Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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?^??I? ????M lewis m. grist, proprietor, Irtiiepcniient Jfamilg fUtosptptr: Jfffr t|e |romation of % |alitical, Sorial, ^jriraltural aab Commercial Jntmsfs of % $ontjr. TERMS?$3.00 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 22. YORKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, FEBETJABY 1876. j|ii Original j^torg. a>s xoa>A. A THRILLING STORY OP WESTERN LIFE. BY MRS. HENRY DEAS. CHAPTER XIII. Picciola, after a little deliberation, started forth on her expedition, taking the road by which she had usually seen Alasquez approach the house. She intended to pursue this road as far as she conld, trusting to come upon some settlement or Indian camp, where she might possibly gain some information concerning him. Her chances of doing so seemed slim enough, and it was with a feeling that she was pursuing a very vague object, that she proceeded on her way; still resolved, however, to leave no means untried to accomplish her end. ' For a long time she walked without seeing a living creature, even of the animal kind, except an occasional bird flitting from one ^ bough to the next. A perfect stillness seemed to pervade these woods, which she was now traversing in this direction for the first time. The undergrowth was tangled and dense, and the path gradually narrowed until it became barely wide enough for a horse's feet. The soil was dry and hard, and bore no evidence of recent travel over it, and she began to fear at last that she had taken the wrong road, as thisone appeared only to be merging into an impenetrable thicket. Suddenly, however,-she came upon a little swamp. The undergrowth disappeared, and short stunted treei, covered with vines of an enormous size, grew up out of the soft muddy ground ; and in the wet soil before her she saw distinct traces of horse's feet, deeply imprinted, as though only a day or two, at the farthest, could have elapsed ere they had been left there. Shestopped, and examining these tracks, found that they turned both ways, as if the rider, whoever he might have been, who had traveled over this ground, had gone and returned on the same path within a short space of time. Picciola took off her shoes and stockings, and without hesitation made her way through the mud, which, as she went farther, became ao soft in some places as to come up to her ankles. This she did not at all care about; but with childish zest rather enjoyed the fun of the thing, or would have done so, had her errand been of a less momentous kind. Here the tracks had been obliterated by the moisture; but, plunging on, she presently discovered them again, and followed them until she came once more to dry ground, where the tall grass and thick-growing vegetation closed around her as before. She stopped for a little while to rest and to pot on her shoes and stockings again, and as she ldok(?d aruund,?the total bpHwJs which, encompassed her, and the strangeness of the place, smote upon ber with a lonely and forlorn feeling. Where was she, and what was this uuknown path leading her to ? It had dwindled into the merest trail, which she had * ? * -- ..i. V.t some dimcuity in picaing out. xgl some uhb must have been over it before her, and where others had gone she could go too. So having recruited her strength by a brief rest, she jumped up and bravely resumed her march, trying to reinforce her courage by the hope of accomplishing her one grand object, and the thought of the joy she would bring to her beloved Sefiora in doing so. She had now been journeying for several hours, and by the deepening of the shade I around her, she perceived that the afternoon ; was far advanced. Suppose she should not! get oiit of this wood before night-fall. How terriple it would be to have to sleep there, or rather, not to sleep; but to keep watch through the long, lonely hours of darkness, threatened i by she knew not what perils, from the wild ^ beasts which might inhabit its depths! She ; hurried on and on ; darker and darker it grew?when, oh ! joy, at a distance she per- I ceived the gleam of firelight flickering in the gloom. It probably came from some wigwam, or the cabin, perhaps, of a solitary settler; or, what was just as likely, it might be a fire kin-j died by some wanderer, like herself, preparing to camp out until enabled, by returning daylight, to travel again This last idea made her hesitate. What if she should eucounter Alasquez himself, or some other equally formidable foe ? At all events, she determined to reconnoitre, and with much caution, and as silently as a lizzard gliding through the grass, she crept toward the point of light, which suddenly in- J creased in brightness, as an opening in the i O ? w . forest before her, brought into view the scene she was approaching. On one side of a rocky ravine uprose a steep wooded hill, and in the hard clay era- j bankment appeared a dark opening like the entrance to a cave. In front of this burned i the fire, consisting of one or two logs with a mass of briers and small boughs piled upon j them, which crackled and roared as the flames leaped np ; but no human being was in sight, and Picciola wondered, with a touch of the superstition of the earlier and less enlighten- j ed years of her life, if the cavern she saw was the abode of some dark genius or evil spirit,! who was wont to sit and meditate by night, in the weird glow of the fire, upon schemes portending evil to those who might come in his way. She waited a considerable time, expecting to see|some one appeur. Nor was she deceived in her expectation, for presently a figure emerged from the entrance of the cave. It was quite a different figure from any which had crossed ber fancy, being that of a