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lewis m. grist, Proprietor, j |ui)c))ctti)cnf Jfatnilp ftetospaper: Jfffr % promotion of % political, Social, Agricultural anti Commercial Interests of tjte tionfj). TERMS?$3.00 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOT, 21. YOEKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, MAY 2Q, 1875. NO. 2Q. Jto (Original ftoni. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. - UNCLE BRAINERD'S WILL; OR, The Fortunes of Alice Lynn. CHAPTER XVIII. THE SHADOW OF DEATH. With the principal features of the subsequent conflict between the North and South, most people who were interested in it are sufficiently well acquainted to need no recapitulation of them here. While desolation and bloodshed had marked the progress of the war in various portions of the country, our own State had been comparatively free from its ravages. Yet gloom and sadness reigned over many homes, and voices of lamentation sent up a mournful cry for the brave fathers, brothers and sons who had perished on distant battlefields, far from the loved ones who had sent them forth, with ti-'pc. -Su cticil heal UJ, lu fifcSiC, All LtlV. V.AUSC 111 which they were enlisted. Charleston was well-nieh deserted, and re fugees had flocked from the low-country to the upper part of the State for safety. Our people had to endure many privations, but they were cheerfully borne, and even gloried in, by those who had the cause at heart, and were ready to sacrifice the luxuries, the comforts, and even the necessaries of life, upon the altars of principle and patriotism. Delicate ladies wore coarse clothing and ate the plainest food, in order to be able to send aid and comfort to the soldiers who were fighting for their defense ; and fingers that had never worked before, wrought untiringly now in the manufacture of clothing for the regiments who received from the quartermasters too scanty a supply for their needs. In the pleasant parlor at Elmwood, sat Mrs. Delatour and Alice, one morning in the winter of 1865. Both ladies wore homespun dresses, which had become quite "the style" among the "upper-tendom" of the South. On a table between them stood a basket, in which were deposited a pile of freshly-knitted socks, blue, white and parti-colored, and Alice was busily engaged completing the fellow to one huge blue one which lay apart from the rest. Mrs. Delatour was, or rather had been occupied in the same kind of work ; but her hands now lay idly in her lap, and her eyes were fixed on the fire with a wistful, absent look, that plainly showed that her thoughts were traveling faraway from the present scene. "See, auntie," said Alice, iu a cheerful tone, at length, as she held up her just-completed task, "my tenth pair since we started this last hatch ! Don't you think I deserve credit for my industry ?" "Yes, indeed, dear," replied Mrs. Delatour, absractedly. "I only began this one last evening," continued Alice, "and it is not yet eleven o'clock. They told me the last set I made were too small. I don't think they'll find fault with these on that score?do you ! Look here; a giant might wear them." Mrs. Delatour glanced at the dangling blue legs, and smiled faiutly. "How stained your fingers are, dear," she said. "I am afraid they will be quite sore." "Oh! no, I don't think so. I must get the dye out somehow, though, before I go at the biscuits. I doubt if it would improve them. I don't like Mrs. Higgins' dye as well as that other old woman's; do you ?" "I don't know," said Mrs. Delatour, relapsing into her former absent tone. Then, after a pause, "Marion, how long is it since we got that last letter ?" "About two months, I think," said Alice. It was in reality rather more, but she always tried to nut matters iu the most favorable light. "Two months!" Mrs. Delatour sighed heavily. "It seems an age. Oh ! if I could only get some tidings of my poor boy." "I dare say you will hear again, soon. Don't be desponding, auntie. Ill news travels fast, you know, and if anything had happened to Gervais, you would have heard it, you may be sure." "If I could be sure ; but everything is uncertain, now. Look at that poor young Morton, who was killed weeks and weeks before his family knew of it. Last night I had a terrible dream, Marion. I thought I was on a battle-field, covered with heaps of wounded, ghastly-looking men. They were all lying on their faces, and I was huntiug among them to see if I could find any one I knew, aud it was so dreadful, having to turn each one over before I could recognize them. At last, I came to one that I didn't need to turn over? I knew hira by the back of his neck aud his curly dark hair, and one hand that was stretched out above his head?it was Gervais." She stopped, shuddering. "But dreams go by contraries, you know," said Alice, resolved not to encourage her despondent mood. "You will hear of him scon, alive and well, and triumphant in the performance of some grand, heroic deed." "I am afraid grand, heroic deeds will not avail us now. I am fast losing all hope in regard to the issue of the war," said Mrs. Delatour. "The last reports have been so discouraging." " 'There's life in the old land yet,' " quoted Alice, brightly. "I am not afraid, auntie. I think God is with us, and we must succeed." So spoke and felt many sanguine, enthusiastic spirits, even at that period of discouragement and gloom. But unhappily the time was not far distant, which was to witness the destruction of their cherished hopes, and the fulfilment of the predictions of those gloomy prophets, who had, from the beginning, fore t<?ld the fatal issue of the unequal struggle between might and right. Mrs. Delatour, never very hopeful, had lately been unusually cast down, and Alice had much ado in keeping up her spirits to anything like a reasonable degree of equanimity. Her anxiety in regard to her son's welfare, always very great, was naturally enhanced by the difficulty of hearing from or of him, and every fresh report of a battle, or even skirmish, in his vicinity, filled her with despondency and dread. Alice's society at this time was her greatest comfort. So entirely had she learned to rely on the young girl, that no trial (except the death of her son) would have beeu so hard for her to bear as a separation between them. She regarded her in the light of an adopted child. And so completely had Alice won her heart, that she would now willingly have given her consent to her