece of l< intelligence, Mr. Gumbo derives from fre sl quent visits to that popular resort in the ^ ?t \t:?? i?: u ? in ua^aunjf ui uuauinuau. miao I'tuuu uitt&ci oo reply to the first salutation, other than a ^ nod of assent?endorses Mr. Gumbo's opin h ion in full as the agreeableoess of the even- P ing, and demonstrates in enthusiastic terms * her fondness for the sea-breeze at White '' Point, when she is in the habit of carrying P Missus' children to skip the rope. Mr. a Gumbo next animadverts upon the solemnity of the marriage ceremonial?the duty ^ of all to enter into its obligations, and the ^ probability of some of the present company n being tbr- prominent actors in the next Hy- 0 menial comedy. Miss Dinah appropriates 1 the allusion, and thinks Mr Gumbo, 'very 11 impertiuent.' Mr. Gumbo cites additional 1 confirmation of his prediction, in the cir- 8 cumstance of a certain colored pemman hav- 1 ing been seen paying devoted attentions to c Miss Dinah, and takes occasion to compli- c inent the said gemman on his display of ' taste, accompanied with an implied inti- ' mation, that the fair object of his admira- * tion, might do better by dispensing her ^ smiles in another direction. Miss Dinah is v renewing her former protest against Mr. fl Gumbo's impertinence, when the sound of 8 the violin interrupts the colloquy, and she ^ accepts, after a little persuasion, Mr. Gum- 8 bo's polite invitation to accept him as a part- c ner for 'de five fust dances.' By this time, 1 the reader will have discovered that Mr. 1 Gumbo is a recognized favorite among <de 1 ladies'?a kind of privileged character, 8 whom, in polite circles, is sometimes de- ' nominated <a fast young man' a coquet, &c. ' True, he does not own fast horses, but he 1 keeps them and drives them for his owner, J and is very proud of showing them off in k King street or at the Battery. So great is ^ his popularity among the ladies, that they 1 remember and immortalize him, as we shall 1 presently see, in the songs and pastimes.? * The intervals between the dances are filled * up with very amusing games and chorus- J ses, of which the following, sung by the la- ( dies in chorus, is a fair specimen: 1 'Mr. Gumbo?he lab sugar and tea; Mr. Gumbo, he lub candy; Mr. Gumbo, he cnn twist and turn, And kiss dem ladies handy.' Meanwhile, Messrs. Pompey, Cudjo. Saniboand the rest of the beaux, gaze with feelings of generous rivalry at the overwhelniinp attentions of 'de ladies' towards their more fortunate 'brudcer,' and emula tinp his success, are making desperate efforts to play the agreeable with Misses Phillis, Dolly, Rosamond and Isabella, who rather than remain 'wall-flowers,' conclude ' to accept their attentions at their legitimate * value. Then follows, <Go round the ivy-bush,' and similar circuitous evolutions, during which the whole company join in loud ( chorus to some such refrain as this? T.?e gwine nwny to morrow ; Doe?doe?doe? (chorus.) 8 l'se gwine away to trabel; v Doe?doe?doe? (chorus.) f Now a young lady is placed in a chair in the midst of the circle, and the outsiders ^ ulrur utKilo ^nn/?it?nr nrnnnrl Kor r- r. | f Yah's a young lady sot down to sleep ; ^ Sot down to sleep?sot down to 9leep ; He want a young gemraanto keep her awake ; c Heigh ho?heigh ho?heigh ho!' t Bell done ring and drum done beat, g In dis lady's garden. Oh ! ho ! let rae out, 8 I'm in der Lady's garden, t I'll gee you half a dollar if you let me out, q For I'm in 'dis lady's garding, Humpback Jenny wid de hoop coat on r She's in de lady's garden, '-gi r Brass key and silver lock t In dis lady's garding, , Gib me de key to fit dis lock, 13 In dis lady's garding 1 t Let Sissy out, and let Sonny in 0 In dis lady's garding." After having played out the universally g popular game of (de lady's garden/ the la- 0 dies are elevated on chairs in the centre of ^ the room, and favorite gallants are called j( upon by name to ascend an adjoining chair b in turn, and give the lady a hearty kiss.? j Therexau be nothing imagined more rich and ludicrous thao this novel and charac- Q teristic performance. In such demonstra tions of appreciation of the charms of the ^ ladies, the colored 'gemmen/ claim the largest liberty, and exercise it to an extent, which, among white-boys, would be regarded as presumption and insolence of the b deepest dye. The maidens, like thoir vountr mistresses. stand readv to receive L J - - o ? ' # 0 such tokens with a hearty goodwill; but; v more fortunate than the latter, they areie: not so shackled by that slavish responsibiii- ^ ty to public opinion, which recognizes kissing in public as a grave offence against those Q who are not kissed ! n The scenes I have imperfectly sketched 8( will just9arvc to give the uninitiated some r, idea of the ceremonies, customs and jullifi- t| cations of that bondage-ridden race, who, Si according to the delusions of our Northern j tl brethern, are debarred from all liberty and ; ? social enjoyment, and know nothing beyond [ ;t chains and prisons, and solitary coufire-jd incut. An hour or two at a negro wed j r( ding?or at one of their frequent evening j parlies?giveu them by their owners, would | p dispel any such impressions. A glance atjai one of our well-fed, noisy, merry back-a moors passing along the street, singing and j jt oellowing at a rate, which, if attempted by |a oueof the white folks, would ensure him a' bight's lodging iu the guard house, oral rmanent residence in an asylum?is strident to convince any reasonable being tat they enjoy more liberty than their asters. Of all the free, happy, careless, ughter loving, life-enjoying spirits that ihabit our Southern clime, Mr. Gumbo id Miss Dinah, and the whole family of ambos, Coffees and Cndjofa, in their enre freedom from the many oppressive reflations upon their gaiety, to which we hite folks have to submit, are the most vored, and onght to be the mnot prateil. Yours, CLAUD?. Charleston, Jane 1860. THE HUMAN1 HAND. Issuing from the wrist is that wonderful rgan, the human hand. *10 a French ook, intended,' says Sir Charles Bell, ?to ?ach young people philosophy, the - pupil sks why the fingers are notof equal length ? 