Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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- *> ar ^ /' ** r * ~ . ~~ "~$y ' * ?;* ?**? * y "u't"7 " "" p ' .."*v *>: " w~ '* -1*5 1 ". 4 . ' -&** " \ ! s : : i id. ti sA j. an 11 i ' a - - a - - - a ?" ???????^ .... . lewis sr. qhist, Proprietor. [ In Independent Journal: For the Promotion of the Political, Social, Agricultural and Commercial Interests of the South. j$2 pee ahhux ih advahce. VOL. 6. YORKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, AUGUST 23, 1860. NO. 34. V ^ ^ . V-?W ? : / ? >y:.Ai * % Chilling Icrnan written expressly for ELLEl Ci KING'S M BY MRS. MAI CHAPTER XXI?continued. Morgan was a brave and active officer and made his oreDarations to meet Tarle ton, in spite of superior numbers, withou the least intimidation. Hi9 force consisted of five hundred milt tia, three hundred regulars, and seventy five horse, under the command of Colone Washington. Tarleton had every prospec of success. He had two field pieces, anc two hundred aod fifty horse, beside hi: thousand choice infantry. Longiog to re venge the defeat of King's Mountain, th< sanguinary Briton burned for the enooun ter. That Morgan should desire the sami thing, was too improbable an idea for th< British commander to entertain for a mo ment. It was a madness that carried de feat on the very face of it. Fearing his fo< would escape him, Tarleton made a feint t< cross the Pacolet above the position tha Morgan had taken, and thus place his ad versary between his own and the main arnij under Cornwallis, which was only a day*: march distant on the left. Morgan mad< a corresponding movement, and the wilj Tarleton making a night march, crossed th< river before daylight, a few miles below.? Morgan now made a hurried retreat, anc before night, regained a favorite positior aboveThickety creek, on an eminence some times called 'Thickety Mount,' where ht made preparation to meet his pursuer.? TT 1_: J._j e? .1.. _:_ki J riere nis urui^ resicu iui ms ui^ut, auu ic freshed themselves with a quiet breakfast The spot oo whioh Morgan had taken ground was an eminence which ascended gently foi about three hundred and fifty yards, and was covered by an open wood. The militia, commanded by Col. Pickens, were drawn up about two hundred and eighty yards in front of the regulars, and the horse, com manded by Col. Washington, under whom was our friend Davie, were a short distance in the rear. They were covered by the de scending ground, which again arose to s height sufficient to cover a man on horseback. The rear line was commanded bj Lieut. Col. Howard, a brave and efficient officer. About one hundred and fifty yard? in advance of the first line, as many picked riflemen were Dlaced. scattered in loose or . r / der alone; the whole front. Those on the right were commanded by Col.Cunningham of Georgia; those on the left, by Majoi McDowell, of South Carolina. No particu lar order was given this scattering body, but they knew their service. 'Mark the epaulette men!' was whispered, The advanced party was ordered not to de liver their fire until the British were withic fif.y yards, and this done, to retire, covering themselves with trees, till reloading, the) could fire again. Tarleton who believed that Morgan was resolved on flight, hurriedjy pursued him and came up with him about 8 o'clock or the morniDg of the 17th, after a five hour; march. What was his surprise to see his adversary drawn up and ready for battle His uniform success, however, and the high renown his good fortune had given him. inspired his troops with alacrity a 1 courage, and he prepared at once for battle. Advancing to reconnoitre, he was prevented by the picked riflemen, who gave his escort a discharge which made them tremble at the deadly aim of the Southern rifle. Tarleton now halted, and formed his liue about 250 yards from Morgan's detachment. Under cover of their artillery, they now ad vanced with a triumphant shout, pouring in an incessant fire of musketry as they came. 'Hold your fire!' cried Pickens; 'wail till you see their eyes?Sfty yards betweec you, now boys?fire !' A deafening discharge was the answer, and dead and wounded, commissioned and con-commissioned, fell under that fatal and deliberate volley. But this was not suffi clent to repel the excited foe. They advanced rapidly, the militia were obliged tc retire, and were gallantly brought off bj Col. Pickens, and formed on the right of the second line. The British rent the air with their shouts, as certain of victory, Tar leton's cavalry pushed hard after the re treating militia. The British infantry hav ing crossed a little valley in pursuit of the retreating enemy, now found themselves within twenty paces of Howards regulars, who at this moment, poured upon them jj general and deadly fire. lOn them, my boys!' cried Howard, as he sprang iuto the thickest of the fray 'The day is our own. Down with the red coats.' 'Charge the huoting shirt rascals,' criec Tarleton; 'down with the rebels ! Charge my boys, charge ' and again the British bayonet told, as after an obstinate conflict, the continentals retreated to the cavalry 'Follow me,' cried McDowell, pressing tc the front of the battle; 'remember King'.' Mountain, boys. We beat them once, we'll beat them again! Come on, huntingshirts, and let him who scorns the tartan fear the dirk. Follow ! One more blow for victory and freedom. And they did follow, and nobly did those untrained soldiers come to the charge. The havoc was fearful, butgoaded by their commanders, the British sustained their position, though thrown into some confusion Morgan's quick eye at once perceiving this, h-j rode up, exclaiming with a loud voice, while waving hissword to his halting troops'Hurrah my brave fellows! Form !form Old Morgan never was beat in his life! ? one fire more, my heroes, and the day ii our own!' te of % JUfcoMffit. ; THE YORKYILLE ENQUIRER. j OR, ! [OUNTAIN. ' aTewart. i With answering shouts, regulars and , | militia advanced, rallying at the voices of g j their commander. t: 'Charge !' shouted Howard, as with fixed bayonets they bore down on the foe. Pick ens, McDowell and Cunningham sprang to f the head of their men in dauntless heroism. 