becoming Gervais' wife. But there had heen but little chance of lovemaking, for Gervais had been very constant at his post of duty, and as his regiment (of which he was a second lieutenant) was chiefly employed in Virginia, his visits home had heen few and far between. He said that he did not believe in officers asking for furloughs when they were so hard for the men to obtain, ami knowing that his mother was in good health, and as comfortably situated as any one could hope to be under such adverse circumstances, he concentrated his thoughts upon his duty to his country, and strove, by his example, to cheer and encourage all who came within his influence. Never was officer more beloved, and the mother's heart had often glowed at the encomiums lavished upon his bravery, his integrity, his kindness, and the tributes in his praise which had more than once appeared in public print. And had Alice forgotten old friends, in her interestiu the comparatively new ? Far from | it. Often in the silent hours of the night, or ! when apparently engrossed in her work, would ! her thoughts turn to Maurice, with wistful j yearning for some tidings of his welfare. Had | he thus far came unscathed through the fiery j ordeal in which so many had perished ? Or j i had he, too, fallen a victim on some bloody j i field, or in the crowded wards of some dismal I hospital ? Many and earnest were the pray- I ; ers she offered up in his behalf. And how : strange and sad it seemed, that even while j she prayed, she knew not in what part of the I country he might be situated, or whether, inI deed, his very existence might not be only a I fond dream of her own ! So great was the j gulf between the present, and those past years j in which she had called herself his sister, that j she could hardly realize that the memory of | them and her sojourn in the old house at j Berry Farm, was not all a dream. Her very j name was changed; and so complete had j been her success in her effort to cut off all in-1 | tercourse betweeu them, that she could not i ! help wondering, sadly sometimes, whetner ne i j ever bestowed one affectionate remembrance j j upon her, or whether, indeed, he ever thought j (of her at all. . I As the days passed on, and still no tidings of Gervais were received, Mrs. Delatour's anxiety increased ; and Alice was sadly troubled to see how pale and worn she looked, and how her spirits drooped more and more, until no efforts of her own seemed of any avail to cheer her. One evening as they were sitting in the j firelight in the parlor (candles were a luxury j only indulged in when there was some special j work on hand) there was hurried knocking at > the door, and the little son of a lady who lived in the village made his appearance. "Come in, Freddy, and warm yourself," said Alice as she held open the door. You must be very cold, are you not ?" "No, ma'am, thank you ; I'm in a hurry, Miss Marion," said the boy lowering his voice, as he glanced toward the parlor, "mamma ] sent me over with this letter; I got it at the j postoffice, and as it's marked 'immediate' she told me to fetch it over at once. I am afraid it's been in the office some days " Alice took the letter, with a feeling of apprehension. It was directed to Mrs. Delatour in a hand she did not know ; the postmark was Richmond. "I am much obliged to you, Freddy; it was very kind in you to bring it," she replied. "I am serry it has been delayed?there must i have been some mistake." "Yes, ma'am. Mamma said I must tell you that?that if there was any bad news, you must let her know if she could do anything for Mrs. Delatour or you." j Alice dismissed him with renewed thanks, and carried the letter into the parlor with a I i ? i .. i__i i | oeauug nean. airs. j-?eiaiuur iookcu up eagerly as she entered. "A letter, Marion, for me ? How did it come?" "Fred Johnson got it out of the post-office. Auntie, shall I read it to you? I'll get a! light." "Is it not from Gervais ?" "No; at least, it's not his writing. It is j from Richmond." Mrs. Delatour sank back in her chair, and j clasped her hands. "Some bad news," she j murmured faintly. "Oh ! we can't tell; it may not be anything important," said Alice, though her fingers shook as she kindled a light, trying to ignite j the obstinate wick of the tallow "dip," which j for some time refused to yield to her persuasions. At. last it consented to burn, and hasti; ly opening the seal, she glanced through the : I contents of the letter before reading them j aloud. They were brief enough, and as sad I as they were brief. Gervais was lying dan.j gerously wounded in a private house near i Richmond, aud his mother's presence was re: quested without delay. "Dangerously wounded!" echoed the poor . j mother, with a cry of anguish, as she snatched j the letter from Alice's hand, and tried with ; j blurred vision to peruse for herself the fatal I words. "Heaven have mercv on me! The i date, Marion?what was it? I can't see it." j It was more than a week old. "Such delay?such cruel carelessness! I might have been with him before now. Oh ! my poor boy. Marion, I must start at once? to night, if necessary. What shall I do ?" She was trembling all over with nervous ex- j citement and distress. "Not to-night, dear auntie," said Alice, j soothingly. "It would not be practicable, j Try to be calm. Perhaps matters are not as 1 bad as they seem. We can leave to-morrow,; and you will be more fit to start after a good ! night's rest." "Rest!" said Mrs. Delatour, wringing her I j hands. "How can I rest, while this torturing i suspense hangs over me? Marion, can't you | ; arrange something at ouce?something must ] I be done!" J "I tell you what I'll do, auntie; I'll get Carly to go with me, and I'll go right off to the village aud get Mr. Glen more to advise us." This was some comfort to Mrs. Delatour; j and taking Carly, one of the maids, as a pro; tector, Alice hurried off. The good clergyman was much concerned ; at the news she brought him. He loved Gervais almost as a son, and his sympathies were ! deeply enlisted in behalf of the distressed : mother. "But, my dear Miss Marion, I don't see how ! it will be possible for Mrs. Delatour and your- I self to travel so far without a protector," lie i exclaimed. "Travel i3 difficult now, and her , | health of late has seemed very feeble." "I think she suffers mentally more than ! ! bodily," rejoined Alice; "and it would nearly kill her to remain at home in her present state.1 We mud go. I am not afraid, and I will ! manage to take care of her. She want.