young, " - - 1 L..A ' slender, and apparently pretty gin out ui what race, the light was too imperfect and unsteady to enable her to decide. ThiB girl advanced towards the fire and stood near it,' with her profile to Picciola, and her arms crossed on her breast, in an attitude which struck the latter as being one of profound dejection. Wondering much at the sight of this solitary being, who had seemingly made this lonely spot a species of home, Picciola, after a brief hesitation, emerged from her concealment and came towards her. The girl started as she came near, and a cry of surprise escaped her lips. "Why, who are you ?" she asked in Spanish ; and Picciola readily answered in the same language. "I am a wanderer caught by the darkness in the forest. Can you give me shelter here for to-night, and a bit of something to eat ? I am hungry and very tired." I "How did you get here ?" was the girl' next question, without regard to Picciola' i inquiry. "The woods in that direction, pointing to the path by which she had come | "are quite impassable.!' "Not quite, as I have proved," said Piccic ! la. "But may I stay with you for to-night? "Of course; and I am glad enough to hav you, because I will be alone all night." "Do you live here by yourself, then ?" "Not always; but sometimes I am alone fo 1 J ?? Pa nr? a inoiA several uays, ui eveu iuu^ci. uuuu ?ia<u and I will give you some supper." Picciola followed her into the cave, whicl was much larger than she had supposed, au< was arranged with some attempt at comfort A straw bed was on the ground in one comer a rough table and a bench stood against tb clay wall, and another corner was occupiei by one or two cooking utensils, a jug, and i cup, as if in testimony of housekeeping on i small scale being conducted hy the inmates o this primitive abode. Guiding her move moots by a lighted torch, the presiding geniu of the menage disappeared into some interio division or recess, whence she present!; again emerged, bearing a loaf of bread and i dish containing a piece of cold cooked meat These Bhe set on the table, inviting Piccioli to partake oftbem, and the latter, being hal famished,gladly accepted the invitation, will ing to postpone, for a time, whatever gratifi cation she might succeed in obtaining for thi curiosity which her present surroundings nat urally excited in her mind. While occupied in satisfying her hunger, i J fmm fVio innpr fnmnarfmfin BUUUU piUVCCUVU (IUUI tuv ? before mentioned, which thrilled through he frame, and seemed to stir every fibre of he heart?the Bound of a baby's cry. The mor sel of food she was conveying to her lips drop ped from her hand, and half-starting up shi exclaimed? "What baby is that I hear ?" "Mine, of course," said the girl, rising also and moving off in the direction whence tbi sound came. "Whose else could it be ?" Picciola sat down again, mentally ridicul ing her own folly in cherishing for an instan a wild hope which had darted through he mind. Of course it could be nobody's cbil< but her entertainer's. And yet so completely were her thoughts filled with the image o little Paul, that one plaintive little cry fron the darkness had seemed to her as if it musi in some way be connected with him. She heard the girl sing, in a low sweet tone a Spanish nursery-song which seemed to lul the awakened child again to rest, for no far ther sound from it was heard. And having now finished her meal, she sat alone, medita ting, while waiting for her companion's return upon all the circumstances which had ledhei into this strange situation, and wondering what other adventures might be in store fo: her during her expedition. The girl came back after awhile and invi ted Picciola to go with her near the fire whici and talk more comfortably than in ?be caves "How strange this seems," said Picciola smiling, as the two sat together^ the ground enjoying the warmth and ckfierful glow of th< bright flames. "What?" asked the other. "Why, everything here?your, home, anc the way you live. Do you like it?" "No," said the girl, shaking her head. " can't say that I do. But it is only for a time.' "Have you been here long ?" "Yes, a good while. But I shall go awa; pretty soon, I think." "Are you married ?" was Picciola's nexl question. A deep flush crimsoned the girl's oliv cheek. "How can you ask such a question?" shi rejoined, rather angrily. "Didn't I tell yoi ? ? 1 ?)) that was my cnna you neara crying r "Oh ! I beg your pardon," said Picciola "I forgot about that for the moment. I die not mean any offence." "It's no matter," said the other, with a sor of laugh. "My husband is not here at pres ent. He has to be away a good deal. I an expecting him back to-morrow." "I should think you would be afraid tosta^ here without him." "I am, sometimes. To tell the truth," saic the girl, sighing, ".I am dreadfully tired o this rough life. I was never used to it before But he?my husband?has reasons for keep ing me here, he says. When I leave, we shal go far away?out of the country." Jr'icciola thought that there must De some thing wrong about the husband in question but did not venture to say so. The two sa silent for a little while, until the hostess agaii resumed the subject. "I dare say it does seem odd to you, nr living here in this way. I often feel as if . were a savage. But I can tell you I was use< to very different living, once. My father an< mother were rich, and lived on a rancho, ant I had such nice clothes, and everything ! wanted. Oh! dear, that was a good whih ago. It seems like a dream, now." "Are your father and mother still alive?' asked Picciola, finding her inclined to bi communicative. "I don't know?I have not heard of then for many a day. I think, sometimes, if J knew that they were alive, and in the sarai place, I'd run away