Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, June 04, 1868, Image 1
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LgWHILS?3aTt\ &n JW? lttosp^?: jfor % frrotgtigit of <fet |alical, Social, ^gritaltnral anb Ccntmtrtial |rrtertsta af tfre
VOL. 14. YORKYILLE, 8. C., THURSDAY, JUNE 4, 1868. . ' . , , . ,; . 3^Q. 2.8;;,.
jtn Original fjtotwlrttf.
Written for the Yorkville Enquirer.
ISOLETTE, THE FEMALE SPY.
1 STORY or GHA&LE8T0H AM) THE WAR.
BY J. WITHERSPOON E&VIN.
CHAPTER I
:
It is painful to speak of a lost cause. There is
a feeling akin to despair in dwelling upon the incidents
of a struggle id which genius, courage, and
devotion, even unto death, pat forth all their efforts
and made every sacrifice of which the human heart is
capable, and made them, to all human seeming, in
vain. Bat the good, the gifted, and the generous,
never labor, nor live, nor die in vain. The toils
Which they underwent may seem to have ended in
naught, and the blood of a self-sacrificing and noble
people may seem to have been spilled in vain; but
the blood of a people, fighting for right and principle,
is like seed sown in the ground which will
some day spring np and bear its trait
' The hopes of the good and the wise once seemed
to have nerished on the cross, and to be bnried
forever in the tomb of Joseph of Aximathea. Sad
and disconsolate disciples wept over the desolation
of all their fondest hopes, Poor, despised, illiterate,
and outcasts from among men; persecuted
and hunted down by the hand of power, they sat
down and wept over "a lost cause, the glory and
triumph of which now fills the whole earth. That
<(lost cause"?as they then deemed it to be?has
outlived all the dynasties of earth, and will still
flourish in undecaying splendor, when kings, and
crowns, and sceptres, and the very stars and suns of
heaven, have passed away forever.
The cause is not lost?
"Truth crashed to esrth will rise Mala;
The eternal years of God are hers,
But error, wounded, writhes In pain,
And dies amid bar worshippers!"
It is not fit that the memory of those who struggled,
so manfully and devotedly, should pass away.
A sketch taken here and there, to tell how they
fought and suffered, and conquered even in their
fall, is all that the writer aims in the present series
to present.
Come! let us mount to the top of yon tall and
time-worn steeple; one among the oldest of all that
stand pointing silently to the skies in this country
of States. The last object on which lingers the
ease of the outward bound voyage as he leaves behind
him the metropolis of his State, and the first j
that rises from the wave to greet him as he returns j
to the shore where bis sweetest affections dwell, is *
the spire of old St Michael's, reminding him first I
and hut of religions duties and the sweet charms e
that linger around the House of Prayer. If he is 1
not an unimagitive man he will think, as he nears c
the shores of his native land, of the congregations
that have worshipped there?the good, the wise c
and the beautiful?who are now dust and ashes; of j
the generations over whom its revolving shadow '
has swept, who are now themselves but shadows. J
And he will think, too, of the beauties he has been J
wont to see sweeping along its broad aisles^-faiiy *
creatures with bneht eyes and sort rosy cneexs, 1
still lovely, still as beautiful as the houris of Para- ?
dise, whose maiden love, uusullied and pure, out- i
weighs in the estimation of one who knows the '
priceless worth of woman's love, the crown of a *
king. '
Dear to the dweller in the city where its shadow c
falls, and dear even to the dweller in the far inte- fi
rior of the State, is the rising spire of old Saint 0
Michael's dear for antiquity s sake, and dearer "
still for the hallowed and stirring associations that t
finger around it ?
But come! let us mount its well worn steps and 1
look around us. Upward an onward we go, wind- J
ing wearily along the narrow spiral flights of steps, *
so deeply worn by the feet of those who have trodden
it before us, that the asceDt is both difficult 1
and dangerous. Round and round we go, and the 1
brain becomes dizzy and reels, bat we must plant r
our feet carefully on the deeply worn steps, for e
should we make a mis-step here, we shall tumble E
scores of feet down the stairway, and lie bruised 11
and battered wrecks below, happy indeed if there v
be not enough of life left to utter a moan of pro- t
' methean agony. _ a
It is the month of April, eighteen hundred and t;
sixty-four, and as we gaze from the giddy height c
to which we have attained, the eye rests only upon c
a warlike panorama. For miles around, the rude
hands of war had scarred the faoe of Nature. The
inanimate soil itself had been raised up into huge c
lines of embankments, and we can turn to no point 4
but the eye falls upon forts and bastions, and en- a
trenchments and bristling battlements. Far oat in
the harbor, lying low upon the water, stands the f
fragment of a fort, beaten intodGst and rnbbish bv ?
the iron-clad batteries of the enemy. It is a mere ^
ruin, shapeless, deformed and blackened by con- s
flagration and the smoke of battle ; but the South- *
era Cross still floats as defiantly oyer the ruins as * when
it was first planted on the intact walls of ?
Sumter. The brave Stephen Elliot?peace to his i
ailenudust!? has "fought it low down to the t
water's edge," and while there is a foot of crurn- *
bling mortar on which to plant his flag, he and his v
brave garrison will stand by it with Spartan hero- 3
>sm, and if it be written in the book of destiny -that [
thev and their cause must fall, they will die like *
cocks in the pit, chivalrous and game to the last ?
flutter.
Farther out yet, and quite beyond the bar, rides 3
a fleet of iron-clads, invulnerable to shot or shell. 1
These and Sumter are types of the two people at 4
war. The one, heroic, self-denying?cut off from a
all communication with the * outer world, and depending
on unassisted valor; and the other, aided a
Dy all the mechanical appliances, and materials of 0
war which human ingenuity can devise or the a
wide world supply. > g
The guns of the various forts, which lie in sight, F
are booming all day slowly, and at measured inter- 1
vals ; for this is one spot of earth where the spirit a
of war hangs poised in air and suffers hot his min- 1
ions to rest. White wreaths of smoke burst from 1
the.various batteries, and the air is tremulous with r
the dull booming roar that fills the hours of day 1
and night. Even the tall steeple in which we stand *
is a mark for the enemy's batteries, and we can J
hear their shrieking shells, screaming like demons F
of battle, as rushing fearfully near the window from c
which we gaze, they fall and explode behind us. 3
Little is the damage they may do, for it is among '
charred and blackened ruins where they fall and j
burst It was when Sumter stood unscathed and *
defiant, and the fleet from afar looked timidly over ?
the bar, that the flames, kindled by the hireling in- c
cendiaries of the enemy, burst forth in tbe good *
city of .Charleston, and sweeping across its entire 1
width, left behind them acres of charred and ruin- c
ous walls. Half-clad mothers fled with their babes s
by night, houseless and homeless. Yesterday saw 1
. them the possessors of rich and splendidly furnish- *
ed mansions?to-day beholds them homeless, pen- *
niless and naked. Angels might weep over half ?
the population of a city?old men, and dependent 1
women, and feeble infanta?stripped of their all and 1
left homeless and naked to face the freezing gales
of December ; but the bold sailors of the North?
