Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, July 22, 1875, Image 1
lewis m. grist, proprietor. J Inbeptitbent Jfamiln ftefosppr: Jfnr % ^romotira ef % political, Social, ^.gritnltnral aab Commercial Interests of % j$ont{|. |teRMS?$3.00 a tear, in advance.
VOL. 21. YORKYILLE, S. O., THURSDAY, JULY 22, 1875. 29.
? ? ? j - ~
?rigittal ftcn|.
Written for the Yorkville Enquirer.
THE SEVEN SISTERS OF YORK,
CHAPTER X.
One chilly, misty afternoon in the begin
ning of September, Virgilia put on her hai
and shawl and set out for Mr. Holdweg's cot
tage. It was the day for her German lesson
which she rarely missed even in the most in
clement weather. She had not gone far be
fore the rain began to fall; but she had taker
the precaution to bring an umbrella with her
and hastening her steps, she succeeded ir
reaching her destination just before the light
drops thickened into a very decided shower
Mr. Holdweg, who had apparently beer
watching for her, came out into the litth
porch to meet her, and taking her hand let
her into the house.
"You are ray very good pupil," he said it
German; for she had sufficiently masterec
the language by this time to understand hire
when he spoke to her. "You never slacker
in your pursuit of knowledge, even under dif
ficulties."
^ "I don't think it was my lesson that broughl
me here, particularly," she rejoined. He had
conducted her into the sitting room, where s
fire had been kindled to counteract the damp
ness of the atmosphere. And having taker
off her wrappings, she stood leaning against
the side of the chimney, and gazing at th(
flame with a moody and downcast look.
"No ?" said her teacher inquiringly, scrutinizing
her face as he spoke. "You came
then, for the pleasure of the walk ?"
"Mr. Holdweg, you know why I came,'
replied Virgilia in a quick, petulant tone.
"Ah ! so, it is, then, because you remembered
my advice. Is it not, mein Fraulein /"
"It is because I could not help it. You
draw me here when you will," murmured
Virgilia, still without raising her eyes. A
peculiar, covert smile rested for an instant on
her companion's face.
"What is it, then, dear young lady, this
magic influence which I seem to possess't
How comes it that you, in your home a mile
away, feel the wish that I have to see you,
and come to me accordingly?"
"I do not know," replied Virgilia, "but sc
it is. I could not have remained away this
evening, had the weather been ever so inclement."
"In that case I would not have been selfish
enough to desire your company. But I knew,
if you came, that I could do you good."
"How?"
"That is a question not too quickly to be
answered. But why stand, mein Fr'dulein t
Here are chairs in plenty, though not such
comfortable ones as your big stuffed velvet
ones at home, in your pretty parlor." He
pushed one near her as he spoke, and she
sank down in it, wearily.
"I like these better; I hate the house at
home and everything iu it."
^ "Why so ?"
"You know well enough why!" she exclaimed,
vehemently. "It is because I am utterly
wretched there. I have told you so before."
"So, so! Do not excite yourself, mein
Friiulein. Is it, then, so bad as that? You
should have come to me before."
"Come to you ? Do I not come here twice
every week ?"
"Ah ! yes. But I mean, come to me for advice.
Even the advice of a musty, fusty, ugly
old foreigner like me may be useful sometimes.
To begin with ; I advise you to put
aside your books for this evening?we will
have no class. See how the rain comes down!"
"You will not teach me alone, then ?"
"Not in German?no. For once we will
take holiday. I wish to talk to you instead."
"It is almost a pity, then, that I came,"
said Virgilia, glancing uneasily out of the
window.
"No, dear Fraulen ; it is good you came.
But tell me, now, all your troubles ; open your
heart to me?you know I am your true friend.
Speak to me with entire caudor; a physician
cannot heal a bad wouud without probing it
first. Let us see, then, how deep this wound
of yours lies."
Virgilia, for some moments, did not reply.
She sat with her deep, dark eyes fixed immovably
on the fire, her hands clasped torrotKor
nn Ion o nrl on nv?\1 nn nF nnn.
goi>ugi vu 11 v& ia|^) aim au ^ a.yi woiuu ui wuu
centrated gloom on her pale, intellectual brow,
and about the lines of her sternly compressed
lips. Mr. Holdweg, sitting on the oppositt
side of the fireplace, watched her intently, as
if striving to read her inmost thoughts. Al
last, with au effort, she slowly looked up and
met his gaze.
"Things grow worse every day," she said in
a low, reluctant tone, as if the words were being
drawn from her against her will. "My
sister is most unhappy, and her unhappiness
is mine. It breaks my heart to see her striving
with her sorrow, and yet not be able tc
comfort her."
"She does not come to you for comfort?"
"Ah ! no?no, she never comes to me. Sine*
this trouble, she notices me less than ever,'
replied Virgilia, bitterly.
"Ah ! and your youngster?the beautiful
sister with the golden hair. She cannot console
her, either."
"Do not name her!" cried Virgilia, clench
ing her hands ; "it is she who is the cause ol
all our misfortunes?it is she who has wroughl
evil to me from her babyhood. That I raigh!
forgive?but to have her murder Edna's hap
piness, that I can never, never forgive. She
has come between me dnd Edna's love, like ac
evil shadow, all her life; but I strove not tc
hate her, until she turned to sting the bosom
that had cherished her?the tenderest heart
that ever beat, to her; though to me cold, cold
as marble."