- to he , off as soon as possible. How early to-morrow i can we leave ?" Finding that there was no alternative, Mr. i Glenmore assisted her to arrange the prelimi- : I naries of the journey, and promised to see ' i them safely to the railroad station the next day ; and this being settled, Alice returned I home to make the few necessary preparations, j and to sustain, with affectionate and eneour| ing words, her adopted mother's sinking heart, l That was a long, weary night. Mrs. Delai tour, in her restless misery, was unwilling even ; to retire to her own room, but Alice at length prevailed on her to seek repose, and watched } beside her until she fell into a troubled sleep.' ! Then she sought her own pillow, and after an earnest prayer for poor Gervais' recovery, [ and for strength and comfort for his mother, ! she, too, temporarily forgot this new anxiety I in slumber dreamless and profound, though j necessarily brief, for it was already near' morning when she went to bed. The necessity for exertion and self-control ' braced Mrs. Delatour's nerves, and the hour of departure found her much calmer and more ; self-contained than on the previous evening. , ; Mr. Glenmorecarue over as he had promised, ! and accompanied them to the station, where he put them under the care of a gentleman who, fortunately, was going a great part, of the 1 way in the same direction as themselves, and parted from them with many kind wishes for ' their safety, and a happy ending to their journey. It was late on a raw February evening when they reached Richmond, and obtaining a hack, drove to the house of Mr. Lennox, the gentleman who had kindly taken Gervais under his care. His wife met them at the door, with a face whose expression betokeued no good news. "He has been wandering in his mind for some days," she said in reply to Mrs. Dela tour's scarcely-breathed inquiry, "but it is I clearer to-night. I think he will recognize i you." "Is there hope ?" faltered the poor mother. < A silent pressure of the hand was the only ; reply. With an almost bursting heart, Mrs. i Delatour followed her conductress into her son's chamber, while Alice remained behind ] with the daughter of their hostess, a fair young < girl of sixteen or seventeen summers, who gave her all the particulars of the catastro- < phe which had happened, and of Gervais' ill- i ness and suffering. The agony of his wound? received in an ineffecutual skirmish?had : been very great, but had abated within the i last few hours. He appeared now to be grad- i ually sinking, and the physician who attended i him had pronounced his recovery all but impossible. His anxiety to see his mother had been intense, and he frequently expressed his < hope that she would not come alone. "I think it must have been you he wanted i to see, too," said the young girl, "for in his delirium he kept saying 'Marion, Marion,' as i often as he did 'mother.' " 1 Poor Gervais! He had poured out his lifeblood for his country, and now that he could serve her no longer,"his heart turned again yearningly to the love whose claims he had, for her sake, put aside. A few hours later, Alice stood beside his pillow, weeping bitterly I as in faint, broken words he told her of that cherished, unextinguishable affection that was going with hira, as he had once said it would, i to his grave; and prayed her not to forget him, who had loved her so truly and so long. Before another sun had set, the brave, ardent i spirit had gone to its eternal reward; another 1 costly offering had enriched the blood-stained i altar of patriotism, and another desolate, i widowed mother bowed in anguish beneath I the rod. 1 I CHAPTER XIX. AX INCIDENT OF SHERMAN'S RAID XOT MEN- , TIOXED IN HISTORY. | "Marion, is there a candle in the house? i The room is so dark. I cannot see you at all." i It was Mrs. Delatour's feeble, broken voice that spoke. Alice rose from her seat by the bedside, and bending over the pillow, answered tenderly? < "There is a light burning in the room, auntie. I put it in a corner on the floor, that < it might not hurt your eyes. Do you want it i on the table ?" "Yes. I don't like the dark; it gives me i such gloomy thoughts." i Alice accordingly put the candle in the de- ] sired position, and then returned to her seat i beside the invalid. The shock of Gervais' < death had completely unhinged Mrs. Delatour's whole nervous system. Her strength i had barely sufficed for the endurance of her I homeward journey, and no sooner had she reached Elm wood thau she was prostrated by ( a fit of illness, the result of which, for some 1 days, seemed so doubtful as to create the greatest anxiety iu Alice's mind. Lately, she had I appeared decidedly better, though still so 1 feeble as to require constant attention, and j A lirta notrnr loff hot* CftVP t.n ntlAtu] t.ft 1 some necessary household duty, or to snatch a few hours of indispensable repose, while < some trustworthy friend or domestic took her i place. I During the past day her improvement had < been more marked than usual, and Alice, this i evening, felt proportionately cheered and en- I couraged. i "Poor child, how weary and worn out you I must be," she remarked, laying her thin hand < caressingly on that of the devoted girl. "To- s night, I hope you will have a good, long rest, < for you need it sadly." "I shall sleep the better for seeing you so I much better," rejoined Alice. "Mrs. Morton < is coming over after tea, to stay all night. I 1 have had the couch prepared for her in your dressing-room." 1 "I am glad of it, for your sake. I don't < think I need any one with me, but I know if < I were alone you would not be satisfied." j "No indeed," said Alice, kissing her forehead. "You are not by any means strong I enough to discard nightly attendance yet. i Do you feel like having your tea and a bit of i toast now ?" 1 The invalid assented, and Alice brought the i simple meal, and watched her partake of it I .1 - -I - I I _J!-_l wit!) more appetite tnan sue nan yet uispiuved, remarking with much satisfaction as she removed the empty plate and cup? "I shall have a famous report to make to | Dr. Stevens in the morning! A good night's j sleep, and some breakfast to-morrow, will quite set you up again." i Afterdusk Mrs. Morton, a kind neighbor, i who had also lost a dear aud only sou in battle, and could fully sympathize with Mrs. i Delatour in her bereavement, came over to j ] fulfill her promise of remaining at Elm wood1 for the night. Alice felt very weary, and at 1 an early hour retired to bed, and was soon in i a souud sleep. 