from here, somehow 01 other, and make my way back to them. Bu I should only get lost. I am afraid to sti from here by myself. How did you eve come through that forest ? Were you no afraid?" "A little, towards evening. But I am no :i~ A ? BOUiiy irigmeueu. "Have you ever been through it before?" "No, never." "I wonder you did not get lost." "I followed the trail the whole way; knew it must lead me out somewhere after i while." "Where are you going ?" "I hardly know myself," said Picciols smiling. "I am looking for some one?for i little child who is lost." "A little child 1 Why, if it got lost anj where here, don't you suppose it has beei killed by wild beasts, or died of hunger ii the woods ?" "Oh, he did not get lost that way. He wa carried from home?stolen away by a bad wicked man. I would give the whole worlc if I had it, to find him again." "How old was he?" | "About six months." "Oh, a baby 1 How strange," said the girl in a musing tone. "And do you think you'l find him ?" I "Ah! that I cannot tell. I pray to Goi s to help me to do so, for his mother's sake." 8 "His mother! Is she alive then ? Does she grieve for him much t" >, "She grieves for him night and day, and nothing can comfort her for his loss. And > she is so lovely and good, too. You would " j love her as I do, if you knew her, and would e be so sorry for her." "I am sorry for her," said the girl in a low tone. "I know she must be very unhappy." r "I loved him dearly, too," said Picciola, e the tears springing to her eyes. "I love all little children, but be was the sweetest I ever h saw. How old is your baby ?" I "The same age as?as the one you speak of." "Is it a boy, too ?" e "Yes?a boy." i "May I look at him, by and by 7" a "Oh 1 I don't know," said the other, hur& riedly, rising, as she spoke, to throw some f more sticks on the fire. "He is so easily dis* turbed ; and if he wakes up once I may not get B him to sleep again for half the night. I nevr er carry a light near him, once he is asleep. f How early will you leave in the morning ?" * she added, changing the subject with an ab* ruptnese which surprised her guest. a "Very early?by dawn, if I can. I wish I f were not going to leave you here alone," said - Picciola, kindly. - "Why ?" s "Because you have made me feel sorry for " you, somehow; and you seem so solitary." "Oh ! I am used to it," said the girl, with a 1 tremulous laugh; but the next instant she 1 dashed her hand across her eyes. "I am a r fool for being here at all," she continued. r "But I am a still greater fool, inasmuch as I " I do not try to get away. I like it, do you " know? I mean, I would not leave if I could? B not without him, at least." "You are fond of him, then ?" "Of course I am?am I not married to him?" e "Yes," said Picciola seriously. "But I did J Dot know whether he was good to you or not." "Of course he is good to me! What should t make you suppose otherwise ?" said the girl r almost roughly. "Have I said anything to i make you think badly of him ?" f "No?I did not mean that you had ; only I f hoped he was kind, for your sake. It would 1 be hard upon you if he was not." t "If he was not kind, it would be ray fault," replied the other. "But there?I did not '? mean to be rude to you; I think you are very 1 kind, to take so much interest in me ; and I like you very much. Will you tell me your \ name?" "Picciola," said her guest. "And yours ?" ? "Dolores." ' 4 The two girls sat chatting until near mid' night, for they had taken a mutual fancy to r each other, and Dolores seemed so glad to have some one to talk to, that Picciola, al though very tired, did not like to propose 1 ending the conversation. At last, nowever, 1 *v the former, springing to her feet, declared t that it was time to go to bed. And reentering > the cave, she directed Picciola to occupy the ? straw bed before mentioned, saying that she 5 would sleep inside with the child. "Don't be afraid," she s-iid as she wished her good-night. "There is nothing about ' here to trouble us?you are as safe as if you were in a castle." I Notwithstading this assurance, Picciola could not help feeling some fears as she retired to rest. And looking at the stars shining f in upon her through the open entrance of her strange shelter, and the flickering light of the t still blazing pile, she thought what a solitary place it was, and how helpless and unprotecte ed she and her companion were, so far away from all human aid if danger should assail B them. But exceeding weariness overcame her 1 disquietude at last, and turning on her pillow she fell into a sound and dreamless slumber, > which lasted until daylight aroused her once 1 more to the knowledge of her situation. t CHAPTER XIV. i Although Dolores had been so kind and hospitable, she did not seem at all desirous of f keeping Picciola with her longer than the latter had proposed to stay, but rather used 1 every effort to accelerate her departure; while f Picciola, ou her side, was equally anxious to i. pursue her journey. "Which way shall you go?"asked Dolores, 1 as she accompanied her to the door, their early meal being over, and her guest ready to set i- out. i, "Forward, I suppose," was the reply. There t would be no use in going back over the same i road I came." "Well, I hope upthing will harm you, and j that you will get safely home. Will you have [ to pass by here again, on your way back ?" 