"She is ungrateful then, this beauteous
Claribel."
"She has always been ungrateful. Sht
loves Jeannette far better than she does Edna.'
"And your sister Edoa is very, very unhap
py ?"
"Yes ; but she does not speak of it. She
strives to appear calm, and to avoid watching
and questioning. She goes about her duties at
she used, but she moves as silently as a shadow
and grows paler and thinner every day."
"Ah I poor lady. It must be a heavy griei
she has to bear. How long is it since hei
lover has been to your home?"
"Claribel's lover, you mean," said Virgilia
with a bitter smile.
"But that is not an acknowledged fact, if
it, vie in Frdulein f"
"No, not yet?but where is the use of keep- |
! ing up such a miserable sham ? Hugh Thorn- j
- : ton was at our house two days ago. I did not
see him ; I was up in my room."
"Does Claribel receive him when he comes?" j
I | "No; jately she has kept out of the way. j
6ut|it is likely they may meet at other times." 1
You are sure then that she returns bis j
' | love?"
II "Yes, I am sure of it now. I thought dif''
ferently at first."
?| "What a pity that she was at home when
" j Mr. Thornton returned from Europe. If she
" i could only have been absent on a ntue visii,
4 ; somewhere, and left the coast clear for your !
? eldest sister!"
1 "But that was precisely the case; she was
1 away for ten days after he came."
"Was that so? You see, mein Fr&ulein,
1 she is undoubtedly the more beautiful of the
i two; and man, roving man, seeks ever the
1 fairest flowers."
| "Yes, that is their creed," said Virgilia, in a j
1 scornful tone. "Constancy is never their j
I motto."
1 "They leave the nobler virtues to your sex, j
1 dear lady. But your forsaken sister?does she ;
' i turn against Claribel ?"
"No?she simply avoids her, or rather the
' avoidance is mutual. Claribel keeps out of J
' her way, and shuts herself up a good deal in j
k her chamber. When they meet they are out-'
wardly the same as usual. Our life at home, i
1 is like a play upon the stage, everything on j
? the surface ; the real life hidden under a pre-1
! tence, which must be put away before long." j
"These pretences are sometimes necessary. .
" Fate compels us to assume them."
> "I abhor pretence. Why does not Hugh
Thornton say at once, boldly, what his feelings
are, instead ol hovering anout i^ana, as 11 ne ;
still cared for her, while all the time she, and '
' everybody, know that his heart is CJlaribel's
?"
1 "It is a difficult thing," said Mr. Holdweg, j
' smiling, "for a man to say boldly that he is
faithless to one lady, and ask her permission
1 to wed another."
"Then why does he not go away ? Oh ! I.
1 hate him! He is a coward?a faithless, per1
jured coward. He is not worthy of Edna.
' But if she cares for him, I would shed my
heart's blood to win him back to her."
"You havestrong feelings, mien Fraulein."
"Yes. I can love, and I can hate, with all
i my heart. But I caunot sham either."
"I, too, can hate," said her teacher, in a
j lower tone. "And strange to say, in this case
; my sentiments coincide with yours. I cor?
dially hate Mr. Hugh Thornton."
"You!" said Yirgilia, looking up in sur-;
prise.
1 j "Yes. I surprise you, I see. I expected I
' j should. You were not aware, were you, that
' my acquaintanceship with Mr. Thornton is
: one of long standing?"
' i "No. I did not know you had ever met
1 him before you came to live here."
i "I met him years ago, in Italy. Let me see j
i | how many?four, five?no, seven ; seven |
| years ago. He did me an ill turn then, which j
, I have never forgotten. I do not easily for- .
" j get. One of these days I shall recompense j
' | him for it."
" j "It is strange that he has never mentioned i
I you," said Virgilia.
1 j "No. All things considered it is not very
1 i ofwonrtft T *?tll rtltm won q linlo ovnlonntlnn
oiiaugCf j. nin giTo j wu i* iivviw va|/'mumv*vmj |
I presently, of my words. You were saying
! just now, mien Friiulein, that you abhorred
pretence."
"Yes, I do."
"But suppose it were necessary for a per1
son's safety?or for some other equally good i
1 purpose?that he should assume a temporary j
disguise, would you abhor that, too ?"
Virgilia looked at him earnestly. Something
in the expression of his face struck her |
j with a curious feeling of recognition, yet of |
i whom or what, she could not tell. He saw j
j her start slightly, and smiled at her with a
' friendly air, to re-assure her.
"Dear Friiulein, do not be uneasy," he said, ;
: in a gentle voice. "J am not a bandit in dis''
guise. I will do you no harm."
j "You were not speaking of yourself, then ?"
j "I did not quite say that, either. Look '
.; you ; ao 1 not remind you or some one wnom
! ; you have seen ?"
i "Yes?but?Oh ! Mr. Holdweg, please do j
not mystify me any more," cried Virgilia,
! turning pale as she spoke, and partially rising i
I from her chair, for a vague feeling of terror J
was beginning to take possession of her.
, j "What do you mean ?"
I j "I mean that I have a secret," replied her
i teacher, "and I am going to make you the
s recipient of it. I kuow that you caunot be*:
> tray me. See here," and he lightly touched
I . his long shaggy beard, "this comes off, and my j
bushy hair too?presto! I)o you know me
II now?"
j But Virgilia had hidden her face and
' screamed as he had removed the false beard,
s and would not look up.
