Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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lewis m. gbist, Proprietor, ^it | itbtpiitnl jfamilj ftefospapcr: Jfor % promotion of % political, Social, ^jriraltnral aitlr Commercial Interests of tjje Sont^. teems?$3.00 A tear, in advance. VOL. 22. YOBKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, JANUARY 27,1876. STQ. 4. JU ?rigi#al Jteg. A THRILLING STORT OF WESTERN LIFE. BY MRS. HENRY DEAS. CHAPTER VIII. Having made this brief digression, we will now return to Esther and the other inmates of the little household, which had become en^ shrouded in so dark a cloud of sorrow and suspense. It was now midsummer. The tropical vegetation of the valley was at its richest point Flowers of wonderful magnitude, beauty and variety were scattered far and wide, delighting the eye, and filling the soft air with their subtle and penetrating perfume. The atraos? * ? Otiri wKlofl puoru WHO pciicvii y mo uim might otherwise have been too ardent, being tempered by refreshing breezes from the surrounding mountains, which protected this favored nook alike from too oppressive a heat and from the rigour of the cold northern blasts. Had Raymond been with her, how ' would Esther have revelled in all this loveliness, which dawned on her unaccustomed eyes like a glimpse of the storied Arcadia, realizing what had hitherto seemed but the flights of fancy, or the rainbow pictures of a dream. But alas! his presence wanting, and without him at her Bide to point out Nature's charms, and be her companion in their enjoyment, they fell almost unnoticed upon her senses, all dulled and unfitted as they were to appreciate them. One absorbing thought, haunting her day and night, excluded gladness from her heart. Yet the intense love she bore her child sustained her, and prevented her yielding, without restraint, to the bur? den of her grief. % In his infant, features she was consoled to trace a daily-increasing resemblance to those of his father; and she never wearied of gazing upon them, as they developed in beauty and intelligence. He was a child of much promise; large, active and vigorous, and early manifested unusual precocity both of mind and body. He was the light of his mother's eyes, the centre of her saddened life. No wonder she poured out ? ?k - ?? . 1 svrat l/l/vlniiiAlia fUo upon 111Ul WIVU aiUJODb luuiatiuua muui iub fall tide of the affection which had no other channel to flow into, since its once most fondly cherished object bad been removed. To Picciola, too, the little fellow was a source of great interest and delight. She constituted herself his nurse, at those rare times when he was not under his mother's care, and her devotion to him was almost equal to that of a near relative. One day Esther was sitting near the front door, watching her young attendant as she walked to and fro with the baby in her arms, WtretTshc perceived S?fior Alaaquaa, an hownn , back, advancing toward the house. A con- ! siderahle time had elapsed since she had seen i him last, and her heart beat with the hope j that he might possibly briog her some tidings iD regard to her husband. He saluted her, as usual, with much defern ence; aQd noticing the child, spoke a few HV words of admiration of its beauty, as it lay asleep in Picciola's arms. Then, at Esther's invitation, followed her into the parlor, to rest and partake of some refreshment after his ride. Her feelings in regard to this man were no R wise changed. They were a curious compliesW tion of dislike, fear, and a desire to propitiate, for she felt as if in some way he were mixed up with Raymond's fate, and as if there rested with him her sole chance of ever finding out anything at all about him. She had the species of horror in approaching him that she might have felt in regard to a snake or other reptile; yet an instinctive dread of making him her enemy forbade any manifestation of her repugnance and dislike, which, in former nhfl had scarcely cared to conceal. His glance, his voice, his smile, the touch of his hand, were alike hateful to her; but she endured them all with a show of courtesy, hard as it was for here to assume it. After the exchange of some desultory remarks, the Spaniard said, lowering his voice as he glanced toward the open door? "Sefiora, I would gladly speak a few words, in private, of much import to you. Can I venture to do so here, or will you retire with me to another room ?" "You may speak here without fear of being overheard," replied Esther, resolved not go out of sight of^Picciola, who was, however, too far off for their voices to reach them. "Good. Understand, then, that I come here to-day to offer you a suggestion?a proposition?which I desire you very seriously to consider; and as my time is limited, I must present it to your notice at once." "Is it?does it relate in any way to?to my husband?" faltered Esther. "No, Seflora. Of him I can give you no news. I have already, ere this, tried to convince you of the improbability of my ever obtaining any information in regard to him." "I can never cease to hope," murmured Esther, the shadow of renewed disappointment sweeping over her face. . "Hopes, alas I too often are deceptive," said the Spaniard. "Is it wise to cherish them when they are so liable to be destroyed ?" "It may not be wise," she replied, "yet I cannot relinquish them, nor would I if I oould." a a " ka flrla nrnncr af Kpp ilUU TCb | UO 1CJV*UVU| giMuvtw^ ??? MV> drees, which was black, "you wear, outwardly, the emblem of despair." "Not of despair, but of sorrow," said Esther. "This dress corresponds with the gloom I feel, yet it does not indicate the total surrender of hope." "What I am about to say to you," said Alasquez, after a moment's silence, "relates to your present situation, and, I may add, to myself also." Esther