1 "I cannot tell, yet. If I do, I suppose I 1 shall see you," said Picciola. "Many thanks 1 for your gooduess to me?I shall not forget I it." 5 "Oh, you are very welcome I It was a treat to me to have you. Here is some lunch I've ' put up for you," said Dolores, thrusting a par3 eel into her band ; "you will need it to-day." Picciola again thanked her; and having i bid her a warm adieu, set out once more on | [ her journey. Brave little pilgrim that she j s was, she pushed on undaunted through the r forest, over as wild and lonely a path as the t one she had followed on the previous day. r She had become more used to the solitude ! r now ; and, besides, it seemed to her that she t must soon come to some settled place. J She had journeyed for five or six hours, t! when the growth became less dense, and open| ings began to appear through the trees. She was coming to tho end of the wood at last; j and her heart was promptly gladdened by the sight of several cabins scattered over a I broad sunny space, near a shallow stream, a which flowed in a rocky channel towards a steep declivity in the distance, over which it; tumbled with a plashing sound into an unseen i, chasm below. a One or two men, half undressed, were sitting idly about, smoking pipes ; and from their appearance aud that of their settlement, Pico ciola rightly judged that she had come upou n one of the numerous mining camps scattered | throughout the country?all of them recent j a institutions, for it was just about the period I, when the "Gold Fever" had begun to prevail. I, The men stared at her as she approached, and it was not without a feeling of timidity that she proceeded on her way, for no signs did she perceive anywhere of the presence of I, her own sex ; but presently, to ber relief, the II figure of a buxom, jolly-looking dame made its appearance at the door of a building rathd er larger than the rest, above which swung a sign-board bearing the inscription, "Gold Brick Hotel?Mrs. Mundy," in straggling black letters about a foot long. This woman stood with her arms akimbo? and such arms!?watching Picciola with much apparent curiosity and interest as she drew near. A weather-beaten, homely face she had, of the unmistakable lower-class Irish type; but a gleam of genuine kindliness and good-humor in her small light-blue eyes encouraged the girl to ask her if she would let her rest for a short time in her house, as she had come a long way and was very tired. "Rest! Bless you, av cooree ye may 1" was the hearty response. "Come in, come in, me darlint. Judy Mundy wouldn't be refusin' ye the shelter of her roof, and a bit of dinner, besides, if ye're wantin it I guess ye're hungry as well as tired, to judge from yer looks." "So I am," said Picciola "but; I have nothing to pay for a meal with." "Pay, indade?did I ax ye for the pay?" rejoined the hospitable lady. "When I bring ye the bill, thin ye may refuse to settle it Set ye down there on the sofy, while I fix ye up a nice little male, such as will rejoice the heart of ye to partake of." Picciola sank, gladly, upon the "sofy"?a hard and rudely constructed settee, with a flimsy apology for a red cushion upon the seat, and watched, with interest, the proceedings of Mrs. Judy Mundy, as that worthy individual bustled about, first mending the fire with the aid of a broken tongs, then setting thereon an enormous kettle of water and a fryingpan containing some slices of meat. While these were in preparation, she brought another frying-pan, stirred away vigorously for half a minute, at a mixture in an earthen dish, then proceeded to make a plateful of "slapjacks," tossing them up in the pan and catching them on the reverse side with a cool dexterity quite unattainable by any but a practiced hand. The water having boiled, Bhe made some "tay," and the meat and the slapjacks being now quite ready for consumption, placed the whole array on a table, set a cnair in front of it, and with a satisfied and triumphant expression, invited Picciola to "make a start." "I defy me inimies to say that I can't cook a good male on short notice," she remarked, vigorously wiping her crimson countenance with a colored cotton handkerchief as she spoke. "Don't be bashful, deary, but ate as much as ye can ; it '11 do ye good, and ye can talk afterward." Thus admouished, the weary girl partook thankfully of the refreshment offered her, which, though somewhat coarsely prepared, was by no means of a kind to be despised, escially with hunger for a sauce. Mrs. Mundy stood by, delighted at the disappearance of the viands, as a testimony of the skill in cookery whereof she had boasted ; and kept piling fresh supplies on the plate of her guest, until the latter declared that she had catenas much as she possibly could, and begged her to refrain. -? i "There, now! Don't ye feei better ?" asked the hostess of the "Gold Brick," kindly patting her on the shoulder. "Yer checks look plumped out, to my eyes, already." "Indeed, I do feel better," replied Picciola, "and I am so much obliged to you for your kindness." "Not at all, at all I It wouldn't be in Judy Mundy's heart to turn away a weary traveler from her door; above all, such a Blinder bit of a thing as yerself. Where do you come from, and where are ye journeyin' to now, if I may ax ye ?" "I have come a long way, froqt a valley over on the other side of the mountains, and have been walking for two days. "I don't know yet how far I may have to go." "And are ye all alone, darlint? Ain't ye afraid to walk so far through these wild places by yerself?" "Sometimes I am a little afraid; not often." "Ye 're journeying to meet some frinds, it's likely?" "No, I am not going to meet any friends? at least, none that I know of," said Picciola, hesitating. She was wondering how far she might venture to confide in the landlady, and whether it would be advisable to tell her her story or not. Perhaps she might learn something from her of Alasquez ; yet she feared to make inquiries too openly, lest she might, in some way, frustrate her own object in doing so. Mrs. Muudy's curiosity, however, was fullv aroused. The appearance of a young, " * ft - ? beautiful and unprotected girl in "Cayote Camp" was a circumstance too unusual, (indeed, it might be said, one totally without precedent) not to excite wonder; and she now brought all the ingenuity of her nation into play to obtain the information for which she thirsted, in regard to the object of Picciola's journey. "And yer people must be very rash, mavourneen, to sind ye off alone in this manner. Sure and was there none older than yerself to undertake this toilsome march ?" "I have no relations," said Picciola. "I have lived for more than eighteen months with a lady who takes care of me." "And ye're not runnin' away from her now, avick, sure!" "No, indeed 11 am only going on an errand for her. She is as good and kind as she can be." "Ah!" said the puzzled landlady. Then trying a new tack, she resumed, "Did I understand ye to say ye bad still a long distance j to go?" "T AwnAflt? Vk/vnv Alt* if mQV Ko I X UUU 1/ &UUrr C401.HJ nun tat to ?? The truth is, I ara trying to hear of some one," said Picciola, afraid of exciting suspicion by showing too great a degree of reserve; and after a moment's consideration she added, "Perhaps you could help rae a little, if you would 1" "With all my heart," eagerly responded her hostess. "Don't be afraid to trust me, deary. I can kape a saycret with anybody, and I'd not betray you for the world if ye bid me not." "Do you promise me?" earnestly asked Picciola. "I do need help, very much; but I would be afraid to tell everybody about it." "Me darlint, I'll be yer true frind," said the honest Irishwoman, claspiug the girl's slender hand in her rough palms. "It's not in JudyMundy to betray a trust. There's not a sowl in hearin' of us now, and ye may spake as openly as ye will." "First, then," said Picciola, "do you know of a Spanish gentleman named Alasquez?" "Named which, me jewel ?" "Alasquez?the Seiior Pedro Alasquez ; a tall dark man, with black eyes and a cut on his face." "Never heard of him," said Mrs. Mundy, shaking her head. "Does he live in these parts ?" "I want to find out where he does live," replied Picciola. "He has behaved very cruelly to my?to the lady I stay with. He has stolen away her little child." "Stolen away her little child I" echoed the landlady, in a tone of horror. "Yes; and she thinks, too, that he was concerned in the disappearance of her husband, who left home with him last Spring, and has never come back." * "Well, well!" ejaculated Mrs. Mundy, lifting her hands. "But in this barbariotu land, I am never surprised at anything I bear. Murders, and theft, and such like, is as common as eating one's breakfast and dinner. And ye're huntin' for this bloody-minded craytur, now ?" "Yes." "But, lord ! wouldn'tyou be afraid to mate him ? He'd as like murder ye as not; wouldn't he, the craytur ?" "I don't want to meet him, but to find out about him. I know of Dersons who will take him, and will punish him for his wickedness, if I can inform them where he is." ) "Arrist him, will they ? An' sure it'll be a blesein' to us all to have him arristed, if he's so evil disposed as to harm lonely women and childer ; but why don't they make a proclamation and offer a reward ? He'd soon be caught thin." "No, he is so artful they think he would escape. Twice already he has got away from them." "Has he, the murderer? Tbin it's saycret they'd better be. But lord, child, what good can ye do, a young innocent thing like yerself, in the matter?" "I want to find the baby," said Picciola, her eyes filling, as they always did, at the thought or mention of little Paul. "I would not care what became of Sefior Alasquez, if I could only get him back 1" "The baby, the darlintl Sorra a bit will ye find him again, I'm fearin'," said the landlady. "A black-Bowled villain like that would as lief?" "Oh, bush," interrupted Picciola in an imploring tone, for he could not bear to hear a confirmation of tbe horrible rears wnicn sometimes crossed her own mind. "Please don't destroy my hope. If I didn't hope I should break down." "Thin I'll not say a word about it," said Mrs. Munday soothingly. "But, indade, mavourneen, I'm doubtin' it's a faint chance ye have of doin' any good by this wearisome journey ye've undertaken," "I can but try my best," said Picciola despondingly. "And now that I havejrested, I ought to be going on at once?I shall only lose time here." "Better wait awhile," said her hostess, pointing to the window. "Se thim clouds over yonder. A storm will be comin' up pretty soon, and there's no other shelter near here that I know of." Picciola looked, and saw a bank of heavy dark clouds rising in the western horizon. Almost at the same moment a gust of wind swept round the house, shaking the frail raft era, and bearing a warning of the coming tempest in its damp, chilly breath, that penetrated even the warm atmosphere of the close little room. It was evident that it would be sheer folly to venture now to proceed on her way; and reluctantly she made up her mind to stop at the tavern, until the storm should be over, or the threat of it, if it proved but a threat, bad passed away. (To be Continued.) pototg of Carolina. HISTORICAL SKETCHES OF THE Early Settlement of South Carolina. BY BEV. BOBEBT LATHAB. BATTLE OF SULLIVAN'S ISLAND. We have already seen, that through the prompt and energetic action of the authorities of South Carolina in seizing the mail brought frdm London to Charleston, the true position of England toward her North American colonies was first discovered. This bold, and, in one sense, treasonable act, was performed on the 17th day of April, 1775, by " t.?.? on^ VY IlJiaru Xieury utnyvju, uuuu ucuihug ?uu Thomas Corbett. It was now manifest that non-importation acts which had, on two forformer occasions, proved successful in causing Great Britain to redress the grievances she had, by her