1 i On they came against those bristling bayt onets. 1 'Seventy-first Regiment, form into line s on the left;' cried Tarleton ; 'Dragoons, on the right,' he crie., as the determined pha3 lanx bore down upon him. Again, Mor-! - gan's watchfulness and decision saved him. J He perceived the movement and the necesJ sityof covering his flank. Ordering up the cavalry, Washington's impetuous troopers - came thundering down. The bayonets of J Howard's continentals were interlocked |s > with those of the foe?the militia had re- j t covered and formed a new reserve. There -;was a shock of contending columns, the c ' [clashing steel, and deafening war seemed to 5' rend the very heavens. j t * 'Washington and freedom!' 'Davie, to|r J the rescue !' was shouted by the excited ! * troops, as they poured their columns upon 'j. the foe. I 'Ha!'cried Davie, as burying his spurs: j. ' in his noble steed, he spied Hardy in the; fray. 'Now?my life or yours.' j v 5 'Come on,' replied Hardy, with a volley j; of imprecations, 'and I will spare your' j rebel neck, a halter ' j ^ Davie's brow darkened, and there was j c 1 i death in his wrathful glare as he bore down c ' jupon him. Although Hardy was a match I for Davie, in brute strength and dogged j J courage, he was none in sleight or cool dar- \ ] 1 ing. He was soon unhorsed and rolling in ' fl 1 Ithe dust. 10 'Ha ! I have you then, cowardly assassin,' j * ' j cried Davie, springing to his side. ' You are i ! I mt? niMonnnr T TIM 11 nnf ctni n mr swnrd with 1 j 4LJJ F4*" "444 ?vw j i j_ your cowardly blood.' Ia 1 'Mine is not so choice, unfortunately for; you,' Hardy interrupted, laughing; and;t r {suddenly springing to his feet, 'I accept noig '(quarter from your rebel hands?take that,' [ j. ?j he cried, with a buter oath, swinging a;t I blow with such unexpected vigor, that Da- j q ; vie had barely time to parry it, ere another' ^ -'ipass, bathed his face in bbod. L i j 'Fool,' cried Davie, dashing the blinding | j r j blood from his eyes; 'you force me to this,' j a and springing on him, his sword passed di-ja i rectly through his body. Ilardy fell with it j that look of mortal hate in his face. Ia 'So perish all the enemies of my country,' j said Davie, as he extricated his dripping |c 1 ] blade. Flis bridle rein had been caught by ] ' young Sevier. 11 r 'Hurrah, Major! Well done! The boys'c missed you, and I came to hunt you up.? c 5 You have given him his passport to Para- i ' dise, more or less. I've somehow had an U 1 added grudge against that fellow ever since | ' Bessie Craig's death. Well, the king has |j ! lost, a servant and the devil's got one; but1 c mount, Major mount, the battle is not yet L 1 over. It promises a glorious day though. js ' Hurrah, boys! here he is ! come on! Fol-'a j low your leader!' 'Thank God, you are safe, Major; we c ' j missed you,' said Bowen's stern voice.? je ' J 'Now, my men, on to victory !' L Riding up to the side of the Major, his I i j usual post in battle, his dark brows meeting !c {in vengeful wrath, he dashed into the fray. If. {Conspicuous by his black horse and tall { I person, he was a fair mark for many a one p { that day, but yet he was impassive to their t shot. Few men ventured to cross swords ji with him ; but like a minister of vengeance, v { his curse was marked by a track of blood, jo Sometimes an adversary of greater weight b or courage opposed him, and for an instant c ' | his bloody path would be checked. Thenjh (|as the foe fell under his unerring sword, ajb I hoarse laugh would issue from those com-1 ? ! pressed lips and crying, 'God do so to me Ik : and more also, if my righteous vow is not re n i deemed,' he would again dash on with sav- d _ age joy, uttering his terrible cry of 'Justice v ' | and no mercy ' \ Tarleton fought with a dogged valor, I though now forced to confess it was in re-1 d treat. His soldiers became unsteady, and i . at everv fresh charge he found it more diffi j ; j cult for them to halt and form regularly, and a their retreat also was much more rapid than t consistent with good order. The paoic in- I creased, each individual seetned to think it s | unanswerable that he should be the last in J tl 'retreat, and several troopers set spurs to! . their horses and fled outright. Others U seemed inclined to follow their example, jti I land every moment the British officers fear-is jedtne troops would leave the field. The If , j trampling of the horses, the groans of the , n ; wounded, the continued fire of the enemy, |s I the loud shouts which accompanied each 11 , volley, made a terrible picture of blood and; t . confusion. With the composure of deadly jr I hatred, Bowen rode through it all, the death | o his recklessness seemed to woo, flying from Id hitn. Suddenly, he wavered upon the seat e . he had so rigidly maintained, and clapping s his hand to his side, the palor of death n spread over his face. 'What is it?' cried Davie, in alarm ; 'are'A you hurt ?' 'I've got iny discharge at last, Major,' p said he gaspingly; 'God knows I longed for it.' i h He would have fallen from his horse, but: h , Davie caught him, and dismounting, sup-11 ported his fainting head. ' j i' ! 'Gracious heaven,' said Davie, in strong (c emotion; 'this is a heavy ransom for liberty. 3 Speak my friend, speak, tell me it is not so d bad?the wound is not mortal.' S 'Thank God, yes,' he said gaspinj Hush, do not mourn for me,' he fee lttered as he marked the deep anguisl Davie's face. 