1 She was suddenly aroused by the noisy ] opening of her room-door, aud the frightened ' exclamation of Carly, the maid, who had I rushed in half-dressed, with a light in her hand, i at.. t \r;DO vr.,-; i t.nrh'e ! I 1TAIOO iUUlJVUii XUICO UlUI IVll l*/l Hiw w . 4 sake wake up! They're coming! they're | coming!" I j "Coming! Who? What do you mean? < What's the matter?" cried Alice, starting confusedly up. ' "Thesoldiers, ma'am?the Yankees! They're over to the village now, and they're burning i and destroying everything. Oh ! Lord ! Oh ! 1 heavenly Master!" ejaculated the terrified girl, "we'll all bo murdered and destroyed." Alice was greatly alarmed, but she saw the 1 necessity of preserving her composure, at least i outwardly. "Hush, Carly," she said, earnest- j ly ; "please don't disturb Mrs. Delatour ; you j I know how weak she is. Are you sure this < news is true?" I "True? Jim and Spencer seen 'em with 1 their own eyes; the parsonage house is in a blaze, and you can hear them whooping and J hollering from the road. Oh! ina'am, can't t we hide somewhere out in the woods? May 1 be they won't find us there." j < "They won't trouble you," said Alice, who ' was hurrying on her clothes; "you need not I be afraid. Has any one told Mrs. Delatour? j i Is Mrs. Morton with her?" 1 < "Mrs. Morton came out to hear what was t the matter; missis was asleep, I reckon, 'cause t she seemed quiet." t "I'm glad of that; she must not be disturb- 1 ed, if we can possibly help it. Perhaps those 1 horrid soldiers won't come this way. Please, 1 Carly, be as quiet as you can ; I know I can 1 rely on you to help me." : t "Oh! yes, Miss Marion, I'll stay by you," t said the girl, who was devotedly attached to i her mistress ami Alice, as indeed were all of j i Mrs. Delatour's domestics, and who felt her j I courage rise at the sight of Alice's calmness,, s forced though it was. "If only they don't 1 burn us out!" I "They would not?they could not be so ; s brutal, with sickness in the house," cried Al- j < ice. But she had heard of even greater out- 1 rages being committed by the lawless soldiery, s and her heart by no means responded to the assurance of her lips. Being now dressed, ; < she hastened in quest, of Mrs. Morton, from l I whom she learned that the invalid still slept; j i and the two ladies held an anxious and hur-! i j ried consultation as to their best mode of ac-1 ] tion. j "I advise you to hide all the silver and ( other articles of value about the house," said < Mrs. Morton. "They will most likely come ; in search of plunder. Don't keep any arti-1 j I cles of jewelry about you ; you1 will only be ' forced to give them up." 1 i "Adam was digging a hole in the back garden, only yesterday, to plant a tree," said ; Alice. "I'll put the silver and everything else in there. Are you not anxious about 1 your own things ? Don't you want to go and < see after them now ?" ] No, my dear; I have already taken the I precaution of hiding ray few valuables, in my j i crchard; and as for the house, my presence would not save it. I am glad that I came 1 over here. I may be of some assistance to you; i at any rate we can encourage one another." i Taking Carly with her, whom she trusted implicitly, Alice hastened to the back garden ' and deposited a box containing the articles | she desired to save in the place she had designated ; then they filled up the hole, carefully removing the loose earth scattered about, and throwing dead leaves and twigs upon it to i conceal all traces of their work. They had scarcely finished, when the sound of voices and horses' hoofs, mingled with bursts of uproarious laughter and snatches of songs, warned them of the approach of some 1 of the soldiers. Alice hurried through the 1 hnf?lr.r?nnr into the house. closelv followed bv the trembling Carly, who clung to her now like her shaaowT in a few moments more, the blaze of torches cast a ruddy glow over * the house and the surrounding trees, as a par- | ty of mounted men drew up before the gate. 1 "Open the door, dear," said Mrs. Morton to Alice; "don't let them make unnecessary s noise in getting in, on account of your aunt." Alice accordingly unlocked the front door ! and put it slightly ajar. The men were now dismounting, with the evident intention of en- < tering. Mrs. Morton stayed in the parlor, i and bid Alice go to Mrs. Delatour, who was ' now awake, and not to come out of her cham- I ber; and she would try and keep the men 1 from disturbing them. Mrs. Delatour had been told of their approach, as gently as possible so as not to excite her fears; but she ] was thoroughly alarmed, and the sense of her i own helplessness iucreased her terror. Alice, though her own heart was beating with fear, ' spoke encouragingly to her, and maintained ' us far as possible an appearance of calmness which ill accorded with her true feelings. ! The soldiers, who thus rudely interrupted i the repose of the quiet household, were a set ' of stragglers, uncomiuanded by any officer. ' rhey were all more or less intoxicated, and I svidently bent on committing all the depre- | dations in their power. In answer to Mrs. I Morton's inquiry of what they had come to i seek, they bid her hold her tongue, and push ing her rudely aside, commenced a search for < plunder, breaking locks, mutilating furniture, < and flinging various articles out of the win- , [lows, regardless of all remonstrance. "I say, where do you keep your plate?" asked one of them, seizing Mrs. Morton by the arm. | "This is not my house," she replied, "and I Jo not know where any of the articles are kept." "Don't you? Well, I guess we'll have to find out for ourselves. Come along, you woolly African," he added, collaring a staring ne- 1 ijro hoy, who stood near, "and show us where ( your missus' silver is hid." The boy protested that he did not know, which was quite true; but they pulled him roughly off, declaring that they did not believe him, and would soon make him tell. 3ne, who remained in the parlor, approached a handsome mirror which hung over the mantelpiece, and with the hilt of his sword shiv> . _ J : l jreu 11 in 10 H uo/.eu pieces, auuiuci uucncvi die rosewood chairs, and tore the lace curtains which draped the windows, uDtil the pretty sitting-room presented a scene of ruin and destruction. Alice