looked inquiringly at him, but made no reply. "You are entirely alone and unprotected," he continued. "It is a most unhappy and unsuitable life for one of your age, and in your position." "It must necessarily be unhappy," she rejoined ; "but it is most suitable to my feelings. Solitude now, is a boon to me. Any society, any attempt at diversion, would prove distasteful in the highest degree." "Yet, this solitude, which is so congenial to you, is very bad, very unhealthy for you. Pardon me, Sefiora, if I seem to interfere, unwarrantably, with what, it might appear to you, does not concern me, at all; and yet, believe me, it does concern me very nearly." "I do not understand you, Sefior Alasquez," she coldly replied. "Ah 1 Sefiora. Isyour comprehension, then, so dull r "It certainly is, in this case; since I must admit that you are quite right, in believing me incapable of divining the cause of your interest in my affairs, which I supposed coni cerned mvself alone." "But now learn your error," he rejoined. "To me your welfare is of the highest importance. Your happiness, oh! beautiful, adored Sefiora, is the object which lies nearest to my heart!" His voice, while sinking almost to a whisper, had suddenly assumed, at the same time, a tone of passionate and intense devotion, while his glittering eyes were fixed intently on her face. Esther started from her seat, her cheeks aflame, her breast heaving with suppressed excitement and indignation. "Sefior Alasquez," she replied, with difficulty controlling her emotion, "this is not fitting language in which to address me; nor can I listen to the expression of a regard couched in such terms as yon have just used. If you feel an interest in my welfare, I must thank you ; but remember, you are an acquaintance, and nothing more." "An acquaintance only! Seiiora, your coldness wounds me, inexpressibly! Do I not, then, merit even the name of friend V' "Friend, if you will," she answered, still struggling to maintain a show of composure. "And I would be more. Oh! so much more. Listen to me, Sefiora. Nay, I entreat you, do not look so haughtily upon me. I crave your pardon if I have offended you by too sudden, too unexpected a betrayal of my' feelings. Yet it was from an irresistible impulse, which hurried me beyond the bounds of prudence ere I was aware. Tell me that I have not transgressed beyond the hope of forgiveness." "I will endeavor to forget your offence," rejoined Esther, in an icy tone, and still Btauding as she spoke, "only on condition that you do not again allow yourself so far to overstep the bounds of common propriety and respect. A sentiment of real respect and regard, Sefior, would lead you to consult my feelings more carefully." "I stand rebuked," said the Spaniard, bowing low as he uttered the words, with an air of humility that had something almost of mockery in it?it was so exaggerated and overstrained. A covert smile, too, gleamed for an instant over his features ; but this, Esther, who kept her eyes averted from him, did not perceive. "Since, then, I am restricted to such formality of speech, permit me, at least, in friendly language, to continue the discussion of the subject upon which we had entered." "If you allude to my position here, I prefer not discussing that, or any other of my ? JI'M i. m MHP?n?j m m mm?I i auuirs at picocui., sue icpueu, "Even at the risk of again arousing your anger, Senora, I must repeat that you are wrong?very wrong," he continued, with a pertinacity which her freely expressed dislike to the subject did not seem to affect. "Believe me, you are exposed to many dangers here, though you have been fortunate in escaping them hitherto. Why not be persuaded to remove to a safer locality, and accept of ray guidance and protection in roa, king the move ?" I am well acquainted with I the country around, and could, without diffi| culty, transplant you into something like civi ilization, where you could be comparatively secure." "I have already told you that I feel no fear here," said Esther, with much impatience. "Why will you persist in trying to force upon me a change for which I have no inclination, and one, moreover, which I most positively decline making?" "You do, then, refuse to accept my advice?" "I do," she replied, with unmistakable decision. "After this, Senor, I trust to your I A I JI rvt Ck mr?ra in rA. I j ^UUU UlCCUlUg h\j U4U uv Uiwiv am A v I gard to the matter; but consider it laid at rest 1 at ODce and forever." "Alas!" said the Spaniard, "if I but had j the honor of occupying a higher place in your | esteem, Sefiora, I might hope ultimately to ! prevail in my arguments; but I am unhappij ly aware that I am the object of your dislike and disdain." "Whatever estimation I may hold you in," rejoined Esther, "has nothing to do with my yielding or not yielding to your representations. I prefer to exercise my own judgment | in regard to my movements, aod as my mind j is quite made up, all farther argument on the subject would be wasted." "Then, of course, I am reduced to silence," said Alasquez reluctantly. "I trust, howev- j er," he continued after a pause, "that you | will attribute the persistency of which I have 1 j been guilty to entirely disinterested and most I friendly motives ; and also that if at any fu- j i ture time you should reconsider your decision, | j you will call upon me to serve you, in any j capacity which you may desire." "Thank you," was all Esther said, for she could not bring herself to make any more j cordial acknowledgment of bis offer. After J lingering a few moments longer, her unwel- j ! come visitor, to her inexpressible relief, took t 1 t-2? n kim oitrotr ! j U1B 1CUVO , nuu as sue nnccucu uiiu I luu <*n>?j, | | a devout wish arose in her mind that it might i be long ere his presence should darken her 1 doors