'I have so prayed for it, i ustso on the battle field, on your bre; ny brave Major, my true friend,' he pn :d the hand that clasped his. 'I longet o give ray life for years; my Bessie risl iers. Thank God it will soon be over n My life has been dark, so dark, since Bei eft me.' The gasping utterance showed that vas fast ebbing. The tide of battle I noved beyond them, and the two frie vcre alone. 'Major,' said Bowen, after a motru ilence, 'I loose you. Where are y< \h! I know. What shouts are tho lark! do the red coats fly ? Then th sheers for victory, hurrah,' the last sp >f life lighting up his glazing eyes. 'H ah my lads,' said he, struggling for fa ng strength. 'Hurrah!' The shout d in his tongue. 'God bless you, Mnj aid he, kissing Davie's hand ; 'now Bes or you and heaven,' he smiled, loosed lold which had been staunching the ilood, and the gallant spirit of the wronj latriot went to its reward. The charge of the continentals had b completely successful. The British adva ravered, broke, and at length fell back he rear. Morgan now ordered up his erve. With loud shouts, the brave ows bore down upon their opponents. 'One more fire, and make the victory iure,' cried Morgan. The enemy were within thirty yards w! he final fire was delivered. It was a ible discharge. 'Charge!' thundered Morgan, leading lis men with fiery valor. 'Charge!' shouted Howard, bringing lis continentals, with fixed bayonets. 'Onward, ray boys,' cried Washington pith his accustomed impetuosity, he b ike a sweeping wind upon the enemy Nothing could surpass the intrepedity ioth officers and men. They rushed or mshaben resolution, and nothing could eed the astonishment of the British hese unexpected charges. A panic lommunicated to the whole. In vain tl eaders endeavored by shouts and encc gement to rally them ; in vain they goai nd threatened. They could not withst; hese desperate charges. 'Hurrah, my boys, hurrah !' shouted Morgan, 'the day is ours. Down with y irms and beg for quarter, you scoundre 'Quarter to all those who will lay d< heir arms,' echoed Howard's voice, h bove the confusion. The survivors of loasted legion immediately threw dc i j c 11 xt. r neir weapons, anu ien upon ineir laces rhe remains of the British cavalry, v rarleton, escaped, though hotly pursued 3ol. Washington, who pressed hard on th )avie arose from the side of his dead frie ind was about going away to obtain ass mce, in order to place the body in sal il! the moment of interment, when Se1 ipproached. 'Major, you are wanted in another j >f the field. Come with me immediat ^ut who is here? Good God, Major! 3owen ? Poor fellow. At rest at last? tome, leave him with the boys. You h lone all you could. The living claims low. But, you too, are wounded/ said :ier, marking his increasing paleness. ?I am sick and dizzy, Ned?that is all le said, staggering, and with an effort :overing. 'But what do you mean ? , ioor Bowen / and still unnerved from hock of Bowen's death, he dashed his hi .cross his eyes. 'Come, Major, come/ replied Sev heerily, 'don't give way. Death, is B n's best friend. The man has never h ip his head since that stroke. And he 1 t as he hoped to meet it?in harness i lear you. Come, Major, you must prep or other trials.' Davie followed him mechanically, et ling over the bloody corpses that stret he path. Sevier evidently wished the I or to ask where he was going, but Da trapped in his own thoughts, followed 1 ne in a dream. The two men had been 1 mother's, for Bowen's honest worth i hivalric devotion had not onlycommem irn to Davie's discriminating judgme mt had endeared him to his generous he; iince Bowen's great trouble too, Dav indness had partaken more of the tenci tess of woman, and Bowen would have 1 [own his life at any moment for the frie ?hom in his heart, he held next to his G Vaiting in vain for some intimation t )avie was heeding him, Sevier with a i ier's bluntness said? .rv i a ? _ w:n ll_ i i'D you kijow .ur, u muugiiuy is nor 'Mr. Willoughby ?' said Davie at 01 roused. 'Impossible.' ']?ut be is though; he followed Grah understand.' 'Graham too? and here? IIow con hat?' 'I cannot tell you much about it, bu cems Graham would insist on an investi ion of some matters connected with hi elf, the moment he returned to camp, ound but little difficulty in proving his ocence, but was so stung with even I lightest suspicion of remissness in du hat he insisted on joining Tarleton, a hus proving his readiness to discharge equirements. With his nice sense of la r, he refused to table charges against H y, till his own position was fairly establi d, and though I warrant you he had I mall friendship and scant courtesy for I aiscreant, yet he would not accuse hii 'But Mr. Willoughby; howcamc heheri uestioned Davie moving with more alacri 'That is what I cannot understand,' lied Sevier. 'Graham's influence | irn off on parole, but why he should 1 )w him to Tarleton's camp, I can't s knew he liked the young fellow, but si afatuation as this would infer, seems redible.' 'And where are they ?' said Davie, id not seem to be so taken by surprise, levier expected. sly. | 'Yonder under those trees/ replied Sebly j vier, hesitatingly. 