was sitting by Mrs. Delatour's bed, trying to soothe her fears, when the door was suddenly opened, and a dark-bearded visage thrust in. "Hallo! are there more of you in here?" lie exclaimed. Then turning, with his hand 30 the lock, he called loudly to some of his companions, "Come here, fellows, there's a jolly pretty girl hiding in here. She's a sight worth seeing." I At this encomium, Alice shrank, timidly, I into the shadow of the bed curtain ; but the man strode up to her, and taking her by the i hand, endeavored to draw her forward, ex- j claiming, "Don't be bashful, little rosebud, I but come into the light and let's have a good look at you. You need not be afraid, nobody I will hurt you." i Alice fiuding that resistance would only ex- 1 pose her to fresh insult, stood up, and replied ! with as much composure as she could assume, "lam not at all afraid of you ; but you ] must leave this room, as this lady is very ill, i and you will make her worse." "Oh ! we wont hurt the old soul; but ill or ; not, she'll have to be up and stirring, present- j ly," rejoined another, who hail come in. "Let's feel her pulse?I'm a doctor, and can tell whether exertion will be good for her or not." Then approaching the bed, he would i : 1 .l-: i;j> u..* a i:.. , nave seizeu me uivuiius wnau, uuu icovlutely placed herself in his way. "Do not touch her," she exclaimed, with flashing eyes, and the man, with a laugh. |' turned on his heel, and said something, in a lo>v tone, to his companion. "All right?no time to be lost," was the re- i ply. "Come, young lady, you must both get >ut of here." I "This lady cannot be moved," replied Alice. ; 'It might endanger her life." i "I guess it won't endanger her life as much J < is her staying here would ; so if you know what's good for her, do as we tell you." j "What are you going to do?" asked Alice, i "Never mind ; you'll see directly. Come! I bundle up, old girl; we are wasting time talk- j ; Mrs. Delatour was unable, from sheer terror,! i ;o remonstrate. She looked in helpless bewil- I lerment from one to the other, of her persecu- i :ors, clinging meanwhile to Alice's hand as if I for protection. I "If you are men, and not fiends," exclaimed j i Mrs. Morton, who had now come to Alice's j issistance, "go away from here and exercise i 1 four brutality elsewhere. Do you wish to ' < jommit murder ?" i One of the men turned upon her and bid i i ler hold her tongue, adding, with an oath too , I mpious to record, that if they didn't all clear : I >111 they'd soon find the house too hot to hold j' ;hetn. This was literally true ; for having j I ansaeked the premises and finding nothing , I hat they cared to remove, some of the party j 1 lad applied their torches to the rear of the j j juilding, which was already in a blaze. There i < >vas no alternative hut to remove the invalid I is quickly as possible to a place of compara-> < ,ive safety ; and Mrs. Morton and Alice, with 1 he assistance of Curly, lifted her out of bed, t ind wrapping her up as warmly as they could j < n shawls and blankets, carried her out into j < die open air. Having reached a sheltered i t spot, where they were out of all danger of the j! rapidly spreading flames, Carly ran back to j j fetch the mattress off her mistress' bed, but ] die was forbidden to touch it, the men threat- ; jning her with the points of their swords, and j laughing at her fright as she retreated at full i speed from the house. I " ' " ' ' L: : i 1 11 nun leu togemcr HI u suivering gruuji, iuu : j lefenseless women were compelled to witness ] the destruction of the homestead, which for so j < many years had sheltered happy hearts be- I aeath its roof, and been the abode of pros- j perity and peace. j ] Mrs. Delatour presently gasped a faint re- j i :juest for some water, and Carly having gone ! i an an errand to the servants' house, Alice < went to a spring near by to fetch some in a i gourd. As she was stooping to dip it up, a ] powerful hand was laid on her arm, and a < hoarse voice whispered in her ear? i "Don't scream for your life! If you open your lips I'll shoot you." Dropping the gourd, she raised her blanched face, and saw a ruffianly countenance bending close to hers. The soldier, before she could resist, forced a handkerchief into her mouth ; then with a cord he hastily pinioned her arms, and lifting her from the ground as if she had been a feather, carried her, without the power i to cry or struggle, to his horse which stood near, placed her before him on the saddle, and galloped away at full speed into the woods. The sudden shock of terror was too great for her nerves, already strung to their highest pitch, to sustain, and insensibility came to her aid. In a sequestered spot, about a mile from the village, stood an old, crazy-looking hut, inhabited by an old and half-imbecile colored woman, and her two little grand children, a boy and girl, of six and seven years. To this hut the soldier carried Alice, whom he lifted, I half-dead, from the saddle, and placed in the care of the old crone, charging her to watch Dver her safely until he should come back. "The lady, you see, is quite sick, and I want 1-n lont70 Kor in snmp. nuiet nlace for a little while. I'll be buck in a hatf hour or so, to I see after her. Here, put a pillow, or bundle of some kind, under her head," he added, laying her on the floor, which seemed preferable to the filthy apology for a bed, which stood in one corner. "What's her hands tied for, massa?" asked Lhe woman. "Her hands?oh ! I forgot," said the man, cutting the cord, which had left deep, red marks on his victim's slender wrists. "She was out of her mind, you see, and tried to hurt herself. Have you got a key to this door ?" "A key?" echoed the old woman, stupidly. "Yes, idiot?a key, to lock the door. Don't pou know what a key is ?" said the trooper, roughly shaking her by the shoulder. "Ain't got none. Oh ! Lord, massa, don't break a poor ole creetur's bones. I alius bolts the door inside." "Well, you bolt the door as soon as I'm *one,d'ye hear? And mind you, don't open it again till I come back. Look here," and be took a silver half-dollar from his pocket, 'if I find all safe when I come, I'll give you this; you can keep house on it for a month, I *uess. But if you let that lady go out of bere?see this pistol! I'll shoot you as dead as a herring." "Don't shoot, massa," cried the poor old creature, grovelling before him in the excess3 - /?rii i l it. 1-J_ or her terror, "in Keep ine iuuy eaic iui you." "All right; I'll be back in a little while." After another glance at his victim, he left the hut, and got a stout pole and barricaded the door outside for greater safety. The single window he secured in the same manner; then mounting his horse, he galloped back to where he had left his comrades. [conclusion next week.] lisiovn of J>. tooliuii. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. HISTORICAL SKETCHES OF THE Early Settlement of South Carolina. BY REV. ROBERT LATHAN. (continued from last week.) For various reasons, the proprietors and the first inhabitants of South Carolina, never acted in perfect harmony. The proprietors iinohlo tn narrtr nnfr their nlnnq nf trnv *7 V1 UliUUtV liU VMI * J VWH vaa w w. ^ v . ernment, from the fact that, under the circumstances, these plans were impracticable in a forest. Another reason why the proprietors failed in their plans, arose from the peculiar character of the immigrants. The result was that neither the conditions of the charter, nor the Fundamental Constitutions, either as originally drawu up, nor as subsequently altered at various times and in different respects, uever were complied with in the colony. The Atlantic rolled between the proprietors and the colony, and the latter seemed to have bejau to breath the air of freedom the moment they landed ou the shore of Carolina. This was the case, also, in the two colonies which had been previously planted under the same charter in what is now the State of North Carolina. At this distant period, where the scenes are all enacted, we can see the point to which things early commenced to drift. The proprietors were not always wise iu their acts toward the colony ; but generally they were ' - - tt . ?i p Liberal in supporting it. up to ine urae 011 the founding of the present city of Charleston, I the colony had cost the proprietors, in one way and other, near, if not altogether one hundred thousand dollars. As yet they had received nothing in return for all their trouble and expense in founding the colony, and the prospects were, unless some changes were made, by no means encouraging for the future. They became disheartened and vexed. The Fundamental Constitutions, which they had not hesitated to declare were "unalterable," they changed time and again; but to their chagrin the immigrants persistently refused to adopt them. Joseph West, whom the proprietors had declared to be the fittest man for the office of Governor, was removed, and Joseph Morton was commissioned. No doubt the proprietors thought, or at least hoped, that this change of Governors would produce a change in the general aspect of the colony. It did effect a change; but not for the good of the colony, and surely not for the proprietors. When West vacated the office of Governor, and Morton commenced his gubernatorial career, the colony was in a very flourishing condition. Immigrants were coming in from all quarters. The Capital was fast building up. The only draw back seems to have been the health of the locality. For I i number of years, from June to October, it | was very sickly and the people went else- | where to reside during this season, inis, 110 | loubt, retarded its growth very materially. Ou the 10th of May, 1682, the proprietors j issued instructions to divide the province into ; diree counties. This Morton did, and named j :he counties Colleton, Berkley and Craven, j The count}' lines were vague and poorly de- j 3ned. Colleton embraced Port Royal and ; ;he adjacent islands, together with the inland,! 'or a distance of thirty miles from the coast. I Berkley, in which was the Capital, was limit- j id by Stono creek and the Sewee river, i Graven county contained all northward to- j ward Cape Fear. At this time, Craven coun,y contained but few settlers. In the other | ;wo counties, there were between fifteen hun-, Ired and two thousand inhabitants, the most | jf whom were in Berkley. The proprietors i >rdered that an election should be held in , London?now Wiltown?and Charles Town, ...K? /?Ai?nABA iKa Pnlnniul ' or lliem UCI3 HUU WUUIU WUUIJJUO^ uiv vuiuu.u. i Parliament. Ten were to be chosen from Berkley and ten from Colleton. ; In order that an individual"could uechosen j x member of the Parliament, it was necessary | Lhat he be the owner of five hundred acres of j land, in the county from which he was chosen. ; It seems tiiat at the last election for members of the Parliament, mauy individuals had sent j their votes by others. This was justly re-1 jarded by the proprietors as a dangerous | practice. Still, no provisions seem to have been made to establish election precincts. In ; i country full of hostile Indians, and with ! deficient means of travel, it was a very great undertaking to attempt to go a few miles from i borne. Every man's presence was required on his own farm. Previously, the members of the Parliament were chosen at Charles Town, and now, in the face of the instructions and wishes of the proprietors, they were chosen at Charles Town again. Whether the inhabitants of Colleton were dissatisfied with the manner in which the Parliament was chosen or not, we are not certain; but the proprietors were iucensed and ordered the Parliament to be disbanded and no other Parliament to be called until their instructions were complied with. This last order was equally disobeyed. The Parliament went to work and passed various laws. Among them was one which declared, in substance, that "all prosecutions for foreign debts were suspended." This filled the proprietors with indignation, and they railed out on their deputies, and wrote to Governor Morton, asking him : "Are you to govern the people, or are the people to govern you ?" The proprietors now found that Morton managed their affairs no better than West had done. The great trouble with them was, that the individuals whom they appointed Governors were, to a very great extent, unknown to them. Not only so, but people and Governors were implicated in the same crimes?if crimes they were?and breathed the same spirit. The proprietors were not always consistent. They granted privileges aud then threatened to punish those who had courage to enjoy them. They made laws which they said were "unalterable," and then, in order to meet some new case which might spring upon them, they changed these laws. They granted permission to sell Indians at one time; and at another, they deposed West because he sold them. The proprietors