parliamentary acts, inflicted upon her colonies, would, in this case, fail to effect the desired result. The people of South Carolina became thoroughly aroused. There were, in the State, multitudes of individuals who afterward were designated by the infamous title of tories ; and then some who, from consciencious scruples, dared not oppose, by word or act, the British government; and there was another class, composed of traders, mostly Scotch and half-breed Indians, the offspring of Indian mothers and Indian traders. This class sympathised with the British government. Thegreat majority of the men and women of influence and moral worth, in every section of the State, were Whigs. From 1764, the time that the stamp act was passed by the British parliament, up to the time that the British mail bag wa9 wrested from the post-master in Charleston by William Henry Drayton and his colleagues, the movements of the mother country had been closely watched. The British parliament made, during this period, various efforts to encroach upon the chartered rights of the colonies, but the vigilance of the leading statesman of South Carolina never suffered the people to be entangled in a snare. On the 11th of January, 1775, the provincial Congress of South Carolina met in Charleston. It consisted of one hundred and eighty-four members, chosen from all sections of the province. The Constitutional Assembly consisted of only forty-nine members. Hence, the Provincial Congress was nearly four times as large as the Constitutional Assembly. During the sitting of the Provincial Congress, Lord William Campbell, the newly appointed Royal Governor, arrived in Charleston. He was received by the people with the manifestations of joy which it was customary to show on the arrival of a new Governor. An address was prepared and presented to Governor Campbell by the Provincial Assembly. In this address, the representatives of the people declared that they had been moved to do what they had done, not from a love of innovation or a desire to alter the constitution of the government; nor even had a lust for inde pendence driven them to take the step, bn they had been impelled by the law of sell preservation. Governor Campbell refused b recognize Provincial Assembly as a legal!; constituted body, and would. not treat witl For several months after Governor Camp bell's arrival, nothing occurred between hin and the people to disturb the progress of prep aration for war which the people were making Either from policy, or believing that the thin/ would ultimately amount to nothing, Govern or Campbell commissioned the officers of tb volunteer companies which were raised fo the purpose of resisting the encroachments o the British parliament. At the same time Governor Campbell was secretly stirring u] the people in the back country to resist th< acts of the Provincial Congress. His succea in distracting the minds of the people amount ed to very little, except in that portion of th State between the Saluda and Broad riven This opposition did more good than evil. I showed the friends of the Provincial Assem bly their real strength, and the royalists thei real weakness. Zeal and energy were infuse< ..1 ;_j_ -f.L.f lUl.tt. into me uiiuua ui i>ue luruior, tyuiiol i>uo iuw, became disheartened. The friends of the Provincial Assembl; were not ignorant of the secret intrigues o Governor Campbell. Adam McDonald, i staunch Whig and member of the Committer of Safety, prevailed upon some one to intro duce him to Governor Campbell, under th< name of Dick Williams, a messenger from th< back country and a royalists. To this feign ed Dick Williams, the Governor made verj important disclosures. He informed Die! that he had but recently received informatioi vfrom England that a large number of troop would soon be in the country, and that th< colonies would be forced to submit to Britisl legislation. The duped Governor was no long in finding out his mistake. He was sooi waited upon by a number of gentlemen, an< amongst them the veritable Dick Williams His correspondence with England was de manded. He refused ; but became alarme< for his personal safety and went on board th< Tamar. This was in September, 1775, anc the last time that a royal Governor set hii foot on South Carolina soil. To instruct, as well as encourage, the peopl< of the back country, the Rev. William Ten nant and William Henry Drayton, were sen out in 1775. They left Charleston on the sec ond of August, and passed up through th< centre of the State. On the Sabbath, Mr Tennant would first preach the gospel to thi people, and then deliver a political speech rt mm! nf ITInn't! M Aiinto! n fKfll llOiVllig ailiVGU Qk 1X1U|^ O iuvuuhmbu^ wmvj then visited the western section of the State and returned to Charleston after an absenci of about two months. Thus, it may be sai( that every effort was made to inform the ig norant and to correct the errors of those wh< had been misinformed. Every event which for several years, had transpired, had a direc tendency to alienate the minds of the masse of the people of South Carolina from Grea Britain, and cause them to bestir themselve to prepare for an open and avowed Tuptur with the English government. The city o Charleston was put in a state of defence, an< the forts which commanded the entrance t< the city were seized. No hostile blow had, as yet, been struck ii South Carolina; but, evidently, the momen was fast hastening. Military companies wer seen parading in evnry section of the State and although the people were sensible of thei own weakness and the strength and resource of England ; still they determined to hav< their rights, let it cost what it might. On thi departure of Governor Campbell, John Rut ledge was made president of the Council o Safety, with