"the gallant tars" of northern ballads?hailed the
conflagration of a city, filled with old men and women
and children, with jubilant salvos of artillery.
Not having the heroism to come to the rescue,
when for tnirty-six long eventful hours the guns of
the brave Anderson told of comrades fighting for
life and honor, and summoned them in vain to his
relief, they had not the magnanimity and the generosity
which brave men ever exhibit to enemies
in their misfortunes, and which forbid them to indulge
in vandal exultations over the afflictions of
women and children.
But with the fleet, and the batteries booming around
the harbor, we now have nothing to do.?
The parties with whom we have to deal are on
yonder Island to the right, where a handful of
brave men, small and insignificant in number, bid
defiance to the numbere and resources of the enemy,
and time and again flung back from the bayonet
point, their hired mercenaries as often as they
essayed the capture of the city, over which we are
gazing. Defiant and undaunted, the small force
upon James Island, whose numbers, as we estimate
them from our observatory, scarce amounts
to two thousand men, have hurled the enemy tack
again and again in their onward march, and driven
them to the isolated sand banks where they cower
timidly under the guns of their floating latteries.
Conspicuous among the defenders of the island, we
see the bright bayonets of the dauntless4 4Eutaws, ''
not yet having undergone the terrible baptism of*
blood and fire which, ere the year is flown, is destined
to ootne down upon them. Thus far their
duty has been to guard the approach to the city
across the island, and to furnish a detachment to assist
in holding Fort Sumter against the enemy.
Well hitherto have they performed the duty assigned
them ; but thev are destined, upon a wider
field, with the eyes of the world upon them, to win
a name, for daring and unfaltering valor, second to
that of no corps in the service.
There stretches around James Island, in a nearly
semi-circular line, a number of batteries to defend
the approaches from the Stono and the lower face
)f the island, and in the rear of these batteries lie
the few troops, while their picket lines gird the island
some two miles in advanoe of the batteries.
Every causeway along which a soldier can creep,
;veiy water-course along which a canoe can be propelled,
is closely and vigilantly guarded. No mercenaries
are these who guard the way, but soldiers
oorn of the best families in the land, each one of
vhom feels that the honor and security of the State
s committed to his keeping. "There are stirring
imes just ahead of us, and we hasten to introduce
:he reader to the personages of tho story upon
Those history we are to linger.
As we look down from old St. Michael's, wecan
rinre and there natch a climnse of the road which.
irossing the Ashley on a bridge, near half a mile
length, winds along the island and leads to the
rarionscamps. It is still an early hour, and through
he clear atmosphere of this bright morning we can
liscern squads of soldiers moving about in various
lirections. We see straggling groups along the
oad of which we have spoken; some returning
rom the city to the camp to resume their duties
ifter the expiration of a brief leave of absence, and
>thers wending their way to the city, rejoicing in a
>rief respite from the tedium and confinement of
he camp. ' . .
There is a solitary cart standing by the roadside,
ibout half a mile from the nearest battery; ana
ounging upon the grass, at the foot of a live oak.
ire two individuals who have left the city behind
hem, and chosen this spot to make their morning
neal. With the privilege of a writer, we will deicend
and take our place by their side.
The mule has been temporarily unharnessed from
he cart, and the negro driver having given him
lis morning feed, is lying indolently in the sunihine,
his eves distended to the utmost, taking in
he new sights that meet him on every side. The
wo individuals of whom we have more particulary
spoken, were sitting upon the roots of the tree
?itn an open box before them, from which, with
teen appetites, they were drawing forth various
idibles to make their morning meaL Ham and
fggs, and broiled fowls, with potatoes?roasted and
hed?and biscuits and rolls fresh from the city
>akery, and various dainties carefully provided at
lome, were drawn forth in profusion. A coffee
>ot, too, with a kettle, was plaoed by the dying
mbers, showing that our two way-fa'rers had evey
disposition to make as comfortable a meal as
ircumstances permitted.
The two individuals before us were in striking
ontrast in nearly every particular. One was a
nere youth, whose age one might rate somewhere c
>etween seventeen and twenty, aooording to the cirlumstances
under which he was viewed. Almost c
eminine iu appearanoe, he seemed, at times, a mere E
>oy, until in nis dark brown eyes, so quiet and gen- J
le, one read, at times, a flash that revealed the ;
pint of heroic daring burning in his bosom. Care- 1
aland tender nurture and aristocratic breeding, I
rere recognized in his manner and bearing at the *
irst glance. These are often the concomitants of
realtn; yet riches do not produce, and poverty v
annot take them away. They spring from intrin- c
ic excellence, and are as often found in the home
if the unfortunate and poor, struggling against J
lestiny and fighting the hard battle with life, as in \
he mansions where wealth and plenty preside, -1
nd felicitous fortune, like the slave of the lamp E
n the eastern story, stands ready to gratify every 1
apricious and extravagant wish, as soon as it can J
>e formed. j
Victor Garnett had all the culture thataccompa- '
lies refined wealth ; but, in truth, his family was (
>oor. He was the only son of a widow in greatly 3
educed circumstances, who lived decently, and j
ven tastefully, upon an income far less than her '
nost intimate associates dreamed of. Robert Gar- 1
iett, the father, was a skillful and able lawyer, who 1
worked hard, lived high, and died at an age before (
he emoluments of his increasing business had en- 8
bled him to accumulate the means of leaving his ;
amily provided for. His widow, Isabella Garnett, 1
ittored no complaints over her changed and altered 8
ircumstances; but from her narrow and contracted J
aeans, honestly discharged all debts to the last f
arthing: and by carefulness and close economy, !
ontrivea to live in nearly the same style?so far as
he public could discover^-to which she had been 1
ocustomed in the life-time of her husband.