( "Dear Miss Vaughan," said the ci-dcvant
>; Mr. riomweg, speaking perfectly goeu it.nglish,
and in quite a different tone, "why should
J you yield to such unreasonable fears ? Look
i; at me and assure yourself of my identity."
Timidly, tremblingly, Virgilia raised her |
eyes.
[ "Professor Graves!" she exclaimed, in deep
-! surprise.
"Hush ! breathe it softly. There is no one
. i near, or I should not have ventured on this
F exposf- at present. But I must not venture
t' too much ; I must don my hairy ornaments
t; again, lest some unlucky chance should be-1
tray me. There !?now I am the musty, fusty
; old German teacher again."
i | "But why," faltered Virgilia in bewilder>
ment. He interrupted her, smiling,
i "I know all you would ask?I know, too,
t that I have run the risk of forfeiting your confidence
and your esteem, by the confession of'
this little deception. But it is a proof of the
i faith I have in your generosity, your true no!
bility of soul, that I have chosen you as my
?i confidante in this affair. Miss Vaughau, you j
' ' have heard of political exiles?men who have
, been forced to leave their native land to es.
cape persecution because of their adherence
i' to principles which their conscience would not
; permit them to forsake?"
i | "Yes."
,1 "You think it no crime in them to baffle the
vigilance of their enemies by the assumption
f of a feigned name and garb."
r j "No," murmured Virgilia, who was still too
j bewildered to answer except in monosyllables.
, | "Then you will not refuse to pardon me for
i the duplicity of which I have been guilty? 1
i J of which I must still be guilty, as regards evi
cry one but yourself, until the time is past |
when danger would attend the discovery of ^
the truth. In me you behold one of those un- (
fortunate exiles of whom I have spoken, driv- :
en by the decrees of a tyrannical government
to seek an asylum iu your hospitable land. I
cannot yet reveal any true name, even to
you." .
"Your name, then, is not really Graves ?"
"No?no more than it is really Holdweg.
Dear Miss Vaughan, I appeal to your generosity
not to press me farther on the subject.
My confidence must of necessity be only a
partial one. But this much I will tell you,
that the name I am forced for the present to a
conceal is one which for many generations !
has been bright with the lustre of untarnished ; (
honor,-and stands high?higher than you I r
would perhaps believe, were I to tell you?in I j
the annals of my country. In your demo-1 c
cratic America," he added, smiling, "perhaps ! c
this fact would be of little weight. Yet it j c
must count for something, I should hope, in I t
the estimation of those v^hose true aristocracy j j
of feeling teaches them to withdraw instinct- j ,
ively from contact with the mean and low."
There was a silence of several moments.
Virgilia had turned partially from him, and
with her hand resting on the table, and her
eyes bent upon the floor, appeared to be considering
deeply. Mr. Holdweg?for we must
still call him by that name?paced several
times up and down the room in perfect silence,
his arms crossed upon his breast, while occasionally
he directed a searching glance at his
companion, who stood as motionless as a statue,
until at length he paused in front of her,
and spoke in a low, deprecating tone.
"Miss Vaughan, have I sinned beyond forgiveness?
Is my conduct unpardonable in
your eyes?"
Virgilia looked up, her cheeks flushing,
and her glance kindling.
"So far from it," she replied, "I thank you l
for the confidence which you have reposed in r
me, and assure you that I will not prove un- g
worthy of your trust. Your secret shall be s
as safe with me as if you had never revealed
it." i
"I felt assured of that," he rejoined, "be- t
fore I spoke. You do not blame me, then?" j
"No, I have faith in you, and believe that (
the motives which actuate you are lofty and ^
pure."
She held out her slight hand as she spoke, x
and her teacher, with a reverent gesture, j
clasped it in his. t
"Sublime faith?sublime charity !" he ex- }
claimed. "Mass Vaughan, I can but feebly t
express to you, in words, the gratitude I feel (
for your kindness ; but my actions shall testi- e
fy to it in all time to come. Ah ! how truly x
I felt, when fate first brought us together, that j
there was a bond of sympathy between us, f
unseen by others, yet linking our souls as ?
surely to each other as though they were t
bound by a tangible fetter?that secret unison (
of our finest sensibilities, our loftiest thoughts, j
which exists between natures cast in the same (
mould, and which no time can obliterate, nor t
separation destroy! You believe in the exis- ?
tence of such an affinity,do ?ou not?" t'
"I have read of such things," murmured t
Virgilia, in a tone of awe. Like one fasci- 1
nated, she kept her gaze riveted upon him as i
he spoke, and made no effort to detach her t
hand from his grasp. (
"You do not, cannot, reject a theory so 1
knn..(U'.il on siioinp 1 fnr thp first. tl'mP t
UUUUtlXUi, OU Ml T >U\y AMMIJ4V* W*?W M.V. . .
I fully realize the joy of knowing that henceforth
I can no longer be alone. Whatever
vicissitudes in life fall to my lot, I shall be
sustained by the consciousness that a sistersoul
is passing with mine through every trial,
every joy. Destiny has so ordained it. We
cannot, if we will, alter her decree. Miss
Vaughan. you tremble?is there something so
fearful to you in the thought of this soulunion
?"
"I cannot understand it," said Virgilia, in
an agitated tone. "It is all mysterious?dim
and vague?like the phantoms of a dream,1
which elude me when I strive to see them j
more clearly. My comprehension is too feeble
to grasp the truth in its whole beauty and
force."