thegeneral instruction which wa on important occasion given to the trustwor thy amongst the old Romans. "See that thi Republic suffers no injury" was the instruc tion he received, and promptly did he mee the emergency of the case. During the year 1775, the British govern ment was active in making preparations to reducing the thirteen colonies into subjection Two days before Christmas, Sir Peter Parke sailed from Portsmouth, England. His flee consisted of eight armed ships, carrying, ii all, about three hundred guns. Accompany ing the fleet was a large land force, designe< to act in conjunction with the fleet. Sir Pete met with delays on the coast of Ireland, an< the weather was bad, so that he did not read Cape Fear, in North Carolina, until the firs of May. At Cape Fear, the fleet met Gener al Clinton. The season was fast advancinj and the troops were becoming sick. Clintoi and Parker concluded that nothing could b< effected in that region. All that they coul< learn respecting General Howe's situation was through the American newspapers, whicl was, to them at least, very unsatisfactory After a month's delay at Cape Fear, it wa determined to make an attack upon Charles ton, South Carolina. This city lay in th< field of operation assigned to Lord Cornwalli and Sir Peter Parker. Unfortunately for the British and fortu natutely for the Americans, the whole plam of the British government were discovered ii time to give the Americans an opportunity t< prepare to oppose them. A boat, bearinj dispatches from Lord Dartmouth to Gover nor Eden, of Maryland, was captured bj James Barron. These dispatches revealed tb< whole plans of the enemy. Brigadier-Gener al John Armstrong bad been sent, early ii the year 1775, to Charleston; and after th< evacuation of Boston, General Washingtoi sent out Major-General Charles Lee to watcl the movements of Sir Henry Clinton. Oi the 4th of June, Lee arrived in Charleston On the same day, Sir Peter Parker's flee made its appearance off the bar. So soon as Major-General CKaTles Lee ar rived in Charleston, Governor Rutledge for mally placed all the forces under his^ com maud. An order was issued for the militii of the country to hasten to the defence of th< city. This order was promptly obeyed. Th< forces now at his command amounted to neai six thousand. They were disposed of in th< following manner: The first regiment o: South Carolina regulars were placed at Fori Johnston, on James Island; Colonel Williaa Moultrie was placed in command of there cently constructed fort on Sullivan's Island Col. Thomas, with a body of riflemen, wai placed on the east end of Sullivan's Island fioneral with a fitrnnc force, took DOsitioi on Haddrell's Point, now Mount Pleasant Governor Rutledge retained the command ii the city. The British land forces, under the com mand of Clinton, were put off on Long Is land. This Island is separated from Sulli van's Island by Breach Inlet. They wen told that it was possible, at some times, tc wade across this Inlet. Clinton, with hit forces being landed, commenced to fortifj themselves, and Sir Peter Parker commenced to make preparations to cross the bar. It wai known that this could not be effected by the large ships in their present condition. Th( large ships were lightened as much as possible by taking off some of their guns, and still the crossing of the bar was attended with con siderable delay. The arrangement of the troops-was made mainly by Governor Rutledge and the Soutb Carolina authorities. General Armstrong wae a man of but very moderate abilities, and Majer-general Charles Lee was a strange man He was a man of whom the most contradic tory opinions might be formed. He wae brave, but not cool; he was patriotic, bul selfish. A Welchman by birth, but no land could claim him as a citizen. He neithei feared God nor regarded man, and was pas ?W t sionately food of war, because it enabled him > to satiate his wicked passions. From the 0 moment that he arrived in Charleston, until y the hour the attack upon Fort Sullivan com1 mepced, he was as restless as a caged hyena. > He cursed Fort Sullivan as a mere slaughter a pen, and was constantly insisting upon Govh ernor Rutledge to withdraw the troops from ;. it. Rutledge wrote to Moultrie that he would gy sooner cut off his right hand than make such i- an order. Lee attempted to construct a e bridge of boats, by which the troops in Fort r Sullivan might retreat; and not having a f sufficient number of boats, he attempted to i, complete the bridge with barrels. This p bridge was a failure. He told Moultrie that e a couple of British frigates would knock his s pen about his ears in thirty minutes. "Very r well," replied Moultrie; "we will then fight e them behind the rubbish." i. Fort Sullivan was wisely regarded by Rutt ledge as the key to Charleston. The British Admiral also was aware of its importance, r It was located on the south-western end of ] Sullivan's Island, and derived its name from ? Vinf r\f fViQ Talari/? "Tf tract sinnflt.riint.aH nf I iiunv vt uuv xoiuuut ?. v ?*mw ? palmetto logs laid in sections, and ?lled with j sand. The merlons were sixteen feet thick, f and sufficiently high to cover (he men from ei the fire of the enemy." Although the men 3 bad been working on it night and day since . the approach of the enemy was discovered, 3 that portion which was nearest to Charleston 3 was still in an unfinished state. Lee, in a fit . of rage, withdrew from the fort one-half of j the powder and one half of the force. He i determined that Moultrie and his Carolina i troops might suffer all the losses and enjoy all 9 the glory of defending Fort Sullivan. The 3 whole number of men left to defend this imj portant point was only four hundred and t thirty-five?all South Carolinians. They i were the Second Sooth Carolina regiment of j infantry, consisting of four hundred and thiri, teen men, and twenty-two of the Fourth South K Carolina regiment of Artillery. In this act, ] General Lee showed more temper than good 3 sense. | It was the intention of the British coms manders to attack Fort Sullivan simultaneously by water and land. Clinton was to 3 cross over Breach Inlet and drive Thomas from . his fortification, and proceed to attack Fort t Sullivan by land, whilst Parker was to attack . it by water. i From the 4th of June to the 28th, prepare. tions were vigorously made by both parties. 