One wealthy relative she still bad, to whom it was c
resumed, she could apply, at anytime, for assistnce,
with the certainty of success. Jacob Read,
ler maternal uncle, was a childless widower, nearly c
ixty years of age, but still hale, robust, and with 1
he promise of many additional years. Isabella 1
rarnctt was the heiress presumptive to his immense state,
for though he had a niece married at the t
'forth, she had been separated from him so long c
hat he might well have been thought quite to have a
orgotten her; and besides, his denunciations of the (
rhole people of the North were so bitter and un- c
paring, that it was very reasonably concluded that c
le would carefully provide that no one of Yankee a
>irth should inherit a cent of his money. With c
o wealthy a relative, Mrs. Garnett would not have g
>een considered poor by any one of her numerous
tcquaintances, and yet, to confess the truth, she had i
lAtfAv oinAa tlio /loofk aP kni* KnoKon/1 vaaau'A/1 _
iv t\si i diuvv viiv v^vavu vi uvi uuovniJUj ivvvit vu j
he smallest aid or assistance from her wealthy rel- ^
;tive. i
Jacob Read was an extensive owner of slaves, e
.nd annuallysold from two to three hundred bales 1
f cotton. He owned several shares in Bank, was c
. large bondholder, and year after year added r
TeatJy to his overgrown estate by the purchase of ]
repertv. He was a prosperous and thriving plan- c
er, and did not disdain the smaller gains which a
ccrue from sending to market all those smaller c
(reductions of his plantation, which add so much ];
0 the iucome of the prudent and thrifty. Beef, ji
nutton, pork, and articlesof daily family consump- i
ion, were two or three times a week brought into
narket from his plantation and exposed for sale, s
Lret never had it occurred to him that an occasional t
resent of such articles would have been most ac- j
eptable to his widowed niece. Two or three times v
1 month, at stated periods, when business called r
lim to the village, he invariably called and dined J
vith his niece, at her plain and modest, but well j
urnished home. She knew the day when Uncle r
Facob would come, and a warm welcome and a ?
ihoice dinner ever greeted him. Cheerful and \
ligh-spirited, and loving hospitality as a duty, t
Mrs. Garnett delighted to set before him the best t
linner that her limited means could command; and s
ihe even repelled the thought from her own bosom, r
hat the feast which she set before her wealthy rel- [
itive, made her fare the poorer and more scanty \
'or days to come. Oh! it is a spectacle that must ;
sadden the eyes of guardian angels, to look down t
lpon the proud and toiling widow, unmurmuring
md uncomplaining, who, under a serene and smi- ]
ing face, hides the secret of her poverty and dis- ?
ress, and with unshaken fortitude and courage, {
ights the fierce battle of life, struggling to feed, t
md clothe with decency, the young charge that ^
Jod has entrusted to lnfr hands. W ho can fathom s
ler midnight thoughts, when the struggle of one f
lay is successfully ended, and she begins to think t
>f the coming morrow, with its wants looming ]
earfully up, like a dark cloud, and hiding the ever j
eady hand of a benignant Providence ! The his:ory
of her struggle is harrowing, but its lessons y
ire sublime. s
Jacob Read was not addicted to meddling with t
;he affairs of others. He never ventured to en- i
juire, even of his niece, by what means she mana- 3
;ed to live so decently and genteelly. Proud and j
ady-like, she never ventured to obtrude her busi- 1
less affairs upon his notice, though he was the 1
)nly living relative to whoui she had access, .rer- i
laps ho shrewdly suspected the true condition of t
iffairs, and felt that it would be quite awkward to (
earn from her own lips the stoiy of her poverty i
ind hard struggles, without offering to aid and re- 1
ieve her. Blunt and plain of speech, as he usually i
was, he had sufficient shrewdness and tact to keep t
>ut of sight and hearing of distress that it was his
luty to relieve. He was always on the lookout for i
jhoals of this description, and managed to give <
them a wide berth. But his senses were equally ]
is keen for every prospect of gain or advantage.? t
[f there was a solvent note which the holder <
was willing to part with at a large discount for 1
ready money, by an instinct like that which guides
?*
^ufjSflMS
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tv."'4 .'it *
The above engraving presents a photographic
iriewof the "King's Mountain Military School
Duilding, located at this place.
There are so many features of interest connected
frith this institution, from its establishment in 1855
jntil its close in 1861; when cadets and instructors
dike had abandoned it in order to take their places
n the tented field, that we feel .constrained to preamt
the readers of the Enquirer, with a brief outine
of its origin and history.
In the year 1854, two young men of high promse
and energy, just before their graduation at the
South Carolina Military Academy, in Charleston,
simultaneously conceived the idea of establishing a
Preparatoiy School, for boys; the object of which
should be to fit them, in some measure, in advance,
il?A vi rv i /T AA11 VTA A-P o4 nn/1 /] t n/vi nlniA ? / */i v* 1 *ww4
ur LUC II5IU WUIOL U1 OIUUJ ailUUlOLiyUUC iUjUIICU
n the State Military School. These two young men
vera Micah Jenkins and Asbury Cowara?names
:hat a few years later had become too well introluced
to the people of this State to require any
brmal introduction here. These two young men
)eing mem here of the same class?by some means?
jecame informed as to each others' views, and detided
to unite their effort^ in establishing the
School. After some consultation, Yorkville was
lecided upon as the location for their maiden enerprise.
Immediately after graduating in Novem>er,
1854, one of these gentlemen came to this
rillage, and made the necessary preparations for
tpening the School in January following. The
>rospects of success were hopeful only to those
wo young men, whom everybody thoaght over
anguine. The experiment of a private Military
School, where boys were taught the duties of sollicrs
at the same time they were learning how to
>ecome citizens, was a novel one> to say the least
>f it
Undeterred by any suspicion of failure, the School
ipened in January, 1855. Twelve boys only, precnted
themselves at the opening, but the energetic
)rincipals did not despond A temporary wooden
milding was erected on the site of the present
>arrack, which aflswered the purposes of a school
00m. This building was afterwards destroyed by
ire.
The first session of the infant Military School
vore away, and at its close in July, the roll of calets
numbered forty-seven.
The second Session began in August of the same
'ear, with the roll augmented to sixty boys, and
>efore the close of the year, it had run up to eighty,
^ever before had an educational idea met with
inch an amount of popular favor, in so brief a
iuie. The Preparatory School was a success.
L'he admirable discipline?the rigid requirements
>f study?the orderly behavior of the Cadets, and
;he thorough control exercised over them?togcth;r
with tne competency and popularity of the
mouthful Principals, had all united to gi ve the asriring
institution a name and fame throughout the
state, and to fasten it indellibly upon the affec;ions
of the people. The Proprietors were not iglorant
of these facts, and a contract was now given
>ut for the building of the commodious brick
;tructure, tnat appears at toe neaa or tms arncie.
Che continually increasing number of applicants
or admission, also admonished them of tne neoeslity
of enlarging the curriculum of studies, and
>roviding additional instructors. C. A. Seabrook,
hen a recent graduate of the South Carolina Colege,
was employed as instructor in Latin and
Jreek. The limited accommodations, at hand, did
lot permit the number of cadets to exceed eighty;
ind thus, with Lieut. Seabrook at his post, opened
the second year of the school.
Shortly after the second Session of'56 h ad opened,
he new building was completed, and cadets and
ifficers of the School took formal possession. The
esources of the School were now much enlarged,
ts capacity of accommodation better, and the roll
* ?
he vulture to his prey, or leads the cat to the hiling
place of the rat, he scented the matter out
md turned it promptly to his own advantage.?
Juiet and prudent, ne knew hew to keep his own
ounsel, and since his sharp practices were all conealed,
he had, with the public, the reputation of
i kind hearted and public-spirited man, whose
lealings were marked by great caution and circumpection.