"'Tis the natural shrinking of an inexperienced
mind. Once accustomed to its contemplation,
you will revel in the discovery as |
I do. See there," and he pointed through the j
window at the rays of the setting sun, which j
at that moment broke through the clouds and I
mist, gilding, with rainbow light, the land- j
scape glistening in the newly fallen rain ; 1
"even so will wisdom's rays one day scatter j
the clouds which obscure our miuds, and illumine
these faint revelations, which dawn but J s
* * ?j 1: i .,4.. !
lmperiecuy upon us now, who uazzuug uc?ui,jr
and clearness."
"You said," observed Virgilia, aftera pause, !
"that you could help me in my present troubles.
How is that possible ?"
"I can and will help you. But nothing j
rash?nothing premature must be done. Before
I decide upon anything, you must answer
tne first, clearly and positively, some questions j
I shall ask you. First, do you desire to win
Hugh Thornton back to his first love?" j
"Yes ; but that, I fear, is not in my power."
"Never mind that. I have promised you
my aid ; have I not ? Next, do you trust
me?not partly, not fearfully, but wholly and
implicitly? Pause before you reply." I
Virgilia pondered, with bowed head, then
raising her eyes to her companion's face, an- j
swered in a firm tone, "I do."
"That is well. Thirdly and lastly, do you
promise to submit yourself, in this matter, j
wholly to my guidance?"
"I promise, willingly." j
"And now," said Mr. Holdweg, with a sud- j
den change of manner, "I must not detain you
any later. See ; the sun is already below the
horizon, and soon it will be growing dark.
Wrap your shawl well around you, for the g
evenings are chilly now when once the twi- i
light tut is. uooa-nignt, my pupu: ,,
"Good-night, sir," said Virgilia, as she me- (
chanically obeyed his directions ; and as he i t
dismissed her with a parting pressure of the ?
hand, sheset out like one in a dream, on her |,
homeward way. j ]
"What have I promised ?" she murmured t
to herself more than once, as she slowly re- ?
traced her path through the woods, all sodden g
aud wet with the rain; while the evening!,
shadows crept mistily about her, aud the dis-' n
tant voice of an owl, uttering an occasional (
raelaucholly hoot, came like a harbinger of;fi
evil to her ears. i 8
[to be continued next week.]
tkiff" Speak as little as may be of thy neigh- c
bor, or of anything that concerns him, unless f
an opportunity offers to say something good of '
J him. 1
pstorg of
Written for the Yorkville Enquirer.
HISTORICAL SKETCHES
OF THE
Early Settlement of South Carolina.
BY REV. ROBERT LATHAH.
(CONTINUED FROM LAST WEEK.)
On the death of Joseph Blake, in 1700,
Toseph Morton, the oldest landgrave, was, by
i majority of the deputies of the proprietors,
ilected Governor. The intentions of the
jrand Council were thwarted, and Morton
lever entered upon the duties of the office,
n the colony there was a man by the name
>f James Moore. This Moore was a restless
iharacter, hopelessly involved in debt. Withlut
extraordinary endowments, he was ambiious,
reckless and unscrupulous. Governed
n hisacts, not bv principle, but by policy, he
cno rpnrlv tr? Hnnnvthin^ or esDouse the cause
" ~??J -? J o -- 1
ifany party, provided there was a slight hope
hat such a course on his part would retrieve
lis ruined fortune or exalt him to position.
Vioore was one of those Btrangely constituted
nen who are never in their element unless
ipposiug some measure or some person. Eve y
time that Moore's name occurs in the previous
history of the colony, it is connected
vith some opposition movement. He was not
ilways on the wrong side; for he was, no
loubt, one of those vascillating creatures that
eadily unites with any party, and as readily
juits it.
The history of James Moore and Nicholas
Trott is intimately associated with all the
ivents of the colony, from the time of which
ve are speaking up to the time that it passed
>ut of the hands of the proprietors into the
lands of the crown of England ; a period of
learly twenty years. Both were unprincipled
tnd designing men, and were capable of intigating
others to perpetrate base deeds.
When the majority of the deputies of the
iroprietors, in accordance with the constituional
regulations of the colony, chose Joseph
Norton as Governor, James Moore, also one
>f the deputies, opposed the choice, on the
ground that Morton had been commissioned
fudge of Admiralty, by the King of England.
\.ll the previous history of Moore proves
bat this was a vile subterfuge. It was true
hat Morton was Judge of Admiralty, and
lad been advanced to this position of honor
>y the King; but this could not, in itself,
lisable him from exercising the office of Governor
of the colony. Neither the Charter
lor the Fundamental Constitutions of the
jrovince made any provision for any such ofice
as Morton held. The necessity of such
in office was admitted by all. Admitting
bat it was unsafe in any individual in the col>ny
to hold office at the same time under the
jroprietors and under the King of England?
>r rather, to hold two offices at the same
ime?one under the proprietary government,
ind the other under the Crown of England;
fames Moore was the last man in the world
bat should have objected to such a thing,
tie had, but a short time before this, been negotiating
with the King of England to work
he mines of the province for the promotion
)f the interest of his majesty. So secret had
his negotiation in reference to the working of
lie mines been conducted, that it is very probible
that few, if any, of the colonists, except
hose immediately concerned in the scheme,
mew anything about it. Had they known
his fact, it is reasonable to suppose that they
ivould have rebutted Moore's arguments
tgainst Morton with his own conduct. The
inly reason why James Moore did not hold a
jommission from the King of Eugland was,
hat the English Board of Trade did not see
it to give him one.