again. This visit of Alasquez, and the interview ! which had taken place between them, filled ; ! her with new uneasiness and apprehension.I She had shrunk in horror from his declaration J of love?or what would have been so, had she j ' | not checked it at the outset?for it had been : uttered in a manner that could leave no doubt j I in her mind of its signification. And now the fear arose, which at the time had not oc-1 j curred tojier, that by her disdainful repulsion ! of him, and the severity of her rebuke, she j I might have made him her enemy and awa- I kened in him a desire for revenge. This idea , made her tremble; not for herself, but for those dear to her?her child, her husband, if he were yet alive. Malice might prompt him to punish her in some way through them. Yet, if Raymond were living, he could not cherish a scheme of winning her affection? unless he were making them both the victims of some nefarious plot What if this were the case ? What if he actually knew of Raymond's existence. What if, oh! horrible thought, he had him in some way in his power?what might his fiendish p issions not accomplish, in working out any end he had in i view ? "Some demon has put that torturing idea ; in my mind," she said to herself over and over again, while considering the possibility of Buch a case. "It cannot be?it is only my disordered imagination, my weakened nerves, which permit me even to fancy so dreadful a conjunction of circumstances possible. Better, far, that Paul were dead, than that he should be in the power of that creature?for I feel convinced of his baseness, his vile character. His conduct to-day has justified me more than ever in my opinion of him ! To think of his daring to offer me the insult of his love?his love!?and I, but four months left a widow?if, indeed, it be widowhood ; for the blackness of suspense must hang around me still. May Heaven protect me in my loneliness and desolation. My heart warns me of some evil to come 1" In the tribulation of her spirit, the sorrowstricken woman fell upon her knees and prayed, with bitter tears, for help from the Al mighty, against all threatened dangers. Her heart was very heavy, and the fresh excitement she had undergone seemed, for the time, completely to have unstrung her nerves. She continued all through the remainder of the day in a state of the deepest dejection, and not even the presence of her baby-boy, which usually diverted her from sad thoughts, could in any way dispel the shadow that hung over her. CHAPTER IX. A month had passed since the visit of Alasquez, when one day a letter was brought to Esther, by an unknown messenger, who rode away without waiting for any answer. She was surprised at receiving any written communication in so unusual a manner; and on opening the missive, her surprise was heightened, and only equalled by her displeasure, at hnding the signature of Alasquez at the bottom of the page. It was a single large page, closely written, in small, but remarkably distinct, characters. Her first impulse was to tear it into fragments without reading it; but a second thought made her pause, in consideration that it might possibly contain some information of interest to her. It ran thus? "Profoundly Honored Senora?Since I had the misfortune so deeply to incur your displeasure, on the occasion of our last interview, I have not had the courage to intrude myself again upon your notice. For days I have, been meditating a visit to you, but have been restrained by the thought that my appearance would only create anger in your breast, and I feel that I could ill bear a repetition of the expression of your scorn. Having, however, a communication of the deepest importance to make to you, I feel it my duty to lose no time in doing so, and will, therefore, transmit it to you in writing, hoping that you will receive this dumb paper more kindly than you would myself. "Senora, be not too much startled when I assure you that your husband still lives." At this period of the letter, Esther uttered a wild cry, and dropping the paper from her hands, yielded herself, for an instant, to the most iutense excitement; but a frantic desire to more, made her nnicklv resume its perusal. "He lives; but he will not return to you. Lady, Know inac you uttve uebu u?Moiy uei>rnyeu ; luul lie in whom j'our faith was so confidingly placed is all unworthy of your affection, your trust?for he has forsaken you for another. I will, with all the brevity 1 can" command, acquaint you with the circumstances of the case. "Before the Senor Raymond went to visit the Eastern States, some two years or more ago, lie was deeply enamoured of a young Mexican girl, very handsome, and well brought up for one in her station. She belonged to an inferior class, but this did not deter him from making advances to her, which she feared, however, openly to reciprocate, being promised in marriage by her father to one of their own race, a cousin) who was then absent from this part of the country. Your husband was not eastly daunted, and made every effort to induce the girl to leave her home secretly with him, but she refused, fearing discovery and punishment, as she stood greatly in awe of her parents, who treated her with some rigor. After a time Senor Raymond went east, whether on business or not I am not aware; ana there, Senora, he won your unsuspecting heart, and obtained your hand in marriage, though solemnly pledged to the girl I have told you of, who. on her part, had promised to remain unwedded for his sake. The cousin, to whom she was espoused, soon after appeared on the scene, and her father compelled her to marry him. She was at the time little more than a child in years, and had not the courage or strength of purpose to oppose his will farther. "The newly wedded pair moved to a ranche not far from the home of her parents, and have lived there, (more or less unhappily, I am told, since she still cherished in secret her first love) since that period until within a few months ago?up to the time, in fact, of your husband's mysterious and hitherto unaccountable disappearance. The latter, after parting from me in returning from General K?'s quarters, went to their ranche, from which the husband was at the time absent, and prevailed on the girl to fly with him from her hated home. Whether she was ignorant of nw wxioirn wifK trnii T lrnATw ?rvf nnf of. oil Uli3 lUtaua^D ?? 