Mrs. Gamett had never once thought of applyng
to him for assistance of auy kind, but she had
low come to a juncture when uncle Jacob's aid
vas indispensable. The war had greatly curtailed
ler income; while, at the same time, it had greatly
mhanced the cost of every necessary and luxury of
ife. Her income scarcely amounted to one-half
if what it had been in former years, while her cxlenditures
had been necessarily increased five-fold.
Daily, the cart of her opulent relative passed her
loor, laden with marketable provisions for sale,
ind the rich man grew daily richer, while the wants
if the widow began to make themselves more sore
y felt: and how to supply herself with daily food,
oomcd up into a question of huge and threatenng
proportions.
Victor was approaching the eighteenth anniverary
of his birthday, an age at which the laws of
he land made it obligatory upon him to perform
ailitary service. From the first opening of the
far he had been feverishly impatient to nave "a
ilacencar the flashing of the enemy's guns," but
Mrs. Gamett bad prudently insisted upon his apilication
to his studies, well knowing tnat the opjortunity
he now enjoyed would soon pass away.
5he felt well assured that a long period of warfare
fas before him, sufficiently stern and protracted
o' satisfy all his aspirations for military life. At
he time our story opens, he had returned home to
ipend a few days with his widowed parent before
dunging into the dark sea of war, whose waves
>roke and thundered along'the whole frontier of a
and reeline under the shock, but dashing back its
vaves, broken, scattered and dispersed, only to reurn
again with accumulated violence and strength.
With asad, but an unshaken and resolute heart,
VIrs. Garnett set about the work of making every
reparation for the departure of her son. She
lad the brave heart of a Snartan mother, and
hough he was the whole worlato her. vet far more
villingly would she have seen his bleeding and
shattered corpse at her feet, than to know that he
ailed in his duty to his country in her hour of
rial. 'Yet the widow's heart was indeed sad.
Bier face was a shade more pale than usual, but
ler fortitude was unshaken.
"Mother, " asked Victor, as he sat by her side,
vhile she toiled over a suit of coarse grey cloth,
itruggling with emotions, almost as painful as
hough sne had been busied with the winding sheet
ind shroud of her bright eyed son?"mother, are
rou able to help me buy ahorse for cavalry service ?
yi of my class-mates, who have gone into service,
lave joined the Washington Light Horse Compaly,
and they wish me to join them. The infantry
narches are so fatiguing and hard, I wish to escape
hem if I can. I fear I cannot stand them, burlened
with r. heavy musket, knapsack, haversack,
tnd other things. Besides this, I do not wish to
je separated from my old friends. Do you think,
Bother, you can spare the means to help me buy a
suitable horse ?"
Without answering, Mrs. Garnett quietly arose,
ind going into an adjoining chamber, soon returnid
with a large leathern pocket-book which she
placed in the hands of the youth. She sighed as
?he did so?an inaudible and unseen sigh?such as
iomes from a heart, burdened with a secret care
diat it would hide from every 6ye.
Victor opened the pocket-book and counted, in
' ''
p?r -^W^ay
ftfcpy. 1
aJgiBiraijj^^BI^Wil....
ai^fisi&i^sM wti
Wl
liaMB?wHMjfii^ii>*i I' i
I
^TOaSpjKjS m
BS
t glories of bis comrades, on the .battle-field. He
i died of Typhoid.Fever, at Yorkville, S. C., in A.
pril.1860.
i The names of. many of the pupils, too, foand a
f place upon the roll of martyrs, 'while not a few
were adorned with the well-earned titles of regii
mental commanders.
Thus was t he brilliant promise of the founders
. of this School buried in the bitter sacrifices of the
r battle-fields of the "Lost Cause/' Colonel Cowi
ard survived the war, and in 1866 announced the
re-opening of the Institntion under his care as suri
viving Pnncipal.
of students growing larger every week. To inee
these applications, required a stilL further additioi
to the roll of instructors, and the services of Lieut
E. M. Law, then on the eve of graduation at th<
Citadel, in Charleston, was secured for the opening
session of 1857.
The Preparatory School of Coward & Jenlrin
was now established on a solid basis, and its influ
ence extended into nearly every Southern State
It was no longer an experiment, but a success ii
which the people of South Carolina shared th<
gratulations and pride of the projectors of the en
terprise. From this time forward there was seldon
a spare berth in the capacious building nor ever t
name erased from the roll, without applicants read)
for the place. Additional instructors were sought
for, ana the name of Robert EL Thomas, anotnei
graduate of the Citadel, appeared the next year as
an officer of the institution. Later, the names ol
R. T. Harper and J. W. Jamison?the fonnei
another Citadel boy, and the latter a graduate at
Paris, in France?appeared upon the roll of instructors.
The year 1861 opened with the hot breath ol
war fanning the seaboard of South Carolina, and
the hurrying to and fro of armed men, to participate
in the threatened conflict." The Officers ol
the "Kino's Mountain Military 8chool" were
not idle spectators of this scene? Their military
education and experience, caused the people of the
up-country, naturally, to turn to them as leaders it
marshalling the soldiers of South Carolina for the
field, and in leading them in the coming conflict
That trust was faithfully met The onivalrout
Jenkins became Colonel of the 5th South Caroline
Infantry, and from April, 1861, at Fort Sumter,
until the bloody field of the Wilderness in May,
1864, he led first,, his Regiment?then his famour
Brigade?into nearly every battle field in Virginia;
in the hard fought field of Chickamauga ; up the
slopes of Lookout Mountain; before the ditches ol
Knoxville; and finally, on the 6th of May, 1864,
while leading his veteran Brigade to his lost victo
ry, fell at its head mortally wounded. South Car
olina sacrificed no truer soldier?no more chivalric
and gentlemanly officer, than when she gave Brigadier
General Micah Jenkins to the "Losf Cause."
Capt Asbury Coward and Lieut Jamison conducted
the exercises of the School through the
first Session of 1861; and then formally closed the
institution. Captain Coward entered the Adjutant
General's Department in the field?participated it
the battles around Richmond, at Manassas in 1862
in Maryland, and finally became CokmoL^f the
fiim/mc ?ith Smith f!?rn1ina Infant.rv?fillinc th(
vacancy occasioned by the promotion of Jcnkin:
to Brigadier General. In this capacity, he remain
ed until the surrender of the cause at Appomattos
Court House, in 1865.
Lieut E. M. Law resigned his Professorship
in the School in 1859, and removed to Alabama,
That State called him to the lead of one of bei
best Regiments?the 4th Alabama. Several time.'
wounded, and acting a conspicuous part in all the
great battles of Virginia?promoted to Brigadiei
General, and leading a Brigade from Fredericks
burg until the surrender in 1865, he well met th(
expectations qf his Alma Mater, and sustained the
confidence of the State of his adoption.
The other Professors in this Institution?Jami
son and Harper?sustained each acreditablepart ii
the war.