'he master makes the scholar gra>p a ball f ivory, to show him that the points of the ogers are then equal! It would have beeo etter had he closed the fingers upon the aim, and then have asked whether or not hey corresponded. This difference in the sngth of the fingers serves a thousand purioses,as in holdings rod, a switch, a sword, hammer, a pen, a pencil, or engraving ool> in all which, a secure hold and freetorn of motion ate admirably combined.? )n the length, strength, and perfectly free aovements of the thumb, depends, morever, the power of the human hand. To he thumb, indeed, has been given a special lame (polltx,' from a Latin word meaning, o be able, strong, mighty,) because of its trength?a strength that is necessary to he power of the hand, being equal to that if all the fingers. Without the fleshy hall if the thumb, the power of the fingers rould be of no avail, and accordingly the arge ball formed by tho muscles of the humb is the special work of the human land, and particularly the hand of a clever eorkman. The loss of the thumb almost imounts to the loss of the hand. Conoripts, unwilling to serve the army of France, have been known to disable them elves effectually by cutting off the thumb if the right hand. The loss of both thumbs vould rednoe a man to miserable depenlence. Nor should we overlook another jeculiarity. Were the tips of the fingers md thumbs bony instead of being covered with flesh, many things we readily do would >e absolutely impossible. We now can take lp what is small, soft and round, as a milet seed, or even a particle of human hair. Bo exquisitely prehensile are the human ingers. The nails are often of special service?perhaps always in works of art which equire nicety of execution. Their subitance is just what is needed; they are ;asily kept at the precise length which aniwers every pbrpose; had they been placed >n the tips of the fingers, they would have jeen a loss of power, but their position enlures their highest efficiency. An inter- f jhaDge of power for velocity which takes )lace in the arm adapts the hand* anj fin- \ jers to a thousand arts, requiring qurok or ively motions. In setting up the type of % his page, there have been movements on ;he part of the compositor of surprising rajidity to an ordinary observer, and the ex;cution of performers on the piano f.iTte, 13 wen as on many wind instruments, Is ot;en astonishing; these are among many iaitunee8 of the advantage gained by this iacrifice of force for velocity of movement. ? Cassell's Popular Natural History. MILLING There are few small mechanical^ matters hat are more puzzling to the popular jibind han the 'milling' on the edges of qjjj- gold tnd silver coins. Everybody is .familiar vith the appearance of milled sovereigns, or example, but nobody, comparatively peaking, knows how they are 'milled.'? ihe very term, indeed, is more likely to nislead than to inform the uninitiated.? tfaoy imagine that each particular piece of uoney is put into the lathe and made to roate in close contact with, and under presure of a 'milling tool, just as; the thumbcrews of mathematical and optical instrunents are, but this is altogether ft mi< .ke. rhe process of milling coins is a much more apid one than that referred to. If our eaders will be good enough to picture to hemselves a number of shankless brass mttoos, doable-gut and nobly burnished, hey will have a tolerably clear conception f what are called in the parlance of the aint, sovereign blanks?'blanks' destined ventually to become prizes, and to be eaerly sought after in the lottery of life.? Vhen the mechanical feeder or the stamp g press has carried forward one of these lanks to the surface of the die intended to npress it, a steel collar bored out to the recise size of a finished sovereign,"T and lilled interiorly, is made to rise by force f a spring, and encompass loosely the lank, whioh is slightly smaller than the erfect coin. The upper die, fixed to the lovable pin or screw of the press, now defends upon the button of gold, which has een softened by fire previously, and the levitable consequence is that the latter ecomes imprinted with obverse and reerse?or, vulgarly, head and tail?on ither side, whilst it is expanded laterally y sheer pressure, until it fits tightly the srrated steel collar, and thus becomes a lillnr) QAnoroir?n Tlin nnl Jfi T AT I1I1VU JL UV J v? lould, as it may be styled, ia next depresed self-actingly, aod thus leaves the coin eating in its finished state on the face of he lower die. There, however/ it is not offered to remain more than a second, for he 'feeder' before referred to, in advancing ith another blank to be stamped, poshes rudely away towards an inclined plane, own which it slides into a pan and is ady for its mission of mercy or woe. Such is briefly an elucidation of the simle mode of milling money. A collar, ich as described above, will mill maoy lillions of sovereigns, as we were told when ispecting the process of money-making itely. 19* Folly and pride walk: aide by aide.