1 of; 'Mr Willoughby?but where is Graham ? and I Good heavens, Sevier, he's wounded !' ast, j 'Mr. Willoughby is safe, Major/ said ass Sevier gravely, laying a detaining hand on 1 so his arm ; 'but Graham is?dead !' ked 'Dead/ ejaculated Davie, springing for- ^ ow. ward. ' ssie Mr. Willoughby was seated on the ground ' supporting Graham's head on his knee.? P life A pale blue mark on the temple, through a had which a few dark drops had trickled, told fc nds it all. His brow was yet knitted with the ^ storm of passion, and his hand clutched his a ints sword, even in death. Yet in death, how n ju ? beautiful! The long curling lash shaded a se? the half closed eyes, and hid the death in v rce their glazed pupils. His cravat was untied, t< ark and the femininely beautiful throat exposed, u .ur- soft and lair as a woman's, me graceiai * int- limb9 not yet stiffened in death, lay as if in b lied careless repose, and the hand on the sword r or,' but betokened the watchfulness of the sleep- 8 sie, ing soldier. * the Mr. Willoughby looked up as Davie ap- c life proached. Never had the young man seen c ged such a look of strong despair. His mouth quivered in spasmodic emotion, and his 8 een eyes were encircled by deep rings of dark ' nee purple. He spoke in accents of deepest d on misery, yet not a tear dimmed those stony h re- eyes. o fel- 'My child is dead, Henry ! My boy, my e brave, my noble bny, gone forever! I 8 se- watched him through all this terrible day, 8 and my heart trembled and swelled and I hen fainted, at his fearful daring. When he J f.er- rushed into the thickest of the fray, I fol- 8 lowed him with my wild terror, and when e on he came out unharmed I blessed the proud c and defiant boy. My eyes never once lost t up him till that last fatal discharge?then I 8 missed him. Good God, the madening ' , as agony of looking over the dead for him. I b ore found him at last in the thickest of the I .? fray, and he was dead! Oh! God, the ' of misery of that moment! My heart shrank, 1 i in and shivered, and broke in the agony.? b ex- He was dead, Davie, and died without bles- t , at sing me. Not a word for the father that I wasj begat him, the wretched, wretched father, ( leir that so cruelly forsook him. My boy, my h >ur- noble boy! My darling son ! how I have c ded prayed for the moment when I might claim 1 and you ; when I could take you in my arms and ' call you child ! Oh ! God, this is retribu- 1 old tion ! I claim your clay and He claims a our your soul!' aud groaning in deepest an- 0 Is!' guisb, the old man with trembling fingers S )wn pressed the clustering hair from the marble s igh brow, caressed the face so still in death, o the and again and again kissing the cold lips, t >wn strove by every endearment, to arouse the * i.? sleeping dead. ; ?ith 'What does he mean, Major? Is he 3 I by mad ?' whispered Sevier, who in mute as- s em. tonishment had witnessed this outbreak. J nd, 'Hush,'replied Davie, in the same tone. 1 list- 'His grief maddens him, but his words are fety true and sober. We must get him away.' I rier 'What! Graham his son ?' * 'Yes; I cannot tell you now, but it is even ? Dart so.' c ely. It was with the utmost difficulty they f '? could prevail upon Mr. Willoughby to leave 0 but I the dead to their care. But no inducement 1 avejcould make him part with Davie, and find- c you ing him so intractable and withal so help- t Se- less, Davie obtained permission to remain f with the old man and see the last sad offices i ' performed to the frieods so lately buoyant * re. with life and health. Indeed, his own con- ' dition needed attention, and weak from loss 1 the ?f blood, he was compelled to see the duties z *nd performed by other and stronger hands. a The troops were now all in commotion, t ierj Morgan only waited to refresh his men, t 0W- when he pushed at once for Broad River, t ie]d 1 His proximity to Comwallis forbade any. a met j thing like security, and encumbered as he i indjwas with his five hundred prisoners and ? iare captured baggage, his movements were ne- e cessarily slow. But pushing bravely on, o ep. ere a second evening passed, he had placed red the swollen water of the Catawba between ^a_ him and his foe. Comwallis hesitated as vie to the propriety of following him, and only ike arrived on its banks in time to witness the ike safety of the retreating army, but the thun- . md dering waters which had barely suffered jed Morgan to pass, forbade him to venture.? j jntj Thus his delay of a moment was the defeat . art of his host. ie's The Americans believed that nothing ^ |er. short of a miracle had saved them, even as aid j the Hebrews of old were saved by the Red ? nd, Sea; and though the British commander od. was not swallowed, his march was stayed, 0 hat fche pursuit baffled, and Morgan in triumph C sol. joined his commander. Thus was fought 0 land gained the glorious battle of the Cow-j - 9> : non? nnri wns thp Sf>r?nnrl link in a crand!^ b : i f > ? o nCe|chain of causes which finally drew down ^ ruin on the royal interest in the Carolioas. am The glory and importance of this action ^ resounded from one end of the continent to Ell i)es the other. The battle of King's Mountain had reanimated the desponding friends of t it America?this made their hopes doubly ac ^ pa- tive. The one had been like a resurrection ^ m. from the dead of the Southern States; the other was like arming those dead for con- ^ jn. quest nnd victory. The American militia j the had taken their first lessons in warfare, and tyj I hereafter, their audacity and bold dariDg ^ D{] i were to be their characteristics. Cornwal.,]] lis again complained that he was surrounded ^ otl. by inveterate enemies and timid friends, ar. and to fight and conquer Green, was not ^ sh- now a matter of choice, but one of absolute ^ 1nt necessity. the [TO BE CONTINUED.] ll.' ffl B [We can supply the back numbers of the paper from the commencement ot' this story.] " ty- ,.i? al re- A Relic of tiie War of 1812.?The hi ?ot Bangor (Me.) Union says: 'While at ^ Pol- Eastport, on Thursday last, we saw the brig aI ce. Frolic, which was in engagement with the a< ich Wasp ubout 48 years ago. The Frolic is al in- now about 52 years old, is owned in the tv Province of New Brunswick, we believe, " 'bo and has undergone considerable change in ^ as exterior arrangement since her fight with al the Wasp. tD Jjuplar Jeafrtng. ?? - wa GEORGIA CORRESPONDENCE, tie Pine Forest, Ga., Aug. 8,1860. 