Lieut C. A. Seabrook entered service as Cap
tain of the Jasper Light Infantry; and, while faith
fully doing his duty as Assistant Adjutant Genera
of Jenkins* Brigade, fell at Manassas Plains, Au
gust 30, 1862. Gallant, accomplished, and belov;
ed, he yielded the precious sacrifice that all stooc
ready to offer. 4 4R&piiescat in pace.''
Lieut R. K. Thomas?a noble youth of but 2L
years?was not permitted to share the dangers anc
silence, its scanty contents. There were just one
hundred dollars, in Confederate currency, and a
note of hand upon a neighboring planter, for an
equal amount, with interest, payable at the close oi
the war.
4'Is this all the money you have, mother?" enquired
Victor, looking full into his mother's face,
with an expression of painful astonishment.
"It is all I have on hand, at this time, Victor,"
replied his mother evasively; 44but you see there,
also, a note of hand payable after the war, which
will be of more service to you than the Treasury
notes."
4'What other notes, or papers of value, have
you, mother?" asked he, while his scrutinizing
glance rested upon her face.
"That is all l have, Victor," replied his mother,
with an indescribable sadness in her face and tones.
44We are not rich, Victor; we are very poor; but
I am more than willing to spend the lust dollar I
have in equipping you for service. If wliat i nave
given you is not enough to buy you a suitable
norse, give whatever price seems to you just and
reasonable, and I will secure the debt, by a mortgage
on our home, rather than see you unprovided
for." .
"Oh! mother, there is not enough here to pay
your expenses for even three months," responded
the youth, with touching sadness, as he poised the
light pocket-book in his hands?"and think you, I
would rob you of your little all ? No, mother, no!
the thought would be too heavy a burden to bear.
It would be sweeter far to fall with weariness, and
perish by the road side, than thus to employ your
little means. But, mother?now dc not deceive
me?what resources have you when these scanty
means are exhausted ?"
"He who feeds the ravens, and marks the fall of
the sparrow will not fail me in my hour of need,"
replied his mother with touching solemnity. "The
Lord, who met the bond-woman by the way-side?
even Jehovah Jireh?is my trust. Let him be
your God and counsellor, too, Victor; for more
than ever now, you will need His guidance and
support and protection.''
Tne youth averted his eyes, and a slight flush
kindled on his check. He was more than comnionly
sensitive and reserved, and there are thoughts
in the human heart, thoughts that underlie all
others, that seem, especially to the sensitive, the
reserved and the young, too sacred and solemn to
be uttered aloud, even to the ear of a sympathizing
mother. The heart guards them in sacred
silence, even like the unwhispered secret of a first
and early love.
After a silence of a few seconds, during which
tima Victor had closed the pocket-nook and deposIi-J
Ia it. IIJ _?_l, Vnol.^4. 1...
lieu 11 uu me iiu 01 111c yiuin-uooM-i u? uia winner's
side, he suddenly turned to her ana spoke with
a brightened face.
"Mother I" said he, with something of renewed
animation, "I have been thinking of applying to
uncle Jacob Read to assist me in purchasing a
horse. Having so much staked on the issue of the
war, he surely will aid in equipping a soldier, so
near akin to him as I am."
Mrs. Garnctt was silent, for a moment, before
she replied.
"Your uncle Jacob is not a very liberal man,
Victor," said she reluctantly. "I would not have
you think evil of him, but he loves money, I fear,
too well. He complains that his taxes are very
high, and he thinks, in this way, he contributes
his fair share to the support of the country. Ii
you desire it, you can at least make a trial of him.''
"It is not for myself, mother, but for the country,
that I appeal to him. He has no son, no kinsmat
in the service, and however much the war maj
press upon otners, it has increased, rather than di
i -ror two years, ana now entering upon tne tnira,
' he has been training, for the different Colleges, as
fc well as instructing independently, a few young men
whose parents have been fortunate enough to me
i something out of the wreek of the past, for that
f purpose. He has employed the servioes of Lieut.
James A. Watson, as Asosfant Instructor?a grad;
uate of Davidson College, N. C., and a thorough
- scholar and gentleman. The commodious buildings.
known years ago as utlie barracks," are still used
P for the purposes of the school.
1 One word more on the system of instruction adopted
at this school. , . ,
P The military basis of this school is an important
> adjunct to the plan of instruction. The great ,dif'
ficulty heretofore experienced in Southern Colleges,
s was to preserve discipline .in so far as discipline
i was necessary to instruction. But this could not be
t easily accomplished under the ordinary methods of
Collegiate government Students did not respect
i their Professors?obtyed.no directions that dianot
i suit their inclinations, and recognized only one pen,
alty for gross infraction of rules?that of suspen,
sion. It needs no logic to demonstrate the futility
> that must attend all efforts to instruct a youth,
; who refuses to submit hisconduct to the control of
s his instructors. If discipline then is a necessary
f ingredient of the plan of instruction, how was the
, fiery Southern youth to be brought under the con
trol of instructors to a sufficient extent to meet all
the requirements in the recitation "room? They
s would not submit to what boys and youth' are air
ways delighted to term the tyranny of Professors.
' The question had found a solution in the working
of the State Military Academies, where military
i discipline had been resorted to?a form of discips
line which operated through the esprit du corps of
t the young men?which made disobedience dishoni
orable, because unsoldieriy; and which taught obe,
dienceas the highest duty of tjbe. soldier. Th<^
> plan succeeded beyond all expectation in the parent
: school, and a modification of this plan, in some uni
important features, was that adopted at the Pre
paratory School at Yorkville. This idea is still
: acted upon in the conduct of the school. Although
the military pride and spirit of the people of the
> South seems to have been utterly crushed, yet the
sagacious Principal of this school still uses his
r military regulations, as the code of school discipline,
j The school, as now conducted, preserves the
i military feature just far enough to enable the
r Principal to insure that amount of obedience and
subordination, that experience has demonstrated
) to be necessary for imparting instruction. It eni
tails no harshness or severity upon the student;
but at the same time enforces order, punctuality,
- and behavior. The military feature is, therefore,
i secondary and subordinate. .
The location is beautiful and healthy, being sit
uated upon the ridge dividing Broad and Catawba
Rivers, and swept by the balmy air from King's
1 Mountain. During the whole existence of the
school, from January, 1855, until July, 18<H, but
- one death occcurred among the students?that of
I John Palmer, of Charleston. For beauty, health.
salubrity of climate, and exemption from immoral
1 associations, the location of this Institution is
1 unexcelled.
i minished, his resources. We hare never asked aid
i of him to the value of a farthing, and I think we
i are justified in calling upon him now/ As time is
F precious, I will go and see him at once."
"Do not be disappointed, Victor, if he declines
' helping you," said his mother, as he rose tofeave
the room. "Your uncle Jacob may take a different
view of matters from that which presents itself
to you. If my credit will avail anything towards
the purchase of a horse, jfbu are at liberty to use
i it freely. You will not go to uncle Jacob's on
foot?"
"No, mother, I shall call by Harvey Haley's,"
1 replied Victor, "and he will lend me his horse unless
he has special need for him."