1WU JVU, jl nuvir tlW ) w%? yj w? >? events, i.erown bonds seem to have been of less weight, in her estimation, than her attachment to him. Whither they went I have not been able to discover; though the family, who were overcome with rage and grief at her conduct, have been searching for some trace of her ever since her flight. They have probably goue to some foreign land to elude pursuit. "Now, Senora, believe me when I say that this is no idle tale, which cannot be substantiated, but a true and faithful representation of facts. I have proofo of its correctness, which I can give you, in the testimony of the young woman's own relatives, should iny simple word not be convincing to your mind. "I cannot conclude without offering you my sincerest sympathy, in this grievous trial, which, to one of your sensitive and delicate organization, must be peculiarly hard to bear. Yet I am consoled by the hope that your pride and self-respect will sustain you, and tha? in your knowledge of the base treatment you have 'received, you will be enabled to overcome the grief you have so naturally felt, at the loss of one in whom your affection was unsuspectingly, and alas! too fataily centred. "I remain, Senora, with sentiments of the most profound regard, "Your humble and ever devoted servant, "Pedro Alasquez." The concluding sentences conveyed no meaning to Esther's mind. She scarcely saw the words, so absorbingly, and with such agonized intentness, were her thoughts concentrated on the fatal news she had just read. She was trying to take it in?trying to force her understanding to a moment's steady consideration of the subject, but her brain was in a whirl, and her powers of reasoning, for the time, were suspended. The letter fell from her hands, and clasping her forehead she f a knnioU fko miata frnm kat* nr\m nro. Oil UtO IV l/ailioil Vuv iuiow it vuj uvt vutu^/i v hension, to realize clearly her own situation as it had been put before her. Paul false?Paul a base betrayer of her trust! Paul, to whom her confiding heart had gone out with such perfect unreserve? the idol of her affection?the very centre of her existence. Paul, for whom she had forsaken her home, her friends, and broken every tie of her former life?could it be that he had used her thus ? "No?no I" her heart cried out. "It cannot be! It is a slander?a vile fabrication ; believe it not." " She took the letter up again, and read over, word by word, the sentences that seemed to brand themselves like living coals upon her heart. And as she followed out the plausiblywritten tale, who can wonder that for a brief while the possibility of its truth seemed apparent to her?that her faith was temporarily shaken, the cry of her heart stifled, and that her outraged love struggled, like a wounded animal, to hide itself in obscurity and die! But that love was too ardent, that faith too firmly fixed, to be thus destroyed. The struggle was agonizing, but brief. Then the black cloud of uncertainty, of suspicion, rolled away. A thousand tender memories rose up to confute the testimony of a treacherous hand. Who was Alasquez, that she should credit his word, or what did that word weigh in the balance, against the tried affection which had so long been her stay ? No, he was endeavoring to deceive her, for some purpose of his own. And yet, what could he gain, by thus trying to blacken her husband's character in her e/es? Certainly not her favor; but rather additional loathing and hatred. The bearer of unpalatable truth is seldom welcome? still less the coiner of malicious slander. Was he merely revenging himself upon her for the iu:? ? Hllguta BOO UttU UUCICU UlLUj ui noD uc laj some deeper scheme, which time would bring to light ? She tore the hateful epistle into a dozen fragments, and citing them into the fireplace, watched tuem as tbey shriveled and blackened, and fell into ashes. "So perish calumny," she said aloud, as she turned away. "Oh 1 my husband, would that I could pray to you, on my bended knees, to forgive me for suffering one instant's doubt of your honor, to darken my soul 1" A feverish excitement possessed her all that day. She felt no inclination to indulge in tears or grief, but an intense craving to take some active measure, to break through the narrow limits which kept her, as it were, in solitary confinement?to obtain Borne 6ort of redress for her wrongs, burned within her and allowed her no rest Picciola looked anxiously at her crimsoned cheeks, her glittering eyes, and followed her with wistful glances as she moved nervously about. "Sefiora," she said once, gently touching her arm, "what ails you ? I fear you are ill. Let me do something for you." "No, I am not ill, child. Nothing is the matter," said her mistress, forcing a smile. "Why should you thi3k so?" "Because you have such a bright color, and you are always pale, and your hand burns so! Do, Sefiora, lie down and take some rest" ft T om oltvaira roa finer " Hilid Rsthflr. impatiently. "I am sick of this weary, idle life. No prisoner in a cell was ever more truly fettered than I am. This valley shuts me in like dungeon walls, and I see no means of escape. Picciola, sometimes I think I will take you and my boy, and wander off somewhere?a long way from here." "Where ?" asked