were often fickle, and the people unyielding. The proprietors aimed at accomplishing one object, and the people another. To meet the critical condition of things, the proprietors determined to appoint a man who was not in the colony, to the high office of Governor. Accordingly, in April, 1684, Richard Kyrle, of Ireland, was appointed tu succeed Joseph Morton. Kyrle was a man of some fame and of considerable energy. It was thought that he would, by his energy and skill, place the colony in a more favprable condition toward the proprietors. In this expectation they were disappointed ; for death terminated his life some time during the first summer after his arrival in the colony. As an evidence of the eminent fitness of Joseph West fur the office of Governor, and of his great popularity in the colony, he was again, for the third time, choseu to that high responsible office. He was not in the colony at the time, but in October, 1684, he was in due form chosen by the Grand Council, who immediately wrote to the proprietors informing them of their action. The proprietors, although they had only a short time before dismissed West, were now highly gratified and sent him a commission. During the absence of West, which continued for a few mouths only, Col. Robert Quarry acted as deputy. Quarry, although sometimes mentioned as one of the Governors of the colony, in fact, was only a deputy. He never was chosen by the Grand Council or commissioned by the proprietors. At one time he was Secretary of the province, and in virtue of this position he was honored with the office of temporary Governor. At this time the sea was infested with a band of pirates, partially, at least, under the protection of the English government. These pirates often came to Charles Town and received various favors from the people, for which they received ample compensation. These pirates kept the Spanish at St. Augustine in check. The proprietors, however, did not favor this friendly intercourse between the -"1 -- "-"1 nlnnfrtn A f looof fIia\T nrtl- I UU1UIIJT auu tuc piiatcc. Xlb itaoi, buwj tended not to favor it; but in this, as in many other things, they were not wholly consistent. The English government favored, to some extent, the pirates. To say the least of it, they winked at their raids in many instances. The proprietors were thoroughly English in all their sentiments. Col. Robert Quarry was bold and imprudent in showing favors to these robbers on the sea. So'imprudent was his conduct, that he was deprived of the office of Secretary. In September, 1684, Joseph West returned and assumed the duties of his office. A great change had taken place in the colony since he was succeeded by Morton in 1682. The proprietors had so changed the laws that it was almost impossible for the people to pay the "quit-rent," which was about two cents per acre. At first the land-holders had been allowed the privilege of paying this quit-rent either in money or in produce. Now the money was demanded, and a failure to pay the money subjected them to a forfeiture of their lands. It is easy to see that this new law placed the poor colonists in a very critical condition. Many of them saw that in the midst of a boundless forest, where land was in great abundance and settlers few, they were, for the want of a few pence, about to be turned out of house and home. It was vain to entreat for mercy. The proprietors were irritated and declared that they had a right to do with their land as they pleased. They claimed the right to sell their land for whatever they saw fit. This right they insisted upon. The parliamentary difficulty was still unsettled. Maurice Matthews, Arthur Middleton and James Moore, then perhaps the most influential members from Berkley county, had been expelled from the Parliament because they had engaged in sending Indian slaves from the colony. In the meantime, the proprietors sent instructions to West in which all the former laws and regulations of the colony were abrogated. The proprietors evidently determined to make a complete transformation of the colony. West saw that the condition of things was hopeless. No room was left forhim to exercise his own judgment in the government of the colony. He gave up the task as hopeless, and retired. Here the history of Joseph West ends. Whether he quitted the colony entirely, or went, as some think, to his plantation on Ashley river, is not certainly known. It is more than probable that he left the colony entirely, from the fact that his name never again appears in any of the records of the colony. It is barely possible that a man of West's wisdom, influence and popularity, could have lived in the colony in perfect obscurity. His own public spirit would not have permitted i this, and his fellow-citizens would not have ; suffered it. The character of Joseph West is worthy of i imitation. The world has furnished few such | public officers. For a period of more than X 1 I- - I twenty years, in one capacity or anoiner, ne : had been intimately connected with the colo- ! ny. His first position was that of cominan- j der of the fleet which brought the settlers to ! Carolina. Then he had charge of the public stores. On the death of Sayle, he was chosen Governor. For his arduous labors it is clear he received but poor compensation. His salary as Governor was about four hundred and fifty dollars, and this not fullypaid. In 1677, the proprietors gave him up their plantation to liquidate his claims against the colony. George Chalmers, in his Political Annals of Carolina, says, in speaking of this transaction,."This is the first factor who, at the end often years of prudent management, received the whole product of his traffic, as a reward of his services, without any impeachment." The graves of Sayle and West are unmarked. Monumental piles have been reared to perpetuate the memory of tyrants, but Joseph West's virtues will transmit his name to posterity so long as the English language is read or spoken. [to be continued next week.] 7 f IpsffUatttirois Heading. DAYID DICKSON ON COTTON PLANTING. The following is copied from a "Treatise on Agriculture," by the late David Dickson, of j Sparta, Georgia, a work that should be in the | hands of every farmer: 1. Lay off cotton rows-four feet apart with | shovel plow, double furrow, and put in fertili; zers eight inches deep. I 2. Kidge with long scooter, five inches wide. Make the beds with turn plow, subsoil the turn plow furrow ; split out the middles with shovel. Plant with a cotton seed I sower, and cover with a board or harrow. First plowing?run 22 inch sweep with right wing turned down, hoe out two or three stalks to the hill every nine inches, ten days after plowing. Second plowing?use same sweep, the right wing turned up a little more. Third plowing?in same way, run a third furrow in middle to level. 