Bidding bis mother good evening, Victor took
his way through the streets of the old village, to
the farm of Harvey Haley.
The residence of Mrs. Garnett was on one of
the most respectable and quiet back streets of a
gleasant village, in the middle country of South
arolina. The village was located on a plain, naturally
poor, sandy and uninviting, but taste and
art had done much to render it beautiful and attractive.
Although Spring bad but begun to
breathe upon her realm, made bare by the ngore of
winter, yet the neat white cottages, embowered
among evergreens and facea by cheerful flower gardens,
neatly paled in, where iohnquills and otner
early flowers of Spring had already begun to enamel
the earth, with here and there clustering
vines just bursting into leaf, made a pleasant pic;
ture to look upon. The well beaten side-walks,
along every street, were bordered by wide-branchins
oaks, making a long arcade, shady, cool and
refreshing, when the Summer's sun rose to the ze>
nith. Then, the old village was in its loveliest attire,
with all its clean, sanay streets, anditssmooth,
level side-walks, sheltered by long avenues of dark
green oaks; its white cottages with green Venetian
Blinds, and its cheerful flower gardens bordering
the streets and filling the air with delicious fra- .
grance. ,
Victor, however, did not pass through the vil- i
lage; but crossing one or two old fields, to the rear
of the house, where the decaying stems of the last
i year's weeds were still thickly standing, soon fell i
n .rcoll-fmrlrtnn Bill A nath- SPnftr?lffid frDITl thfi i
; public road only by a deep ditch. Hastening a- i
, long this path, a mile or more, he turned to the left
into a narrow Jane that debouched obliquely into
the road. Following this, for a few minutes, *he i
| came suddenly, by an abrupt turn in the road, upon
one of those weather-beaten structures?old, decaying
and out of repair?which one so often meets i
with in the neighborhood of towns and villages, <
standing among its freshly-painted and decorated i
compeers, like some sturdy rustic of antiquated i
customs and manners, disdaining the fashion, the 1
style and the more modern manners, that new set- i
i tiers, from the more polished world, have intro- <
duced into the rugged and old fashioned communi- i
, ty in which they five. j
> It was an humble "log house" before which
Vint - etiwl ftnnftistimr or two loc nens seDarated 1
T IVW4 ? ? ?"D r * #
i by an open passage-way, having shed rooms in the 1
rear, and a piazza in front A field of some fifteen
, or twenty acres lay to the rear, and about fifty i
s yards to the left of this primitive structure, was a
small enclosure, containing a group of some four or
' five log buildings, among which were the barn and
i stables. Other necessary outbuildings lay on the
P other side and to the rear of the dwelling house.
A few straggling trees, of native growth, stood a,
round the building, and, here and there, in (he
i yard, and scattered through the field, the bright
' pink bloom of the peach relieved the eye. Pulling
the bare, Victor took his way to the door of the
dwelling, undeterred by a couple of fierce looking a
dogs that imbed furiously toward him. ' a
Down 1 Turk; down, Flora I" cried hem they
seemed ready to leap upon abd devour him. In f
an instant, the rage of the powerful brutes seemed a
Changed into the wildness of joy. They'crouched t
at his feet, whining with uncontrollable pleasure,
leaped fewningly upon him, and boanded firwrft- n
cally around, barking in their eager dehght "Afif r
you know me againT" cried he. "Yon hare riot. a
mya old playmates, forgotten' the many long and a
exciting hunts we have had together." tl
The attention of Viator was, at this juncture, p
diverted from the dogs to their owner; who, with b
hatchet iu baud, came around from the rdar of the c
building where he had been at wort. I
"Why, hallo 1 Victor, my fine fellow!" said the 0
stranger, as he advanced; "Is this ycm?" Why C
how you have grown since our coon hunt last M! j<
And Turk and Flora, I see^havn't forgot you yet e
You can^otmt oifthe brutes when you canTcotifiF n
on aaything^i^. They don't turntbeir backs ?m v
you,iibt even if -jrou were to' come in. rage. But t!
come into the house." ... a
"T ^ 1 r?rr? f
l tiave uiuy ? uiuiuic lv ouy, ?vj?? [Victor,
"i am going into serviee in a day or two,
and as I wish to go into' the cavalry, I must see y
uncle Jacob Read, to get him to help me purchase u
a horse."
"Uncle Jacob! hey Victor?" responded Harvey c
Haley, shaking his head dubiously. "He might n
sell you a horse at atip top-war price, but he'll hard- f<
ly help you to bay one. xoucan't gather dew-tarries
from cane grass! I don't wan't to say it to o
you, Victor, but old Jacob Read's Gods are in his
old leather pocketrbook." ?
"He u very economical and careful," replied n
Victor. 4
"E-co-nom-i-cal!" ejaculated Harvey, pronoun- tl
ring the. word slowly ana with disdain; "Well 1 I ft
rather reckon you can say so 1 Its no perjury to k
swear that live eels don't stick to your hands like
pitch." oi
"I can, at all events, give him a fair trial," re- si
sponded Victor. "I nave never asked a favor of gi
him yet, and never shall ask one purely personal.
But unless men of wealth will come to the rescue U
and assist in equipping soldiers, we can have no s(
efficient cavalry force." h
"Try him then, Victor," rejoined Harvey Ha- a
ley; "make your approaches on every ride, but b
you'll find him a tough old Malakoff. V J rather b
make a charge oo Cburubusoo and Chapultepee oi
again, than try to get a lame, blind, and yiricus old vi
mule from Jacob Read, for the service oj^he oountry.
I'm willing to help you make the tnaL" ."
"I will have to bee your assistance, Harvey," a
responded. Victor. "1 am afoot,. and J wish to k
borrow 'Snip' for a ride to uncle Jacob's: sc
"You're welcome to Snip, Victor," replied Bar- J*
vey; "but I'll tell you, you bad better save your- b
sen the ride to Jacob Head's and take Snip for *
ninety-nine years or the war. If you both come ei
out safel you can bring him back to his old stable;
if not, my good boy, I can send a horse as freely h
as a widow can send her only son." h
"I thank you, Harvey, but so heavy a burden < ,
must not fall on your shoulders," rejoined Victor. P
"I think I can arrange with uncle Jacob for the b
purchase of a horse. If not I can even try ope *
campaign on foot. I should like to go at once, and b
I will see you as I return." f
"Weill said .Haryey. Haley, in the tone and h
with the air of a man who gives up his opinion ?
reluctantly, "you can try it! Let's go to toe stable."