Picciola, wonderingly. "Ah 1 where indeed ? Anywhere, to change the scene?to break the monotony of existence, and open a new field of thought. I fear, sometimes, that I will lose my reason, if this life lasts much longer." For an answer, Picciola brought little Paul and laid him on her lap. The instinct which prompted her to the act was a true and womanlv one, and Esther's heart responded to it, as she clasped the cmid yearningly to her bosom. "For your sake, my treasure, I will endure anything," she murmured tfiib emotion. "Heaven grant me the power to shield you from all harm !" [To be Continued.] pisterg sf tarfiita. Written for the Yorkville Enquirer. HISTORICAL SKETCHES if-j OF THE ' Early Settlement of South Carolina. BY REV. ROBERT LATHAE. THE CHEROKEE WAR. James Glen was succeeded as Governor of South Carolina by William Henry Lyttleton. One short sentence will give an accurate desscription of Lyttleton. He was a vapid coxcomb. He belonged to that class of men who, with but a small amount of sense, and incapable of turning to any wise account either their own experience or that of others, still think that they are competent to govern the world. Evidently, Governor Lyttleton was anxious to secure the approbation of the Board of Trade. The good of the colony was consulted no farther than it would concentrate the power of England over the American people, and advance, to positions of honor and offices of profit, a few favorites. After the treaty which Glen made with the Cherokee Indians, peace and harmony sub sisted between the Cherokeea and the English colony of South Carolina. Not only were the Cherokees friends to the South Carolinians, but they were friends to the English colonies generally. During the period of the French and Indian war, which was so destructive to the Northern frontiers, South Carolina enjoyed comparative peace. The Cherokees sent their brave young warriors to assist in repelling the assaults of the French and Indians in the North. South Carolina became an asylum to which many, exposed to the cruelties of savage warfare in Maryland, Pennsylvania and Virginia, fled. The fields of South Carolina began to bring forth in abundance, and the exports of the colony increased rapidly. A stream of immigration poured in from all the countries of Europe. All lived together in the enjoyment of peace and plenty. An unhappy end was brought to this prosperous and peaceable state of things by the foolish resentment of Governor-Lyttleton. We will not say that he had sinister motives in view, but we are forced to conclude that he was either a knave or a fool He acted as if he were ignorant of the fact that the Cherokees were the friends of the English. As he could not, however, have been ignorant of this fact, his acts towards them were in open violation of previous treaties, and showed that his heart was as cruel as bis judgment was weak. He was not the only individual who acted cruelly and in bad faith toward the Cherokees. In 1757, a number of the Cherokee braves volunteered to assist in protecting the English frontier settlers south of the Potomac. After they had done their part faithfully and rendered material assistance to the English Colonies, they were totally neglected ; and but for the prudent forethought and consummate wisdom of Washington, would have been left to starve or to be cut to pieces on their return home by the common enemies of both the English and Cherokees. The proud savage of the New World was, no doubt, cruel; but the colonies were not al i ways generous. The party of the Cherokees i which had left their homes and joined the Ohio expedition, found that they were treated with neglect. Cut to the heart, they determined to return to their homes. No provision was made for them. They were in a starving condition. As they passed through Virginia on their way home, they supplied their wants from the country through which they passed. In, the expedition, they had lost their horses. The horses of the Virginians were unceremoniously taken to supply their present wants. The Indians did not have very correct ideas with regard to property. This was especially the case with regard to animals. Possession of an animal amounted to ownership. The Virginians, in an ill-fated moment, urged on by basty resentment, set upon these tired and famishing bands of the common allies of the English, and in three encounters killed fourteen and took several prisoners. The remnant of the party returned to their homes in the vicinity of Fort Prince, Georgia, on the head waters of the Savannah. The tale of their suffering was soon spread abroad. The shrieks and cries of those who had been robbed of their relations, echoed from mountain top to mountain top, and through the winding valleys of the Toogaloo. "The blood of your murdered kinsmen calls for vengeance," was proclaimed by proud chiefs, and the young braves were sent out to retaliate. The war belt was sent from town to town. The region of country which had enjoyed almost uninterrupted peace, now became the theatre of fearful hostilities. The French learned the existing state of things, Ja/I PKoMlrnno f Vio f iVio in tan. UUU pci Oliauuu l/ijc VUOIUMVO vuhk wuv auwm tion of the English was to kill all the Indian men and make slaves of the women and children. The aged ohiefs, who had long known the English, and from whom the Cberokees had received many and valuable favors, were opposed to war. Even the young warriors would have laid down the tomahawk, when tbey had avenged the blood of their murdered kinsmen, had tbey been dealt with prudently. Fort Loudon, on the Tennessee, was garrisoned with two hundred men under the command of Captains Demer? and Stuart. Some, soldiers having gone out into the woods to hunt for game, were attacked by the Indians and several killed. Captain