0qi Dear Enquirer : Why did you allow it? al Veil, if ? must apologise for presuming to he nrite for your very elegant and interesting dr( reekly, I must tell you that I have been <Jei irovoked to it by that very able, elegant Jn nd saucy contributor of yours, known by gU be oom de plume of "Willie Lightheart." ma ?qw don't get angry, for we all love and dmire "Willie," but we love "Lizzie" an lore; and we again repeat?why did you th< llow him to criticise and silence our fa- fm orite?the spirited and accomplished wri- est sr of "Never say die?" Now hear his in ngallant, ungrateful and unceremonious em rards: "Allow me to say for the special I mc enefit of 'Laughing Lizze,' and your ca, eaders generally, that I have read 'Never bai ay die,' very many times. It looks very 0u rail on paper, but such theoretical ideas }n an never be carried out in real life and W oncludes with this very fatherly advice: th< Lizzie, my child, you are young and in- clc xperienced?the gilding of life is not yet thi ram off to you?the winter has not come of own upon your summer yet. Roll your 18 ioop, my child, gather flowers and make Wa lolls awhile yet, and while you are thus ngaged, 'Willie' will attempt to write omething about that philosophical, 'Never ay die,' of yours." Now, Dear Willie, in don't intend going into an argument with foi ou, but we have also read that same piece, wa nd being a little older and perhaps more ha xperienced, I can tell you that I have pass- cal d forty winters, and undergone many hard wr rials and reverses; and wo were so enoour- op ged, delighted and well pleased with in Never say die,' that we are disposed to ho lave it inscribed on the household gods, ha Does it not remind you of the renowned re] ratchword in our Navy, made sacred by in he dying charge of ooe of her gallant and or irave officers, when he fell in battle mor- th ally wounded'(?'Don't give up the ship.' tei Ud more recently, the words that carried pe Jeneral Taylor to every victory, and bore to lim triumphantly into the President's to hair? Need I repeat them?"General CI Taylor never surrenders!" And, dear Wil- tei ie, if ever 'in the course of human events,' toi hee should pass around Florida Capes, or Li scend the great Mississippi, or being on Di pleasure trip across from Charleston to ve Sullivan's Island, and thee should by any be ad and unavoidable mishap be thrown tei iverboard, I tell thee to hold thy head above St he surface and 'keep kicking,' and thee th ?ill never drown. And in conclusion, I be pould remind thee, that as thee has never M 'et come out with that philosophical an- ab wer of thine to 'Never say die,' to let it fu >a?s, or, peradventure, I will come down pr ipon thee in good earnest next time. th And now, dear Enquirer, as I have be >een thus forcibly drawn out before your so rery many interested, delighted and highly se ntelligent and respectable readers, I will co iccasional\y give you some hasty sketches ce rom real life, picked up during the last th even years of my life, in the pine woods of ower Georgia, in which will be included a W lescription of the 'Altnmaba river and her tri ributaries;' and the inexaustible pine Cc orest and the facilities for turning the same gr nto money; and many other sources of pr realth and prosperity in Southern Georgia, an 'My first trip to Darien on a raft of tim- as >er"The steamers running from Savan- ac mh to Macon and Florida, during the last ce even years, and the fate that has attended ? hem." "The steamboat race from Savan- lif lah to Macon." "The oharacter of the set- foi lers at this time?illustrated by a tragedy mi eted out during the last three years."? \V ^.nd as you have no other correspondent in ou South Georgia, just now, I will try to gath- in :r and communicate to you all that may be th if interest to your readers. tir I am with great respect, gentlemen, Gi V"sN?iknmkla oarronf I At 1 UU1 UUUIMIC OV1 TUUV} A FORESTER, on DAVID CROCKET. J" 'Be sure you are right, and then go ahead/ ( 9 a wise maxim attributed to one whose life Qn ?as a continual illustration of the sentiment. 2very one has heard of 'Davy Crocket,' the mmortal backwoodsman ofTennessee?tho .^ ;rack shot' of the wilderness?eccentric ^ ut honest member of Congress?the 'hero fthe Alamo'?yet few know hip origin, is early struggles, and the general current f bis Ji?e. History has but a few words oncerning him, but tradition is garrulous pU ver his many deeds. 80, David Crocket was born at the mouth 0f f the Limestone River, Green county, ne, last Tennessee, on the 7th of August, bei 787. His father was of Scotch-Irish de- aD( ;cnt, and took a prominent part in the war jjf, >r Independence. It was all a wilderness for round David's birth-place, and his son 0D( jmmuned with nature in its unbroken t,h< ilderness, from the beginning. He grew 1 > young manhood without any education 0f om books, other than he received in bis 0f >vn rude home. When only seven years (hs f age, David's father was stripped of most the 'his property by fire. He opened a tav- or|, n in Jefferson county, where David was qUj is main help until the age of twelve years. aU be vagrant life, full of incident and adven- phi tre, suited young Crockett, but becoming san issatisfied with his employer, be dfberted <<ei im, and made his way back to his former 0f f ome. After tarrying there a year, he ran anc ivay, joined a cattle merchant, and at the tail ]d of the journey in Virginia, he was dis- exe lissed, with precisely four dollars in his tilt mlrnf T?nr throp uonrq he was 'knockins dn ^ r- ? jout,' as he expressed it, and then he sought tha is father's home again. He now enjoyed ere ie advantages of a school for a few weeks, 0wi id finally, after several unsuccessful love He iventures, he married an excellent girl, Cen id became a father in 1810, when he was En penty four years of age. He settled on doc ie banks of Elk River, and was pursuing tioi ie quiet avocation of a farmer in summer, the id the more stirring one of hunter in Au. ]ea imn, when war was commenced