3 The British were preparing for the attack . and the Americans for the defence. On the j morning of the 28th of June, 1776, the British :, fleet began to take position. It consisted of s the Bristol and Experiment, each fifty gun 1 ships; the Active, Solebay, Acteon, Sphynx and Syren, ^ach of twenty-eight guns; the > Friendship, of twenty-two guns; and another anfu rvnna fnrvofKop Tsifk an flrmftfl flfthnnn* J U1 gUUO^ VUgv?UVft Tt i WM T?-?-?? w . ? t er and the Thunder-borab-ketch. In all, b about three hundred guns of large caliber, t The Active, Bristol, Experiment and Solebay b ran up nearest the fort; the Sphynx, Syren, e Thunder-bomb, and Friendship, arranged f themselves a little in the rear of the others 1 and more distant from the city. All things 0 being ready, at half past ten in the morning, Sir Peter Parker gave the signal to com3 mence the attack. As the several vessels had t been getting into position, the guns of .the e fort had been bred upon them, the Vessekyrer the ^ction became general. The inhabi?ptotfl 8 of the city were watching the battle from the e tops of bouses and other elevated places. The B fire from the fort was slow, but well directed. Early in the engagement, Sir Peter sent f the Syren, Acteon and Sphynx to attack the b extreme western side of the fort. This .was . the part of the fort which was unfinished; and 8 had these vessels been able to execute their . orders, the results of the battle might have t been different. As the vessels advanced to take a position, so that they could enfilade . the garrison, they became entangled in a r shoal, called the Middle Ground. The Ac. teon stuck fast, the Sphynx lost her bowsprit, r and although she got away, she was no Iont ger fit for action. The Syren, more fortu3 nate than the other two, escaped with little . damages. 1 During the' action, which lasted more than r ten hours, the garrison only lost ten men 1 killed and twenty wounded. In the fort ] there was a morass which extinguished the t fuses of the bombs and rendered them harm less. The loss of the British was fearfully 5 great. The Commodore's ship?the Bristol? i was twice swept of every man on its deck, e and the tradition is that Sir Peter Parker 1 bad bis silk pantaloons shot off him. ine , loss in killed and wounded on the Bristol, was 1 one hundred and eleven ; on the Experiment, . seventy-nine. The whole loss of the British, s in killed and wounded, was two hundred and i- twenty-five. Among the wounded was Caps tain Morris, of the Bristol, who afterward 9 died of his wounds; Captain Scott, of the Experiment, lost an arm. Lord William . Campbell, late governor of South Carolina, 3 served as a volunteer on the Bristol, and was wounded in the beginning of the action. The forces stationed on Long Island, under the command of Clinton, effected nothing. Colonel Thomas, with his riflemen, kept them back. At one time, the powder in the fort was exhausted, and the firing having ceased, the British thought the garrison was about to surrender. Governor Butledge sent a fresh sup?ly of powder from the city, and Francis [arion obtained another supply from the schooner Defence. At sunset the firing began to slacken, and ceased entirely before ten o'clock. At eleven the shattered fleet, except the Acteon, which was still stranded, withdrew to Five Fathom Hole. Soon the next morning, the garrison opened a fire upon the Acteon, # which,at first, was returned. Sir Peter Parker, seeing the condition of the Acteon, sent word to the crew to set her on fire and leave her. This was done, but before she blew up a small party of Carolinians, under Captain Jacob Milligan, boarded her, took her flag, which the crew left, her bell, and three boatloads of supplies. Then having fired her guns, which were left loaded, upon the Bristol, they left. In a few minutes after the departure of Captain Milligan and his party, the Acteon blew up. Clinton again attempted to cross Beach Inlet, but Captain Thomas again drove him hack. The fleet proceeded to Long Island to i recruit. On the 13th of July, with a ruined fleet and a heart filled with sorrow, the whole - British force left South Carolina for New - York. Moultrie's slaughter pen had blasted - the hopes of Parker, Cornwallis, Clinton and ) Vaughn. Fort Sullivan was. afterward, in ) honor of its brave defender, named Moultrie. 3 Among those who covered themselves with r glory, was Sergeant William Jasper and Ser1 geant McDonald. When the flag staff was 3 shot down, Jasper leaped over on the beach, s secured the flag, and then, amid a shower of ? iron hail, mounted the ramparts and planted ) it on the walls of the fort. Poor McDonald I was mortally wounded. When dying he said : "I die, my comrades; but do not let the cause of liberty die with me." > Governor Rutledge presented Jasper with i his own sword and offered him a commission, i in the army. The sword he accepted, but I declined the commission because he could not rid. Mrs. Barnard Elliott presented Moultrie's i regiment with a pair of colors. Moultrie, t for his men, pledged that they should never I hp dishonored. This pledge cost Jasper, * 'Brush, Hume and Gray, their lives at 8a vannah,