The unblushing audacity of Moore prevailid,
and he, we may say, thrust himself upon
he people as Governor. He commenced his
idministration with a kind of political fraud
ind deception, and its continuation was mark- j
;d by a series of outrages seldom equaled in j
die annals of government. In fact, the com-!
neucement of James Moore's administration |
narks the beginning of the downfall of the ;
proprietary government in South Carolina.
A few individuals, amongst whom was
Nicholas Trott, constituted themselves into a j
iind of oligarchal rulers and inflicted upon the >
people trouble of mind, suflering or ooay,anu
ntolerabie expense. Sometimes these self* '
instituted managers of the affairs of the col- i
>ny were agreed amongst themselves, and
lometimes they were not. To these restless
ind evil-designing spirits, it was a matter ofi
,he utmost importance to have the members I
>f the Grand Council, and also of the Assemjly,
either to think as they thought, or to be j
vholly under their control. In November, j
L701, a new Assembly was chosen. All kinds j
>f frauds were practiced. Persons, in every
ense disqualified by law to vote, were taken j
o the polls and voted. Strangers, aliens, \
legroes and mulattoes were not only permit- j
ed to vote, but solicited to do so. Iu this j
raudulent way some "men of no seuse and ;
:redit" were chosen members of the Assembly. J
rhose who opposed such a course were rudely i
reated by the frantic mob which espoused j
he side of the Governor and his party. At!
his time Lord Granville was Palatine, and he !
sanctioned the course of Moore, first by con- j
irming him in the office of Governor, and
hen by treating with contempt any petition i
lint urn a apnt nn hv the Deoule of the colouv
w -J- -J ------ ,, I
isking for relief from the high handed raeas- i
ires of the Governor.
Notwithstanding the fact that Moore had
lucceeded in having several individuals chosen
nerabers of the Assembly, who were wholly
inder his control, still the majority of the As- j
lembly was true as steel. When the Asseraily
convened, petitions were sent up from va- j
ious quarters, but especially from Colleton !
:ounty, asking an investigation of the official
londuct of the sheriff, who had acted as man- j
iger at the precinct where the illegal votes i
vere cast. To prevent an investigation, j
Vloore, by a wise stroke of policy, prorogued i
lie Assembly. Previous to this, Moore had j
ittempted to have a bill passed by the As- j
embly, which was designed to give him, indi-j
ddually, a monopoly of the Indian trade.;
The object of Moore, in securing the office of;
jovernor, was to repair his ruined fortune
ind amass a large estate. This purpose he
teadily kept in mind.
. By some freak of fortune, Nicholas Trott!
ipposed this bill for monopolizing, the Indian !
rade, and it was defeated. The probability
s that had Trott been a sharer in its gains
le would not have opposed it; but since
Governor Moore alone was to be benefitted j
by the passage of the proposed bill, Trott op- j
posed it, and mainly by his opposition it was |
defeated. During the session of 1701, but few !
laws were enacted, and none of very great
importance to the prosperity of the colony.
The time of the members was consumed in angry
tind excited debates. There was one law
ratified on the 1st of March, 1701, which serves
to confirm the truthfulness of one of the traditions
of the country. It is well known to all
the old inhabitants of the State that less than
a century ago the country was full of wild
horses. Such was the case within the recollection
of some persons still living. In Fairfield
county there is a stream which is now
known by the local name of Horse river. The
original name of the stream was Horse-Pen
Branch. This name was given to the stream
nfilinWll/ltod nfillfl tlPflT it
UCV/AUOC bliC lCkL U1C10 UUIIOUI UVWU ^/wuw ?<?? ?? .v
for the purpose of catching wild horses.
Now, the question may be asked, how did
the wild horses get into the country? It is
well known that when the colony was first
planted at Charles Town, there were neither
hogs, horses nor cows in the territory. Horses
were brought from the northern colonies,
but especially from Virginia. Great numbers
of these animals were, during the few last
years of the seventeenth century, driven from
Virginia to Charles Town. Some were sold
to the planters; but the larger number of them
were turned loose in the swamps. Here they
were permitted to remain, summer and winter,
and in these swamps they increased in numbers,
and in a short time many of them became
so wild as never to be recovered by
their owners. As the low country became
more densely populated and the swamps
drained, the wild horses, as well as the other
wild animals, made their way into the upcountry.
The northern colonies, and especially
Virginia, made South Carolina a grazing
ground. Any and every kind of horses
were brought into the colony, and turned out
to graze. This had a tendency to increase
the number of horBes, but to injure the quality.
The planters paid little attention to breeding,
either fine or serviceable horses; but depended
upon what was called "woods colts."
To prevent stock being driven into the
State, and "for the better encouragement of
more serviceable horses to be bred amongst
us," the Assembly passed a law that twentyfive
dollars should be paid for each horse
brought by land into the colony.
It is probable that this had the effect to
lessen the number of horses brought into the
settlement about Charles Town; but it did not
wholly prevent the practice.
We find that forty years after this, the practice
of driving horses from Virginia to South
' * " ?*- j T>:-I?a
uarouna sun couuuueu. ivivuoiu jvihwbuu |
came to Fairfield county about 1745. He
came from Virginia, and settled on the Wateree,
in the eastern part of Fairfield county.