with Great ma itain in 1812. Crockett waa among the it to respond to Gen Jackson's call for lunteers, and under that brave leader he a engaged in several skirmishes and bats. Ho received the commission of Colel at the close of the war, as a testimoniof his worth. His wife had died while was in the army, and several small chilen was left to his care. The widow of a ceased friend soon came to his aid, and his second wife he found an excellent ardian for his children. Soon after his image he removed to Laurens county, lere he was made Justice of the Peace, d was chosen to represent the district in 3 State Legislature. Generous, full of 3, possessing great shrewdness, and (hon In n fnnll ' Pi?nnlfaII moo rni?n r\nrvti1or i tu a lauiVj viuuaciu rr aa vcijf yvpuiai the Legislature and among his constitute. In the coarse of a few years he reived to Western Tennessee, where he bene a famous hunter. With the rough ckwoodsmen there he was a man after r own hearts and he was elected to a seat Congress in 1828, and again in 1830. hen the Americans in Texas commenced sir war of Independence, towards the ise of the year 1835, Crockett hastened ither to help them, and at the storming the Alamo, at Bexar, on the 6th of March, 36, that eccentric hero was killed. He ,s then fifty years of age. GENIUS AND BUSINESS. It has been a favorite fallacy with dunces all times that men of genius are unfitted business pursuits. Yet Shakspeare .8 a successful manager of a theater?perps priding himself more upon his practiI qualities in that capacity than on his iting of plays and poetry. Pope was of inion that Shakspeare's principal object cultivating literature was to secure an nest independence. Indeed, he seems to ve been altogether indifferent to literary putation. It is not known that he supertended the publication of a single play, even sanctioned the printing of one; and e chronology of his writings is still a mysry. It is certain, however, that he proared in his business, and realized sufficient enable him to retire upon a competency his native town of Stratford-upon-Avon, lancer was in early life a soldier, and afrward an effective Commissioner of Cosms, and Inspector of Woods and Crown inds. Spenser was Secretary to the Lord }puty of Ireland, and is said to have been ry shrewd and attentive in matters of isijess. Milton, originally a schoolmas r, was afterward elevated to the post of icretary to the Council of State during e Commonwealth; and the extant order iok of the Council, as well as many of ilton's letters which are preserved, give undant evidence of his activity and use* ? - ? ? ? C'? T n /I \T rtmfrtn lUt'bS 1U tUttl UUIUC. Oil icaau ji.icnt.uu oved himself a most efficient Master of e Mint, the new coinage of 1694 haviog en carried on under his immediate pernal superintendence. Cowper puded himIf on his business punctuality, though he nfessed that he "never knew a poet expt himself who was punctual in any _ )) ing. But against this we may set the lives of ordswortb and Scott?the former a disbutor of stamps, the latter a Clerk to the )urt of Session?both of whom, though eat poets, were eminently punctual and actical men of business. David Ricardo, lidst the occupations of his daily business a London banker, in conducting which be quired an ample fortune, was able to conntratehis mind upon his favorite subject on which he was enabled to throw great ;ht?the principles of political economy, r he united in himself the sagacious comjrcial man and the profound philosopher, e have abundant illustrations, even in r own day, of the fact that the highest tellectual power is not incompatible with e active and efficient performance of rouie duties. Grote, the great historian of f* 1 ? T J 1 1 reece, HKe rucarao, is a juouuuu uuuner. ad it is not long since John Stuart Mill, e of our greatest living thinkers, retired )m the Examiner's Department of the Ini Company, carrying with him the admition and esteem of his fellow officers, not account of high views of philosophy, but cause of the high standard of efficiency lich he had established in his office, and e thoroughly satisfactory manner in which had conducted the business of his dertment. EIGHT TcTsiXTEEN. Lord Shaftesbury recently stated in a blic meeting in London, that from perlal observation he had ascertained that the adult male criminals of that city, arly all had fallen into a course of crime tween the ages of eight and sixteen years ; d that if a young man lived an honest o _ . l 5 up to twenty years or age, mere were ty nine chances in his favor, and only ? against him, as to an honorable life sreafter. Thus it is in the physical world. Half all who are born, die under twenty years age, while four-fifths of all who reach it age, and die before another Bcore, owe sir death to causes of disease which were ginated in their teens. On a careful iniry, it will be ascertained that in nearly cases, the causes of moral and premature j^sical death are pretty much one and the re, and are laid between the ages of ght and sixteen years." This is a fact startling import to fathers and mothers I shows a fearfnl resnnnsihilitv. Certain. . ?I J lly a pareDt should secure aud retain and ircise absolute control over the child uniixteen; it cannot be a difficult matter to this, except in very rare cases, and if t control is not wisely and efficiently exised, it must be the parent's fault; it is ng to parental neglect or remissness.? nee the real source of ninety eight per t. of the crime of a country, such as gland or the United States lies at the ir of the parents. It is a fearful reflect i; we throw it before the minds of fare and mothers of our land, and there ve it, to be thought of in wisdom, rerking only as to the early seeds of bodily disease, that they are nearly in every case sowq between sundown and bed-time, in absence from the family circle, in the supply of spending money never earned by the spender, opening the doors of confectioneries and soda-fountains, of beer and tobacco and wine, of the circus, the negTo minstrel ; the restaurant and the dance; then follow the Sunday excursion, the Sunday drive, with the easy transition to the company of those whose ways lead down to the gates of social, physical and moral ruin.? From "eight sosixteen !" in these few years are the destinies of ohildren fixed ! in forty nine cases out of fifty; fixed by the parent! Let every father and every mother solemnly vow : "By God's help, I'll fix my darling's destiny for good by making home more attractive than the street."