Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, October 19, 1876, Image 1
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VOL. 22. YOEKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, OCTOBER 19, 1876. f NX}. M.
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patofg flf JF. (jtaelina.
HISTORICAL SKETCHES
OF THK
Early Settlement of South Carolina.
BT REV. ROBERT LATHAN.
MARION AND HIS MEN.
When, on the twenty-fifth of July, 1780,
General Gates joined the army under De
Kalb, on Deep river, and took command of
the forces sent by Congress to assist the
Sonth, Francis Marion was in camp. For a
short time he had been enjoying the hospitality
of De Kalb and profiting by the conversations
of that brave and experienced soldier.
Marion had with him about twenty followers;
some men and some boys; some white and
some black. The dress of all was most unsightly.
Their coats were nearly worn out,
and the men themselves were weather beaten.
All?Marion as well as the rest?wore a little
frrtnno which made them
look most ludicrous. TjShen they rode into
De Kalb's camp, the "-{Continental soldiers
i raised a shoot The ragged garments, little
leather cap and unpromising appearance of
the men, filled the camp with merriment.
When Gates took command of the army,
Marion was introduced to him ; but that proud
officer seems to have discovered nothing in
Marion worthy of his notice. Governor Rutlege,
of South Carolina, was also in Gates'
camp and recommended Marion, but Gates
was above being advised, either with respect
to men or measures. To get rid of Marion
and his ragged men, Gates sent them, after
commencing his march to the rear of Cornwallis,
to burn the boats on the Santee. The
diversion which Marion and his men caused
was becoming troublesome to the officers, and
Marion and his men, although they loved
their country, still were glad to be separated
from companions who made no other
use of them than to make sport of them.
As an offset to this disagreeable state of things
by which Marion and his few men were surrounded;
be received an invitation from the
Whigs of Williamsburg county to come and
..oaiat ?kam' in MnnllincNtliA inmnrin nf t.hfl en
09010V iUVUI iu 4VJA/***Ug WMV v?w. ? ?
emy. The inhabitants of the region bordering
on Kingstree, knew more about Marion
than General Gates did, and they were anxious
that he should be their leader. Gates
and his army were on the march in the direction
of Gamden when Marion received this invitation.
Governor Rutledge, of South Carolina,
was with the army of Gates. So soon
as Rutledge heard of the requsst sent up by
the Whigs of Williamsburg, he commissioned
Marion as a Brigadier General.
Let us go back and inquife what it was
that prompted these men to send for Marion.
In 1732, the year that Marion was born, the
region of country that now bears the name of
Williamsburg, was settled by a colony of
Scotch-Irish. These people left their native
land that tbey might get rid of the onerous
burdens laid unon t.hpm bv the. unrichtehiis
" exactions of cruel landlords and the proud |
a ad dictatorial clergy ofthg-^^brTghTffeBb
T^ugueno^tqij^hmce Marion belongedVwerS^TltSnto
America by the cruel and
relentless persecutors who lived in the days of
Louis the Fourteenth. We may readily conclude
that the Huguenot settlers on the Santee,
sympathized with the Scotch-Irish settlers
on Black river. They lived in harmony as
neighbors, and together they rushed to the
front in 1776, to drive the British from the
State. Side by side, they had fought the wild
Indians ; side by side they fought under Moultrie
in Fort Sullivan and at Savannah ; and
with Gen. Lincoln, many of both the Huguenots
and Scotch-Irish, surrendered. The rea
son why the people of Williamsburg invited
Francis Marion to take command of them,
was they knew him and had confidence in
him, both as a soldier and a patriot. That
which prompted them to organize at this period
was this:
When Charlestown was surrendered, many
of the Williamsburg militia were made prisoners.
These prisoners were paroled and permitted
to return to their homes. Major John
James, the son of William James, one of ihe
first settlers of the township, bad been sent
back by Governor Rutledge, from Charleston
to Williamsburg, to train the militia. When
General Lincoln surrendered, Major John
James was at his home in the neighborhood
of Indiantown Church. Major James, and
all those citizens of Williamsburg who were
not in Charleston at the time of the surrender,
were, by a proclamation issued by the British
commander, required to take up arms in support
of the English government. This was
simply requiring them to turn out and fight
their countrymen. This proclamation thor
oughly aroused tbe settlers in toe vicinity or
Kingstree and Indiantown Church.
At that time, a British officer by the name
of Ardesoif, was in command of Georgetown.
The people of Williamsburg township met
and appointed Major John James to visit Ardesoif,
and learn from him what was the true
import of this royal proclamation. James,
ever ready to serve his country, mounted his
horse and rode down to Georgetown. Suspecting
that the interview between himself and
Ardesoif might not be of the most pleasant
character, he took the precaution to hitch his
horse near the door. On entering the office
of the British commander, he, in true Irish
style, announced his business ai.d asked, in a
manly tone of voice, on what terms he and
others, similarly situated with himself, must
submit. Ardesoif haughtily replied, "On no
other terms than unconditional surrender."