His descendants, at least many of them, still
form a part of the population of the county.
He was a man of considerable wealth for that
time, and brought with him a large amount of
stock, amongst which were fifty brood horses.
Whilst this subject is under consideration,
we cannot refrain from remarking that the
general features of the up-country have been
very greatly changed in the last one hundred
and twenty-five years. At that time, according
to reliable traditions, there were but few
large trees in the forests, and the country was,
during the summer,covered with clover and
wild pease. Many of the branch bottoms aud
some of the ridges, were covered with canes.
Stock of all kinds became fat during the summer,
and suffered but comparatively little
during the winter. A large portion of Abbeville
county was, when first settled, a canebrake,
and all the Wateree section of Fair
field was covered with red clover; and in some
sections it still remains in spite of the raids
made upon the forest by the devotees of cotton.
These facts, together with others of a
similar kind, which might be presented, accounts
for the practice of the Virginians driving
their horses down into South Carolina;
and also for the fact that there were many
wild horses in the country shortly after its
first settlement.
We now return to the main subject. In
April, 1702, Governor Moore again summoned
the Assembly. So soon as tbey met, the
members concluded that it was to their interest
to adjourn until the 5th of May. The
reason assigned for this was, that since most of
the members were planters, and April was the
month for planting the crops, it was irapor-1
tant for them to be at home superintending
their farms. On the 5th of May they met,
and Governor Moore abused them for adjourning,
charging them with selfishness. To
retaliate, he prorogued the Assembly till August.
It is clear that bitter feelings existed.
The Assembly had lost all couhdence in tne |
Governor, if, indeed, it ever had any; and j
the Governor was bitterly enraged by the in-1
dependent course of the Assembly.
To increase the mutual distrust, it was cur- j
rently reported that, at the suggestion of Rob- j
ert Daniel, the Governor had determined to j
declare martial law. This infuriated the As-1
serably, and but for a shrewd device of the j
Governor, something in keeping with their :
feelings might have been done. For several
reasons Governor Moore determined to make j
an attack upon St. Augustine. The real ob-1
ject of the Governor was, in all probability,;
to capture Indians and reduce them to slaves, i
and plunder the Spanish towns.
No friendly feelings existed between the
colonists and the Spanish; and no doubt Moore :
thought that by proposing to the Assembly
an expedition again3t St. Augustine, he could
rliwprt f.hfiir minds from the frauds which had i
been practiced in the receut election. The
expedition was proposed, and with closed
doors the Assembly began the discussion.
All those in the colony who knew anything
about the fortiBcations of St. Augustine, were
summoned before the Assembly and asked to
communicate all they knew. This was justj
ou the eve of the breaking out of "Queen !
Anne's war" or the war of the "Spanish Sue-'
cession." It seems that when Moore proposed j
the expedition against St. Augustine, nothing 1
was known in America about this war be-!
tween England and Spain, and that the As-1
sembly opposed the Governor's scheme until ;
it was ascertained that war was declared. j
Governor Moore had, at least, a plausible !
pretext for undertaking this military expedi-1
tion. The Spanish of St. Augustine had, at j
various times, made unprovoked attacks upon ;
the settlers in South Carolina. In 1686 they
came to Port Royal with three galleys, and,
in a most inhuman way, destroyed the infant
colony planted at that point by Lord Cardross.
From thence they proceeded to North Edisto,
plundered and burnt everything before them,
and carried away a number of prisoners,
amongst whom were the brother and brotherin-law
of Governor Morton. Their ravages
upon the people were stopped by a storm.
Two of their galleys were blown to the shore
and rendered useless. On one of these vessels
was the captive, Morton, in chains. So
soon as the Spanish saw that the vessel could
not be relieved, they set it on fire, and left
Morton bound. Both were consumed. This
was barbarously cruel.
In the early part of 1702, another design
was formed against the colony in South Carolina,
by the Spaniards of St. Augustine. An
army of nine hundred Appalachee Indians
was raised by them and actually on its march,
before the settlers learned that the Spaniards
had aDy intention of attacking the colony.
The Creek Indians, who were on amicable
terms with the whites of South Carolina,
made the discovery and communicated the
fact to the traders. These traders collected,
as speedily as they could, five hundred Creek
Indians and set out to meet the invaders in
the territory now belonging to the State of
Georgia, on the Flint river. Late in the
evening both armies met on the banks of the
river and camped for the night, expecting to
begin the attack early in the morning. It
was a custom amongst the Indian tribes to
commence battle early in the morning?long
before the sun rose. The traders and Creek
Indians, aware of this fact, bad recourse to a
stratagem which succeeded in securing them
a complete victory, and in driving the invaders
back. Long before day, the traders and
Creek Indians got up, kindled their campSres,
and then retired into the surrounding
forest. Their blankets and camp stuff were
all arranged as if they were still quietly reposing
in camp. Soon the Appalachees, led on
by the Spaniards, raised the war whoop, and
rushed into the camp of the Creeks. They
found nothing but empty blankets. The bewilderment
was of short duration, for the ambushed
traders and Creeks poured in a deadly
volley of arrows and bullets, which soon put
the enemy to flight. It is true that these invaders
did not reach the settlement; but evidently
the destruction of the South Carolina
colony was its design.
(to be continued next week.)
IpscrlkttMUjs jtwdimj.
"HE FIT WITH STONEWALL JACKSON."
He was at the Central Station yesterday,
waiting to go to the County Insane Asylum.