?Hall's Journal of Health. Fashionable Friends.?The hardest trial of those who fall from affluence and honor to poverty and obscurity, is the discovery that the attachment of so many in whom they confided was a pretence, a mask to gain their own ends, or was a miserable shallowness. Sometimes, doubtless, it is with regret that these frivolous followers of the world desert those upon whom they have fawned; but they soon forget them. Flies leave the kitchen when the dishes are empty. The parasites that cluster about the favorite of fortune, to gather his gifts and climb by his aid, linger with the sunshine, but scatter at the approach of a storm, as the leaves cling to a tree in summer weather, but drop off at the breath of winter, and leave it naked to the stinging blast. Like ravens settled down for a banquet, and suddenly scared by a noise, how quickly at the first sound of calamity, these superficial earthlings are specks on the horizon. But a true frieud sits iu the centre, and is for all times. Our need only reveals him more fully, and binds him more closely to us. Prosperity and adversity, are both revealers, the difference being that in the r f' 3 _ i xi_ - 1. AX lormer our menus Know us, in rue lanei we know them. But notwithstanding the insincerity and greediness prevalent among men, there is a vast deal more of esteem and fellow-yearning than is ever outwardly shown. There are more examples of unadulterated affection, more deeds of silent love and magnanimity, than is usually supposed. Our misfortunes bring to our side real friends, before unknown. Beoevolent impulses where we should not expect them, in modest privacy, enact many a scene ot beautiful wonder amidst Che plaudits of angels. And, upon the whole, fairly eatimating the glory, the uses, and the actual and possible prevalence of the friendly sentiment, we must cheerily strike lyre and lift voice to the favorite song, confessing, after every complaint is ended, that "There is a power to makeeach hour As sweet as Heaven designed it, Nor need we roam to bring it home, Thongh few there be that find it I We seek too high for things close by, And lose what nature found us, For life hath here no charm so dear As home and friends around us." Pilgrimage to Mecca.?A recent publication of the Ministry of Algeria and the Colonies, makes some curious statements relating to the pilgrimage to Mecca during the present year. The ceremonies at Mecca terminated on the 11th of last mootb, in the presence of about 50,000 pilgrims, i 1 w n r f\ i i ___ i. i on or wnom i/,oou naa come dj sea, ana oz,150 by land. In 1858, there were 160,000 pilgrims; 1857,140,000; and 1859, 120,000. This great decrease in the number in 1859, is owing, the natives declare, to the events of Djeddah last year, and also to the dread ot the cholera, which made extensive ravages in 1858. As soon as the pilgrim sets foot on the soil of Mecca, he must put on two pieces of white cloth, one tied around the loins, with ends hanging down to the middle of the leg, while the other is thrown over the shoulder, so as to leave the right arm free. He must go bareheaded and wear sandals. As long as he wears this garment he is bound to lead a pure and regular life. At Mecca he begins the ceremonies, under the direction of a guide. They are as follows: 1. Visitiog the temple and going seven times round the Kaba, starting from the Black Stone, which he must kiss, or touch in completing each circuit. 2. Drinking the water of the well of Zem Zem, at which, says tradition, Hager and Ishmael quenched their thirst. 3. Praying at the station of Abraham, marked by a stone, on which he is said to have stopped when he went to sacrifice his son. 4. Stooping and praying at the place called El Madjeu, the place where Solomon stood to see mortar mixed for the building of the temple. 5. Running seven times between Mount Safa and Merwy, within the limits of the city, in commemoration of Hagar's anxious searoh for water for herself and son. 6. Repairing on the ninth day of the month to Mount Ararat, about twelve miles from Mecca, after morning prayer. Mohammedan tradition says that on this hill Adam built a temple, ana inonaramea perrorraea ms devotions. 7. On the day following, the visitors all go in a body to the Yallay of Mouna, and there sacrifice propitiatory victims; they also cat their hair and nails, devoutly burying the portions cut off. After remaining two days at Mouna, they again visit the Temple of Mecca, and then prepare for their departure. A Sewing Machine Man Beats his Wife.?Isaao M. Singer, the well known sewing machine manufacturer, was arrested in New York, Thutsday, by officer Colfax, of the Jefferson Market Police Court, on the complaint of his wife, Mrs. Mary Ann Sioger, who, on Tuesday last appeared before Alderman Brady, and made an affidavit of assault and battery against the accused. Mrs. Singer alleged that her husband had beaten her violently and choked her with his bands, and that she feared to return home until legal measures should have been adopted for her protection from farther violence, preferring in the interval to stay at the house of a friend in Clinton place. The magistrate required him to