3. Cotton standing in the drill will be much more forward in maturing. 4. Cotton only requires distance oue way. ? Po Anrnfn] rtnf tn mit tilfl roots of cotton. \J, JLJXi waiviua uvv vw w?? ^ ? 6. Have a deep water furrow in the spring; work flat by hot weather. 7. On level land run the rows north and south. 8. A cotton plant to stand two weeks' drouth, must have four inches soil and six inches subsoil; three weeks?six inches soil and same subsoil; four weeks?eight inches and the same subsoiling. 9. If you prepare your land and carry out this plan well, and manure liberally, you may expect from four hundred to one thousand pounds of lint cotton to the acre. 10. Fertilizers bring a crop of bolls on the cotton early. 11. To improve the cotton plant, select seed every year after the first picking, up to the middle of October, taking the best stalks and the best bolls on the stalks. 12. On all farms there are some acres that produce cotton better than others. Seed should always be selected from those spots. 13. Manure everywhere you plow and plant. Your labor will be more certainly rewarded. It pays to use manure, and it pays best on land that pays without it. 14. From the 10th to the 20th of April is . the best time to plant cotton. 15. Apply one half of all labor and land | to the making of full supplies of all kinds that are needed on the farm, and enough to spare for those engaged id other pursuits, ana you will have more money than if the whole was employed in making cotton. 16. Leave no grass to bunch and cause a future bad stand. 17. Plow cotton every three weeks, and let the hoes come ten days behind, clearing it perfectly. I 18. Continue plowing cotton till, the 15th or 20th of August. Once or twice during the season shove out the middle with a iurrow, 10 keep the land level. 19. The plowing of cotton requires one and a fourth days per acre. 20. Cotton plants commence when small to take on and mature bolls, and continue until they exhaust the soluble matter or exhaust the full capacity of the land. Two stalks will do that much sooner than one, and will so avoid the drouth, caterpilar, etc. 21. Cotton will grow after cotton a number of years in succession, with plenty of manure. 22. Make just the amount of cotton wanted, at paying prices. Keep out of debt,* be the creditors, make your supplies at home; then and only then will you have power. 23. Rotation of crops, deep and deeper plowing every year, incorporation of vegetable mold, returning the proceeds of the cotton ! plant, except the lint, to the soil, making as much manure as possible, comprise my system of improving lands. 24. One object in cultivation is, to keep the surface broken, so as to let in light, heat and air. Never stop the plows for dry weather. 25. My policy has been to make the most money with the least labor and capital, even * C " ? i*f\A 4r\ K/i TTTQQfofll 1 ii ib nppcaicu cv/ uw nuoiv*u>. 26. The cotton planter should make his whole supplies, everything necessary to run the farm. The premium cotton crop, exhibited at the State Fair in Georgia, in 1869, of eighteen bales on six acres, was cultivated according to Mr. Dickson's plan. With a capital of $25,000 to commence with, he made in fifteen years $500,000 by farming. He has been equally successful since the war. Pluck and brains will tell in farming, as in any other vocation. ? "One Bushel.."?If our readers are asked to give the meaning of the word bushel, they would probably inform us that it was sixty pounds of wheat, fifty-six of corn or sixty of potatoes. Under the state law this a correct definition ; but yet it is not correct, for any state law which may attempt to fix the meaning of the term is unconstitutional. In the United States there is but one legal bushel, however many measures may be sanctioned by custom. One legal bushel is the old Winchester measure, which was legal in England until 1826, when their present imperial bushel was established by law. Our standard measure must contain 2150.42 cubic inches. The imperial bushel of England must contain eight imperial gallons; the size of which must be such as will contain ten pounds of distilled water, at temperature of 62 degrees with the barometer at 30 inches. According to the original English law, in the time of Henry VII. the Winchester bushel must contain eight gallons of 12 ounces each, troy weight; each ounce twenty sterlings, and each "thirty-two grains of wheat taken from the middle of the ear." English law makes the "bushel for coal, lime, fish, potatoes or fruit" contain 2,815 cubic inches and "the goods to be heaped up in the form of a cone to a height above the rim - S- J) of at least three-iourtns 01 us aepin. In comparing the two legal bushels, we have only to remember that 32 English imperial bushels will make 33 of our Winchester measures. While we have no objection to selling by weight, and in fact decidedly prefer it; yet we believe that if any case, the decision of which depended upon the legality of the bushel measures was taken into the United States courts, it would be interpreted to mean so many measures of 2150.42 cubic inches, any State laws to the contrary being unconstitutional. ? ? + Facts Worth Remembering.?One-fifth more siding and flooring is needed than the number of square feet of surface to be covered, because of the lap in siding and matching of the floor. One thousand shingles laid four inches to the weather will cover one hundred square feet to the surface, and five pounds of shingle nails will fasten them on. One thousand laths will cover seventy yards surface, and eleven pounds of lath nails will nail them on. Eight bushels of lime, sixteen bushels of sand and one bushel of hair will make enough morter to plaster one hundred square yards. A cord of stone, three bushels of lime, and a cubic yard of saifywill lay one hundred cubic feet of wall. Five courses of brick will lay one foot in height on a chimney, six bricks in a course will make a flue four inches wide and twelve inches long, and eight bricks in a course will make a flue eight inches wide and sixteen inches long.