. , n
Taking his bridle, Harvey at once proceeded to
the stable, accompanied by Victor, and Snip was ir
brought forth, bridled slid saddled. He was a
superb stallion, fall sixteen hands high,- and evi- ?
dently a thorough-bred. It required only a glance
to see, that with all his strength and compactness, *
he was a9 active as & cat, ana. as fleet as the wiudt "
"Now there!" said Harvey, surveying the baautifu!
animal as he buckled tbe girth ana stepped J
back a.pace or two, "no man needs a better horse 81
than Snip; and he is yours, Victor, if you will only g
accept bun. Don't think me a fool ibr offering bl
him to you freely. I want to see you mounted as. a
well as the best man in the army, and there is no
better horse in tho country. Again : the impres- I?
sing agent will be along,' some or these days, and
before Snip shall be taken off by some whiskey- pj
swilling flunkey, I'll draw my knife across bis ?
throat! Let them send a boy with an empty 8(
sleeve to impress and I am dumb; but no be-wnis- D
kered, hearty young man, who ought to be in the *
ranks, shall touch hair or halter of Suip; and if h
they send here one fit for the ranks, I'll make him u
fit for tbe hospital, before he gets outof my hands, b
if I have to kick him around a ten acre field." ?
Victor could not forbear a smile as he listened ^
to the indignant language of the generous Harvey
Haley, who waxed more and more warm in his in- Q
dignation, until his swarthy cheeks were kindled ai
into a glow. The knowledge that Harvey would ..
be much more apt to exceed than fall short of his {J
threats, rather increased than diminished the **
mirthfulness of his smile. With an eye, sparkling {*
at the idea of Harvey following up an impressing 1)1
agent with his heavy-soled boots, and waxing ?
more emphatic and choleric at each blow, he dm *
not trust himself to speak again, bat pressing the *
hand of Harvey, leaped into the saddle and can- n
tered away.
Returning along the same road, over which he 13
had just come, he passed through the streets of a
the neat and pleasant village, and taking the main
road into which all the streets led on the farther uj
side of the town, he found himself upon the highway
leading to the plantation of his wealthy kinsman.
About three miles from the village, he
reached the first fields belonging to the plantation, Hi
and cantering a mile farther, he turned, at right f
angles, to the left, into a long, straight avenue, at 10
'he farther end of which were visible the buildings pi
of the wealthy proprietor, distant nearly a mile ,
from the highway. - - -
80
W
01
CHAPTER IL th
The mansion of his grand-unde, before which b
Victor dismounted, was a large and weather beaten Y
structure with no pretentions to taste or elegance. 111
The horse-lot, #witn its substantial buildings, com- n(
prising capacious barns, stables, and sheds for the ra
various venicles about the place, stood to the left ca
of the house and somewhat in front. About fifty "<
yards in front of the house wu3 a gate opening into th
an enclosure, embracing about an acre. As he entered
this, the stables lay to his right and on his hi
left, but beyond the enclosure, were the work-shops bi
of the plantation, whence came the sound of tne w<
bellows, and of hammers ringing upon the anvil et
In the horse-lot was a gang of laborers, gathering ac
into vast heaps the piles oflitter which, from time ta
to time, had Deen strewn over the lot and cast into oo
the stables. Wagons were rolling in with straw, ei
newly gathered from the woods, and others were tc
hauling, into the ac^jaccnt fields, manure from the oo
newly raised heaps. The whole place presented a hi
picture of stirring and active industry. "To the^ h<
sides and rear of the mansion were various offices, H
comprising the kitchen, loom-house, store-room, m
dairy, smoke-house?with its never-railing quad- wi
rangular roof?and buildings for the house-ser- to
vants. To the left, as one entered the house, was co
a well-stocked garden, and against the wall which
enclosed it, sheltered under a hedge of mock or- H
- ? * . 1-- t! A
ange, stood some twenty or tmrty Dee-mves. jo. uu
few scattering oaks, of large 8izet with here and
there a sycamore, or Pride of India, oj flowering so
shrub, sheltered the well-swept and sandy yard; m<
and in a corner, near the horse-lot, stood the well,
with its old fashioned sweep, and, conveniently m
near, the trough which conveyed the water to the di,
cattle in the lot. Securing ms horse in the enclosure
of which we have spoken, Victor entered into H
the yard, by a small gate, and advanced along the vi
walk to the piazza. As he was ascending the hi
steps, his attention was attracted by the shutting
of a gate a few yards to his left, and dancing in gi
that direction, he saw his grand-uncle advancing to tb
receive him. He had evidently been among his
workmen at the blacksmith and wood shops, and hi
seeing a visitor arrive, he had hastened on to the te:
dwelling to receive him.
Victor had abundant leisure to examine his per- -J
sonal appearance as he approached the steps along gi
the side-walk. His stout, musoular, and powerful ca
frame, caused him to appear some inches lower w
than he really was. He seemed a short, broadchested
man, of great strength and endurance; V
had a grave, business air and a face that never w
lighted up with a smile. He was neatly, but plain- ft
ly, dressed in blue homespun, and wore a white of
broad-brimmed hat, with a black band, crumpled I
and worn, but still unsoiled. His wide shirt collar, w
tied with a black riband, was scrupulously neat,
"I am glad to aee yon. Victor,'' mid
rithout even a momentra relaxation of hi^^pwyw
nd business-like air. -"Come, walk mt? U?>
owe ; it is too oool to ntop tiw piacxa:tocday.?
. Victor followed hiskiosuap into k-oleioiyjfo?rf
^ed^botoomfgUbkiroom, wbet*V(ire
painfiilly broken conversation follows. As
liofle witb^wjioni becamecontact, yet Jt
bought in the mind of Jacob Read. cotild
caroely conceive of sfcck-*- tkingatfa membraotable
and friendly visit, witho<rt atone oftoio*?fatJ
*t He made a remark br two about thnweskv
r, made polite enquiries'lis to the MkkftNf 46>
ieee, and after a few degaltory'iiniaff iiaetoiki>
?alAnaAi) infA nleaaiaoi- iiaonnstmutofflurlaiftj
FM) IClQ^iJOU IUW DiiVDw^ ?
^ &re^ > jnd, now ^d Jhen ^Wjj^jjjj^ " '
he object of bis visit. . jJ't'zu Iq cjb
/T sen y<? have oqtfe auun^ fcnpf about,
ou, uode Jacob," paid Victor, at frst
ig the otgect of ms visit. If' '
Humph I yes," replied his grand-nncfe. basing
at him, as if to read his thougfctsj
iany idle. At five;d<!iilf?)mii^ro^tfLiaar
jed costs me no little." /! \ '
^'Woiddjoa wish torefl one ofJauDo
vou knovr^ any one 'wW wiabps tcrlfcry;1
rictor?" asked his grind uncle, suddenly'kiolring'
pp.'. ; . f&r^r '! > rttftOl CifT"*?