furnish bail to keep the peace for six months, which was procured and the case dismissed. A Strange Family.?At least, the female portion of it?resides in this oily.? The mother, far advanced in life, and a daughter nearly fifty years old, have shown ? very little disposition to mix with or see the world. They are seldom abroad, and have not both together been off their premises for thirty years at least, and we believe neither of them oat of the street on which they reside for a score of years, till last * Saturday. They then accepted the invitation of a relative to spend the day at Oldtowa. When be would take them in the cam- . age, the younger one was greatly alarmed, , for she had never been in any kind of a carriage in her life. She turned pale, trembled, and grew faint at the prospeet before her, but was finally prevailed on to trust hersolf to that conveyance instead of her feet. They stopped in fall view of the Eastern Railroad, and three trains passed near tViPm thin wm f.ViA firafr and all nf t.H?p railroad experience. Neither of them before had seen a car or had the least idea of a steam engine. The appearance of a train straok them with terror, and the old lady, who knows the Bible ((like a book/' though she is no*; so well read in modern literature, said believed it was an invention of the devil, and had been sent oat to seek whom it might devour. She had some fear that it would eat her up. There is not an Esquimaux in the heart of Greenland, or an inhabitant in the interior of Africa, who would be more startled and surprise? if a rail train should drop down from heaven and run at full speed before his hut, than were these ladies, who belong to a highly respectable family, where the husband and sons are as much given to the world, as full 1 of new ideas, and as ready for the last joke as anybody.?Neioburyport Mass. Herald. The Greatest Duel on Record.-t-Aii i old Mississippian furniehes the following to ; the Woodville (Miss.,) Republican i The famous duel in which forty or more gentlemen were hotly engaged, in 1828, is still remembered in Natchez. Col. Jfita ; Bowie, the famous fighter and inventorbf the knife which bears his name used to i spend a great deal of his time in Natchez. ; fie was challenged by a gentleman of Alexandria, La., whose friends to the number : of twenty, or more, apepmnnilifd * ,' *?? Natchez, to see fair play, knowing Bowies was a desperate man, and bad his own ftijsuds jg> about him. All parties went upon the field. The combatants took their places' the centre, separated from their friendship the L _ i rear, iar enougn not to endanger tnemwun their balls. Behold the battle array thus: ?twenty armed Louisianians, fifty^Xris behind their champion, and his second; and surgeons; and opposite them, as far behind Bowie and his second and surgeons, twenty armed Mississippians. Behold the heights of Natchez thronged with spectators, and a steamer in the river rounded to, its deck black with passengers, watching with a i deep interest the scene. The plan of fight was to exchange shots twice with pistil, ! and to close with knives, Bowie beings armed with his own terrible weapon. At the sec, ond, the Louisianian was too quick,>end , took advantage of Bowie, who*waited* tfre word. At this, Bowie's second cried^fonl I play!' and shot the Louisianian dead. The surgeons now crossed blades, while, with load battle cries, come on the two partus 1 of friends, the light of battle in their eyes. > In a moment the whole number were engaged in a fearless conflict. Dirks, pistols and knives were used with fatal effect, until one party drove the other from the field,--I do not know how many were killed and wounded in all, but it was a dreadful slaughter. Bowie fought like a lion, but.fj^0o*t ered with wounds. For months be lingered 4*?* * at the Mansion House before he fulljr re- ^ covered. * - - . ?* ' ~ First Babies.?A somewhat extended observation and a solitary experience have convinced us that first babies have a hard time. Parents must have two or three ohildren before they know what a baby is, know how to treat it, and acquire patience soffi-.; cient to treat it properly. The poor little fellows that have the misfortune to come & along first have to eduoate parents to their task : and in the process they get spanked and shaken and abused. After a man has three or four children, he learns that"wbjjp> ping, or striking a child less than two y&rs of age, is barbarism. Wo know onfl4ffjwternal head" who struck his first ohild, when onlv six weeks old. the ais actuallv believing that the ohild knew better than to cry, and that he stopped crying at that particular time because he struck him. ^ We carry certain notions of children and of family government into married life, and the first child is always the victim of these notions. And not alone of these, for the parents have not learned self-control, and a baby is whipped quite as often because the parent is impatient or angry, as because it is vicious or intractable. We inflict on our first children the floggings we ought to have for our own impatience or fretfulness.? This pounding children before they become, in God's eye morally responsible beings, is very strange business. Patience, good people?unwearying patience ! Don't waiVto to learn it until one of your little ones shall be hidden under the daisies!?Springfield Republican. success in life.?a man 8 best help is in himself; his own heart, his own soul, his own resolute purpose. The Battle cannot be fought by proxy. A man may he aroused by another?bis desire to improve and advance himself beexoited by another; but he most mould his own stuff, quarry his own nature, make his own character.? W hat if a man fail in one effort ? Let him try again; try often and he cannot fail ultimately to succeed. No man can tell what he can do till he tries with resolution.