There was a wild look in his eyes, and now
and then he muttered to himself; but one would
sooner think him the victim of poverty and
hard luck than a lunatic. Hisgarments were
faded and rent, the left arm was off at the elbow,
he had a painful limp, and he was old
and gray. Suddenly pausing in his walk, he
stood at "attention" and exclaimed :
"Right dress?front!"
Some of the men looked up, and the old
man continued:
"I fit with Stonewall Jackson?that's what
ails me."
"Were you a soldier?" asked one of the
men who had carried a musket for three years.
The old man regarded him with a look of
pity and contempt, and loftily replied :
"T will show vou !"
He had his coat and vest off in a moment,
and, pulling open his old woolen shirt, pointed
to a terrible scar.
"Was struck there with a bayonet," said
the old man.
He exposed his left thigh, and there was
another terrible scar, showing where an ouBce
ball had plowed its way, and explaining why
he limped.
"Got that fightin' with Stonewall Jackson 1"
he said, his voice betraying pride.
He mutely pointed to his maimed arm,
waited a full minute, and then whispered:
"I got that under Stonewall Jackson, too!"
He stood at "attention" again, his eyes
fixed on the wall. His face was hard and
stern for a moment, but then it softened and
lighted up. He seemed to see a picture of
the past on the blank wall, and presently he
was wearing the gray again. He trembled
with excitement as he wheeled around and exclaimed
:
"Did I fight with Stonewall Jackson ? You
bet I did !"
Waiting a moment he sat down and continued
:
"'Member when we'uns came down on you'uns
in the Wilderness I I saw him a dozen
times that day, and we'uns knew you'uns
would catch blazes. Forward, forward?
march, march, all day long, uo rest, no rations,
no let up. Old uncle Robert (General
Lee) had sent for Jackson, and Jackson was
bound to be thar in time. Along the road,
across the fields, and just at dark we struck
you'uns?struck like a tornado! Down along
the thickets?through the woods?across the
swamps, and you'uns didn't see we'uns com;n???
*"6
"Great blazes!" continued the old man, as
he sprang up. "We charged right down
among you'uns, doubled the liue up and drove
it. That's who Stonewall Jackson was?that
is how we fit. I got this ere hurt in the hip
there, and while I was lying there, you'uns
chawed this arm off with grape-shot. Die ?
Lots o' gray backs would have died, but
wasn't I under Jackson?old Stonewall ? We
fit, sir?we couldn't stop long enough to die!"
His eyes flashed, color came to his face, and
for a moment he showed all the pride of a
veteran of Waterloo. Then his true situation
came back to him, and he sat down, excitement
and exultatiou all gone, and said :
"I havn't money enough to buy a crutch,
and my head isn't exactly right. I've surrendered
to you'uns, and you'uns are going to
take me somewhere. I'm old and used up,
and I wish I'd died uiyler Jackson !"
The men waited awhile and then questioned
him, but he fixed his gaze on the wall and
made no reply. When the officer came to
escort him to the depot he noticed the old j
o t-\ '<-1 1 n rvi a*> ao pi on/) o o lr oa]
lUrtU O JdlUCUCOO UUU UCQ.V/U
"Shall we take a car ?"
"No, sir," was the prompt reply; "for- j
ward?guide right?'arch?I fit with Stonewall
Jackson!"?Detroit Free Press.
The Deacon and His Calf.?Last Sunday,
just as one of our straightest deacons was
getting ready to shake the lines over his horse's
back, and say "ge dap," his wife happeued to
remember that the calf hadn't been fed. The
deacon looked at his Sunday clothes, and observed
that he dicl not deem it incumbent
upon him to suffer for the negligence of others;
to which the deaconess replied that such lan-1
guage in the presence of the children, on a !
Sunday morning, and from a pillar of the ;
church, was enough to shake one's belief in
the professions that bad been made by some '
rtrvnlA nomo TKn rlnannn Konrlo/1 4VIA ;
UUOOUC tuuiu UftUICt JlUV uvuvvu uwuwww ?uv i
liues to his eldest boy, and climbed over the
wheel, without saying a word. He went
around to the front door, and took the door
key from under the mat, came around to the ;
back door, and as he was trying topnt the key
in the hole, the key slipped from his hand and j
slid down into the mud. Finally he got into
the kitchen and started for the barn yard with
the milk. He set the pail down on the ground
and called to the calf, but the beast whisked
his tail iu the air, and bellowed at him. Then
he captured the animal and pulled it along
by the ears and jammed its head into the pail,
but the calf gave a spring, sending the milk
in a cloud of spray over the deacon's shirt
front. In trying to recapture the beast the
deacon dropped his hymn book out of his
pocket, and before he could rescue it the calf
stepped both feet on it and tore the cover off.
The deacon got mad. He took a hop-pole
and belabored the calf. One end of the pole
struck the shed, and bounding up, knocked
the deacon's plug hat off. It rolled directly
under the calf, who set his foot through the
tile, and then went tearing around the yard
with bis tail in the air, and that hat fastened
just above the knuckle joint. The deacon
went into the house, and as he unbuckled his
shirt-collar, he called out, "Maria, you go to
church, and if anybody asks after me, tell
them I staid at home to feed the calf!"
STORY OF AN ELEPHANT.