"Yes sir," replied ViQtof,cointog^ddeufrUr
le point, UI wish to enter into rnnitf oummb
irthwith, and have oome over this evening to
now if yon can lend or aeB meai horse:" wt J *io
Jacob Read laughed' aloud: i It W^otTn janial
r iuvoluntaiy laugh, Mt a voluntary and xprafri
iye one, which was intended, iad^.to^MgtmLM
Kid deal .. r Tin vn:ifi na
"I haye lward, Victor, of Iendi^Wa^jfc
> mill, said he; "or to dba. day. rpjorag, 4?
imetimes do myself; hut this
ave ever heard of lending a horse as a mark tor
lionie bullets and bomb shells h The lender had,
stter make a gift at once; for his prospect would'
b bnt slight of ever seeing his hdrsOfcgain. Nine
at of ten cavalry hones are rtarredowbot inaeff
ioe." . i\:cu ::}rrr.rt(XlJj
"That'is very true, ?r?!* rerfiedVietdtyoadtif?
and it shefrs what a heavy drain thtvetis en ran
ivahy, and what Sacrifices ouvht-to d*mud*T?
eep up this important 'im of. the terries 11*
ildiers who risk theirowH !faul*?dmb?t dafylV %
irvioe, are, many of t^)ltpo,pMifrfmht&
orses, since thev have given un all means of nfe.
rahty of
le indigent soldier can risk his own Ufo flatly, pa,
attlej surely, the wealthy, can risk is horse tq cany
^There is sometruth In'
lied Jacob Bead; "but the. wealthy, eyed how,
aye burdens enough-' What becowfeuF thewBJBBr
pay in taxesf IM\tht^d?#h
ay cavalry hones.'. Tbra^fcftdeiri^
raally distributed. The man IjtlMp&wjkfr pkjfi
is taxes according, to law, dees his, duty just s*
illy as the soldier in theHeki"
'The', soldier in the fidd, Who leaves his mterefct
eglected at home, has jdrt as heavy a tax to pay
n his property. asthe nan whowbdtiodakfcaW
i making money," replied Victor.--*41^'*" Vdwiouj
uAyel xephed Jaoob Bead, "but: kelp many
in yon Mine whopay mire than a mere trifiel J:
"Then, Uncle JaXb>" xepUwd Vieto* <??*?
> much the more need that those who are shfe
aouldassist ukaputtpingthem." .
"Don't I do that in paying my tax?e?'7 mked
acob Beta. - "I pay a very,Lug? a wont, I Mi
ire; it is a heavy burden^as I can testify* Ifw*
overnment squanders of nlisappfise it^Who iato
lame? Let them take the money,aad bar m
lany cavalry horses as they need." Jbosdas*
Well, Uncle Jacob," replied Victor, 1 J wfll not
iscufis the guestipn with you "as to jrwfter we
aght to confine ourselves to the strict rcqpireWfitf
f the law, in siding our government, at a tim
ke thi^when property and hberty areJxrthTM
nd I propose^to buy one from you
> let all my pay as a soldier be employed. io payig
you. , If I escape disease aha bm|fita^o<ma
e paid every dollar t if the horse is not kiUea "at
io close of the war, his sale will help to pay you.'
f I am killed early, and the hone is omajtrred,
on will, at worst, only have been deprived of Jus
se a short time, tor which pay monthly pay will
mply reimburse you." / " r-i ;-J-fT
"Bless me 1" returned Jacob Readvwho had
stened attentively to hispropoRticB, 'whatamnh*
jrof'ifs'go to that: bargain 1 Business ir bum*
BS8, Victor, and when I nuke a bargain, it must
j one that has some limits mod fewer mffi I
m't make a bargain on sooh indefinite terms. * H
were able to give Tea* horse I would gbully do
>, bat in these war times laakpoor, Yitist*j
sally poor I It is nothing but taxes?Uys^tlJ'
s! I almost think, the man who has no-ptoperty
^better off than one who has so muon to. ne w"I
can make yoa an of&o without an 'if'
ncle Jacob," responded Victor, who felt ashamed *
the illiberality and meanness of his idatxv&-rr
My mother has a note on Josiah Thompson ftt
ie hundred and fifty dollars. It was given before
le war. and, of course, will be equal to gpldand
Iver when paid I am wifling to give tms for i
lerably good horse. Will yon take this ndte hM
rovide a horee for me ?" _ **7
"Equal to gold and silver? Well! I should
mbt that," replied Jacob Bead "The man is
Ivest now, ana able to pay all he may own; bin
bo knows what he may be wotthwhen the war t|
rer? Besides, debts may yet be paid in Ooftfede*
to currency, and who would bo wilibgto take
at amount in Confederate money fcr-aImree?^i
these days, it would not boy a lean eow* No,
ictor, it would be a great riskto run. Take
me, my good feflow^ and look abonf yoo; the
ite may bring youm a suitable home; but, I
ther think, I nave none that I can spare. Ifl
in help you, at any time, come to me with oenft*
mce. I am resolved to do all I can for yoo, but
lese are very stringent times?very?very 1"
Victor, with a flush on his cheeky rose to take
s leave. Jacob Bead pressed htm to remain,
it, in truth, he felt too great a oontempt for his
jalthy relative to trust himselflonger in his pres>
tee. He knew that his clear annual income was
i almost fabulous sum, even after the payment of
zes and all other expenses. He knew that hs
old have assisted him in purchasing n horse, or
en have furnished him one from his stables gxa?
itously, and not have felt even a temporary
nvenience by his act of liberality. Victor took
i .All 1 J ?
s leave respecnuuy anu ceremumuiuuy, auu ?
>or thereafter was again at the door of Harvegr
aley, to return his borrowed horse, having fully
ode up his mind to make no further attempt,
Ith his slender means, to purchase a horse; hat
forego his cherished wishes, and enter an infantry
mpany.
"bo you got the horse, Victor." said Harvey
aley, looking into the bight ana cheerful face of
ir hero. . - 1 .
"I failed completely, Harw^ ie&raedti^,
uling; uncle Jacob Was too poor to lend or hire
a one, and too suspicious to selL'^
"Drot his stingy old soul 1 I hope the Yankees
ay harry him yet 1" exclaimed Harvey Hidey ingnantly.
/ ' v?''
''Don t cherish any evil thoughts against him,
arvey," replied Victor, in a pleaaanttooc. "E1
wishes, like birds, come home toiooaL He
is done me no harm, and I wish him none."
"But, Victor, the stare old ouss eoold have
ven you. a half-dozen norses and. notmissed
em, penutswu xiorvcy.
"Perhaps it is best as it is," replied Victor; *1
ive thought over the matter well, and I have dermined
to join an infantry company.H
"No, Victor, yon don't!" exclaimed Harvey.
Here's Snip, as good a hone as ever trampled
ass under foot?you shall take him and join the
valry. Now don't say 'no,' for I see your heart
set on joining the cavalry.
"Indeed, you are mistaken, Harvey," responded
ictor. 'Tor many reasons that have lately occurd
to me, I think it better to join the infantry. I
tank you very much for your kind and generous
Fer, but my mind is fully made up now. Were
to lose my horse, since I cannot replace him, I
ould have to take my place in any infantry oom[CONTDfUlD
ON IBS POUBTH PAOft]
I i i i_uij_aiiiiii?MumtLLXLL