Cotymore was in command of fort ^ ^ - - a ?i _!AL n ? I frmce lieorge. Jtie commumcaceu wrni \jruvernor Lyttleton at Charlestown. The hazardous condition of the northern frontier of the province was made known. Governor Lyttleton, either fearing a confederation of the Creeks and Cherokees, or anxious to make a gorgeous display of his military talents, summoned the militia of the country to arms. The neighboring colonies were solicited to send him aid. The banks of the Congaree were appointed as a place of general rendezvous. The signal guns were fired, and the ' colony began to prepare lor war. Soon tiie Cherokees learned that Governor Lyttleton contemplated invading their territory. In order that the disastrous consequences of war might be avoided, adelegatioa of thirty chiefs set out from their mountain homes to entreat for pardon. The Cherokee nation, with only a few exceptions, were still the warm and trusty friends of the English. When these chiefs, of whom Oconostata was the principal, arrived at Charleston, Governor Lyttleton received them with no small amount of empty parade. He recounted, in a threatening tone, the injuries which the Cherokees had done to the frontier settlers. When Oconostata attempted to reply, the Governor assumed a dictatorial attitude, and told the chief he would "hear no talk from him." The chiefs were told to march with his army, and, by so doing, not a hair of their headB would be hurt. Fourteen hundred militia assembled at the Congaree. Here Lyttleton showed his littleness of soul. Twenty-eight of the chiefs were put under guard, two having previously fled. The proud chiefs now showed by their grim and sullen countenances, that they felt that they bad been dealt with contrary to promise. On arriving in the neighborhood of their principal town, the twenty-eight chiefs were confined in a miserable hut, scarcely sufficiently large to contain, with any degree of comfort, one-fourth of their number. Lyttleton, as if about to make a treaty of peace with some of the enlighted nations of Europe, sent for the old chief Attakulla-kulla. From this old and trusty friend of the colony, Governor Lyttleton demanded that the twenty-four individuals who bad been guilty of perpetrating the wrongs complained of, should be delivered up to him that he might put them to death, or else he would hold the chiefs in his possession as hostages. The old Indian knew nothing of the customs respecting hostages. Although a chief, he knew that such was the nature of the government of the tribes, that one individual hftH nn flnntrol over another. In despair of effecting anything toward peace, he retired, determined to await the result as a brave old man. Scarcely had be gone,- until Governor Lyttleton recalled him, and succeeded in having a treaty signed, in which was embodied a number of articles which the chiefs either did not understand, or were forced to sign from the necessitous condition in which they were at the time. In the meantime, some of the perpetrators of the violent deeds complained of, were delivered up to Lyttleton. By him, an equal number of hostages were released. It was now ascertained that the small-pox was raging amongst the Indians. Lyttleton's army became panic-stricken, and a disorderly rush was made by each one, separately and alone, for bis home. The governor ordered the hostages to be kept in close confinement in Fort Prince George, and with his few prisoners, beset out to follow his army to Charleston. These poor prisoners were kept in Charleston until they died. Not a drop of bloood was shed during the expedition and "ft ornrvl wftR accnmnliflhed. but much harm : yet it cost the province more than one hundred thousand dollars. When Lyttleton arrived at Charleston, he was received by his party as a mighty conqueror. Scarcely had he arrived in the city, when it was learned that hostilities had broken out again in the neighborhood of Fort Prince George. Fourteen indiyiduals were killed within the range of the guns of the fort. For Cotymore, the commander of the fort, the Indians had contracted an irreconcilable hatred. They surrounded the fort, determined, if possible, to release their twenty-six chiefs imprisoned within its walls nnder I the refined name of hostages. Unable to effect their purpose by assault, they determined to have recourse to stratagem. Oconostata placed a body of Indians in a dense thicket near the fort, and sent a friendly Indian woman to the fort requesting Cotymore to meet him at a certain point on some important business. Without reflecting, Cotymore, with two lieutenants, Bell and FoGter, went to the spot Oconostata was present with a bridle in his band. He told Cotymore that he bad determined to go to Charleston that he might solicit Governor Lyttleton to release the prisoners, and that he desired a guard. He was then, he said, on hunt of a horse to ride. Cotymore at once promised the chief the desired guard. In the midst of the convereatinn rWktinatafa dinner thfl hrirJlfi ftronnri his head three times*, This was the signal to his ambushed colleagues. Out of the thicket they rushed and fired upon the unsuspecting captain and his two lieutenants. Gotymore | fell mortally wounded, and Bell and Foster dangerously. The men in the fort seeing what was going on, attempted to put in irons, the prisoners in the fort. The Indians resisted, severely wounding three of the gar rison. Enraged by this resistance, the men in the fort put all the prisoners to death on the spot. Every move, either by the English or by the Indians, only made matters worse. The inhuman butchery of the hostages, as they were called, in Fort Prince George, aroused the Cherokees as they never had been aroused before. The cry for vengeance pierced the darkness of the night. The wild natives laid aside all restraint. The