Elephants have a decided liking for military
life. Various regiments whilst serving in
the East have had such an animal, which often
rendered good service to the corps to which
he might be attached. The King's Rangers
at one time were in possession of a fine male
of enormouse size, which for many years was
never once absent from parade. At soon as
the bugle sounded, he would walk majestically
to the place of muster, and take up his position
at the right of the column. If the mahout
or driver presented himself, the elephant
would lift him on to his shoulders by means
of his trunk, and evidently without the slightest
effort to himself; but, if left to his own
unaided intelligence, he obeyed the ordinary
words of command without ever making a
mistake, such as "Right face," "March,"
"Mark time," "Halt." He insisted at all
times on giving help to the men whenever
they were engaged in loading or unloading
baggage, and was evidently pleased to be allowed
to make himself generally useful.
When the wagons were impeded on the march,
as it not unfrequeutly happened, Jock was
duly sensible of his own importance, for by
his enormous strength be would push a heavy
load up a steep declivity, which six or eight
oxen failed to do without his assistance.
It happened that the Rangers were suddenly
ordered to embark for China, and there
was no accommodation for taking Jock on
shipboard. To the great disappointment of
the men, the authorities decided thathe should
be left in India. He was, however, permitted
to accompany the regiment as far as the quay,
to watch the troops as they went on board,
many of whom had a parting word of kindness
for their old comrade. Good-by, old
man?"Poor old Jock"?were repealed, with
many variations, both by officers and men.
Meanwhile the animal watched the proceedings
with great apparent interest, as if wondering
when his own turn would come to go
on board. But when the vessel steamed off
and left him ashore, he became frantic with
rage and disappointment. It had been proposed
that be should be transferred to another
corps, but he most persistently refused to
have any thing to do with it. Neither the
coaxing nor the threats of his mahout were of
any avail. Though he had previously manifested
the gentlest disposition, he now threateningly
withstood all kindly advances on the
part of his would-be comrades, and at length
so savage did he become that it was deemed
expedient to place him in confinement. Even
the mahout himself was several times placed
in a very awkward predicament, and on one
occasion barely escaped with his life. No
means could be found to assuage the grief^r
to calm the anger of this faithful creature
who so constantly mourned the loss of his
friends. But, in little less than two years,
the Rangers came hack to their old quarters,
and were informed of the melancholy change
which had come over their old comrade. ,
"No go near?no touch, sahib; he stri&e
hard," said the mahout; "he kill."
"Why, Jock, my boy," said a young officer,
formerly one of his special friends "why,
what's the matter ?" .
' The animal pricked up his ears;-.and instantly
recognized the voice, which was proved
by his manifesting unmistakable signs and
sounds of joy. It was quite affecting to see,
when once more he was permitted freely to
repair to the parade-ground, with what kindly
recognition he embraced many of his companions,
placing his trunk tenderly on their neck
and shoulders. I need hardly say he was at
once reinstated in his old regimental post, the
duties of which he recommenced to discharge
as if no interruption had taken place.
A Memorable Year.?"Eighteen hundred
and starved to death," was the grim
name given by old New England farmers to
the year 1816?the year without a summer.
The winter months were unusually mild ; the
latter part of March and the first of April
were not unseasonable; but the weather grew
colder as April advanced, and ended with
snow and ice. In May ice formed half an
inch thick ; buds and fruit were frozen, corn
killed, and the fields were replanted again
and again. Never was there known such a
June. Frost, ice and snow were frequent.
In Maine and Vermont snow fell to the depth
of several inches?also in Massachusetts and
the interior of New York. On the 5th of
* n J At 1 A XT V 1
jujy ice was xornieu mrouguuut new j.ui*,
New England, and some parts of Pennsylvania.
August was even more cheerless. With
ice forming half an inch in thickness, Indian
corn frozen, and almost every green thing destroyed,
what wonder that the hearts of the
farmers were heavy, and a gloom spread
throughout the whole country! In September
thefe were two weeks of warm weather ;
then these son became cold, and in November
there was good sleighing. Such, in brief,
was the "cold summer of 1816," when the
sun's rays seemed to be destitute of all heat.
Don't Tell All You Know.?It is a
bad plan to place unreserved confidence in
man or woman. Never tell any one everything
about yourself?let there be a little
mystery and reserve; your friends then will
like you all the better for it. A book that
you "know by heart" must inevitably be cast
aside for a fresh volume; so will you be served
if you allow yourself to be thoroughly read.
But be prepared, in any emergency, to look
your own life and acts squarely in the face
without ever flinching, or making vourself a
coward. It is not necessary to publish to the
world all that is strictly personal, unless ridicule
and frittering of powers are desired; but
if gossip makes itself busy with your name,
do not be aggrieved if a grain of truth is
spread over a dozen of lies. Pass them by in
silence, and do not even then forget your habitual
reticence. Justice will be done you in
lime, never fear, and the less you clamor for
it the better. Don't talk too much.
? ^ +
Indian Tradition.?Here is the Yute account
of the creation : "In the beginning the
earth was covered with mists. You could not
see before you. The Great Spirit took his
bow and arrows and shot?shot so well that
he scattered the mist. The earth became visible
to him, but there were no medf:upbn it.
Then he took clay, fashioned a man and set
him to bake. Man came out white; the fire
had not been strong enough. The Great Spirit
began his work again, and this time the
man came out quite black ; he hsid remained
too long in the oven. It was necessary to try
a third time. The experiment at length succeeded,
and man came out done to a turn ; he
traa#'redskin, the most perfect^ium