houses of the frontier settlers were visited by hideously painted savages, aud children were merfcilessly put to death and scalped without distinction. The small-pox was raging in the low country, and but few of the militia coald be induced to leave their afflicted families to render aid to their distressed countrymen. Never was their such a time in South Carolina before. The whole country, from Ninty-Six in the present county of Abbeville, to Fort Loudon on the Tennessee, was exposed to the tomahawk and oMilnincr knife. Dosrs ffrew fat oo the car 1 o ? o 0 | casses of human beings. Tender babes were I snatched from their mother's bosom, and their brains dashed ont against trees. The savage war Bong and the shrieks and cries of helpless women and children were heard above the howling of the wolves. In order to relieve the afflicted colony, a dispatch was sent to General Amhurst, the commander of the British forces in America. Amhurst detached Colonel Montgomery, with six companies of Highlanders and six companies of the seventy-second regiment. In April, 1760, Montgomery arrived in Carolina. He was joined by a company of volunteers from the low country. Previous, however, to the arrival of Montgomery, Ly ttleton was appointed Governor of Jamaica, and William Bull aucceeded_Jiim_aflJaneauMi*-a?. SAulfl Carolina, .bull applied to Virginia and North Carolina for assistance, and seven companies were sent to assist in keeping .the Indians from penetrating into the interior farI ther than Ninety-Six. After bis arrival m the province, Colonel Montgomery encamped at Monk's Corner. All tkinrra Kainrr ftrrnncrpH fnr tllA mmnftian. "" -" "6- a? 1 o?' ; he set out with all possible despatch for the Cherokee country. His time was limited, and he was forced to act promptly. On entering the Indian settlement, he literally laid it waste with fire and sword. New Keowee, Estatoe, Quacorelchie, Toxawaw, SugawTown and Aconnee, were reduced to ashes. The Indian women and children, together with a few men, were made captives.; but the multitude of the warriors fled on the approach of Montgomery. Thinking that the Indians were not yet sufficiently humbled, Colonel Montgomery pushed into the middle settlements, the abode of the over-hill Cherokees. The march lay through a pathless forest. Rugged mountains and streams, with precipitous banks impeded his progress. When within five miles of Etchoe, a town of the over-bill Cherokees, Mongomery was attacked by the Indians. The battle-ground was chosen with consummate skill. It was a deep valley, densely covered with underwood. In this the savages were concealed. Captain I Morrison led the van-guard. No sooner had | he ontered the brake, than the savages sprung from their ambuscade and poured in a des tractive fire upon him and his men. Morrison fell dead, and many of his men were wounded. The main body of Montgomery's men came up and the fight became general. The forest echoed and reechoed with the Indian warwhoop. The fight lasted about an hour and terminated to the advantage of the British; but it was a dear bought victory. Montgomery lost twenty men killed and seventy-six wounded. The savages were routed but not subdued. In the recent fight they lost, in killed only forty; and Montgomery, in order to save his wounded, was obliged to make a hasty retreat to Fort Prince George. All the way from Etchoe to the fort, the savages kept annoying him. On arriving at Fort Prince George, he announced that he was under orders to set out, immediately, for New York. This announcement filled the frontier settlers with grief. To quiet their fears and afford them some protection, he left four hundred men, and in August set out to join General Amhurst. The departure of Montgomery left Fort Loudon in a most critical condition. From its location, it was cut off from the civilized - - ' - . t _ _ti. 1 world and exposed to continual assauiis uy the savages. In the fort there wefe two hundred men, but the Indians kept it so long blockaded that the officers were reduced to the alternative, either to surrender or submit to starve to death. It was decided that Captain James Stuart should go to Chota, the town of which Oconastata was chief, and make the best terms fbr a surrender that he could. It was agreed, that after delivering up the guns and ammunition of the fort, except what each soldier might need, the garrison was to march out with a kind of military honors and be escorted either to Fort Prince Qeorge, or to some point in Virginia. The sick and disabled were to be taken care of by the Indians in the neighborhood, for which they were to be paid. Having surrendered everything except ten bags of powder, and ball in proportion, which were buried in the ground, the garrison marched out and proceeded, on the first day, fifteen miles on their way to Fort Prince George. During the night the Indian escort left them. Early on the next morning a I band of savages was discovered near their camp. Captains Demere and Stuart had scarcely time to arouse their men, before the Indians poured in a deadly fire?killing Captain Demere and twenty-six of the men. The rest were all surrendered and hurried back to Fort Loudon. Stuart was the friend of Attakullakulla. This old chief bought his friend Stuart and released him from captivity. The other prisoners suffered unutterable hardships, and were afterwards, at great cost, redeemed. I* The condition of things were now gloomier than they had ever been before. The Cherokee towns had been burned, and multitudes of their old men and women and helpless children had been starved to death; but tkey ! were still masters of the field. In the early part of 1761, Lieutenant Col. James Grant was sent by General Amhurst to South Carolina to reduce to subjection, or to annihilate, the Cherokees. His force consisted of a regiment and two?oempanies. ' 5-1 L_ n.l TT AQOtner regiment, commanded oy v/oi. xieury Middleton, was furnished by South Carolina. Th?other officers of this regiment were Francis Marion, Isaac Hnger, William Moultrie, Owen Roberts, Andrew Pickens, William Mason, Adam McDonal and James McDon- . al. These men made names for themselves during the Revolutionary struggle. Several individuals of the Indian tribes; also joined the expedition. With all possible speed, Grant hastened to the Cherokee country. Salona, the young warrior of Estatoe, was shouting amongst his fellows: "I am for war; whoever will not follow me is no better than a woman." On arriving near the same spot where the . engagement between Montgomery and the* ' > Indians occurred the year before, the advance party, under Capt. Quantine Kennedy, met the Indians. A terrible conflict took place. For three hours^he Indians fought with desperate courage. At last the undisciplined sons of the forest way. Grant pursued them with Are and sword. The towns were reduced to ashes, the cornfields were destroyed, the hogs were killed, and men, women and children were put to the sword. The strength of fko Phomlroaa or a a hrnWen. The name of V1IU W WW IT*W M* Grant was a terror. Afterward, when they would drive the cattle oat of their fields, they woald shout "Grant, Grant" Cel. Grant returned to Fort Prince George. The Indians had gone beyond the mountains Whilst at Fort Prince George, ' .ttakullakulla came to his camp and begged for peace. He was sent to Charlestown, and a treaty was made and signed by Governor Ball. Thus ended the Cherokee war. Both parties had suffered much and neither had gained anything. The Cherokees simply made a virtue of necessity. They remained the bitter and uncompromising enemies of the Carolinians. During the Revolutionary w* , they joined the British and gave the settlers of DRY AND WET WOOD. In the year 1828, says the author of Ben^k and Bar, in the Buffalo Courier, Reubet H. Went worth, then one of the Circuit Judges, was appointed Chancellor of the State. Esek Cowen, then an eminent and successful number of the Saratoga bar, was appointed a Cir cuit Judge in his place. He was once holding a circuit at Borne, New York, when there came up Sne of those ejectment suits that, in those days, occupied so much time in the State courts. During the trial a witness by the name of Wood was called by one of the parties. He was ajery old man, but gave his evidence with sin^lar precision and intelligence, and withal he was an admirably preserved old man. Judge owen, struck with the manner and personal appearance of this witness, said to him, as he was about to leave the stand; . "Mr. Wood, how old did I understand you to say you are?" "I am seventy-seven years old." "Will you be good enough to tell me what your habits have been f" "My habits have, I trust, been good and quite regular. I have always been temperate, have never indulged in the use of intoxicating drink, and I really think that I should not know tbe different kinds of liquors by their taste. I .have been in tbe habit of going to bed early and getting up early. I never ! gambled, never went to but one horse-race in my life?preferring camp-meetings to that kind of amusement, because I was at home "?a. l?a.1 a lament* in mV !!& npvpr illicit? UOfgi unu m JC?wv???w *? ?^ ?v ; thought much of lawyers?always supposing them to be a set of fellows who, while saving a man a hundred dollars, would be sure to make a hundred and fifty out of the affair in some way before it was through with, although I must confess that Mr. Cady there, ain't quite as bad as the rest of the lawyers." The next witness called was also a Mi*. Wood, a cousin of the last witness. He also gave his evidence with remarkable clearness and intelligence. He, too was a wry old and a very well preserved man, and tfrb subject of much interest to the judge. After the counsel had dismissed the witness Cowen'.detained him by inquiring his age. "I am seventy-nine years of age," was the reply. "If you have no objections," said the judge, "I would like to ask you what your habits have been through life ?" "Well, judge, I can't say that I have been very much of a temperance man, but I've been a pretty discriminating sort of chap, much more so than my cousin that's just been sworn. I can tell you all kinds of liquors by the smelL; unless, as is quite often the case, I've sampled too much to be clear in my sense of smelling. To tell you the truth, judge, there has hardly been a day since I was a boy that I have not drank from five to ten drinks a day. Half of my days I have never gone to bed sober; and never waited long after getting up before I commenced getting on steam, and I regard a good square drink of liquor as the staff of life. I have not been in the habit of going to meeting, because I should have to go without my drink too long. I never missed a horse-race that I could get to, because I think a horse the most glorious thing that ever lived, and his speed one of the triumphs of life, and the man that can't appreciate a good square horse-race can't enjoy religion, for he hasn't brains enough. As for lawyers, I think they are on a par with ministers; both would stop their gab if they didn't get their money for it. Finally, I think and believe that if I get my drinks regular, and keep up .my usual habits, I shall live to be a hundred and thirty years old." "Well, Mr. Cady," said the judge, "I can't seeaa it makes much difference with the kind of wood ya&fefrlFe, brought here, whether it is wet or dry7if?lift lasted a great many years, and accotdiifg&Mk!} accounts ft will last a great many years longer." * '4 m I^The latest definition of a lover is a man with whom one woman deceives another, [ with whom she deceives herself, and whom she deceives.