"But," remarked Major James, "will we not
be allowed to remain at home in peace and
quiet ?" "No," replied Ardesoif; "you have
rebelled against your king and you ought to
be hanged like dogs; but his majesty is merciful,
and he proposes to pardon all your past
offences, on the condition that you take up
arms and fight for his cause." Both James
and Ardesoif were, by this time, thoroughly
Rnth row* tn fh?ir fMt A ri^Mnirn
hand was on his sword. James was unarmed,
but he took hold of the chair on which he
had been sitting, and with it between him and
Ardesoif, he gently gaveb^ck in the direction
of the door, near which his horse stood hitched.
Ardesoif cautiously followed. On reaching
the door, James, with a defiant look, said :
"Sir, the gentlemen whom I represent will
never submit to any such condition." Ardesoif
swore like a fiend, and threatened vengeance
upon him and the rebels whom he represented.
So soon as James declared that neither he
nor his friends would submit to unconditional
surrender, he leaped out of the door, mounted
his horse and dashed away .to Indiantown
church. His course was approved of by his
neighbors, and three cavalry companies were
raised to defend the country against the British.
The captains of these three companies
were John James, Henry Mouzon and John
Macauley. In this community there was, at
this time, a company commanded by William
McCottry. These companies were organized,
perhaps in July.
So soon as the British learned that the people
of Williamsburg were still in a state of rebellion,
Lieutenant Banastre Tarleton was
sent from Charleston, to kill in the bud, the
patriotism of the Scotch-Irish of Williamsburg.
On the 6th of August, Tarleton crossed the
Santee at Lenud's Ferry, and pushing on,
crossed Black river a short distance below
Kingstree. Major James was on Lynche's
creek. He sent McCottry to Kingstree, but
Tarleton was gone before McCottry's arrival.
It seems that a rumor was afloat in the country
that Colonel Washington, with a large
cavalry force; wonld Boon be in the Williamson
?? rflainn. Tarleton took advantage of this
**?e> -o ?
rumor and passed himself off as Colonel Washington,
and completely deceived the people.
From Kingstree he set out, in American*
uniform, for CatndeD, to join the army at that
point. James Bradley, one of the first settlers
of the country, and at that time a venerable
old man, was fooled by Tarleton's American
uniform. Tarleton told this patriarch that he
was Colonel Washington, and that he was
seeking an opportunity to attack the British.
Mr. Bradley, who was a man of influence, and
had a perfect knowledge of every thing connected
with the immediate country, told, in
the simplicity of his heart and innocence of
his soul, everything he knew. Tarleton, pretending
to be Colonel Washington, prevailed
upon the old man to act as his guide across
the swamps of Black river. When Tarleton
had accomplished all be desired, he threw off
his disguise and avowed himself as Tarleton.
No man can approve of such an act. It
was mean and inhuman. James Bradley was
put in irons and takeiTto Camden. For some
diabolical purpose, he was, frequently, during
his long confinement at Camden, taken
out to witness the barbarous execution of his
countrymen, and often was the threat made
that his time would be next. To the honor
of the old man he ever replied : "I am ready
of anv time fn fnp mv fHllintrV." In MaV.
1781, James Bradley was released; but he
bore the marks of the irons upon his legs to
his grave.
On his march from Kingstree to Camden,
Tarleton burnt and destroyed everything in
his way. All the houses on the plantation of
Captain Henry Mouzon, together with their
contents, were burnt to ashes. The house of
James Bradley was also burnt, as well as the
houses of William and Edward Plowden.
These acts of cruelty prompted the three
companies organized in July, and McCottry's
company, to send foi^^HjL Marion. The
largest of these fou^H^^Bes was McCottry's,
and k,ooDtaij^^^H^K^ty-?y??g?a^
when organized of Charleston.
Ti^Scr-ftnrF^Orapanies, toatfhei^*|^8ome
twenty-live or thirty men
rion when be was commissic^^^^^^fcrGeneral,
constituted what was^^^^^^Hfarion's
Brigade." We must not coWJI^PMarion's
Brigade" with Marion's Regiment. The
latter consisted of nine companies, and ceased
to exist on the fail of Charleston.
After parting with Gates' army, at some
point between Deep river and CarademGeneral
Marion hastened to the regi|^^^Meen
Camden and Charleston. With
energy for which he was noted d^^^^Hhis
life, he began the work of dest^^^ the
boats upon the rivers. The object of this destruction,
as stated before, was to prevent
Cornwallis from retreating to Charleston.
Gates calculated on nothing less than the complete
extermination of all the British troops
in the region of Camden.
So soon as it was learned that Marion wa9
on the Santee, the Whigs flocked to him. The
four Williamsburg companies were all mounted,
and sent, under command of Colonel Peter
Horry, into the region of country around
Georgetown. General Marion, with a few
men, directed his course towards the Upper
Santee.
On the 17th of August, he heard of Gates'
defeat at Gum Swamp on the day before. The
news of this defeat was carefully concealed by
Marion from his men, lest it might make the
already sad, sadder. That night bis scouts
brought him information that a large British
force, with a considerable number of prisoners,
were in the neighborhood of Nelsou's Ferry.
This was just what Marion desired. He
wanted to do something to reyive the spirits
of bis men. The fact of Gates' defeat, he knew,
they would soon learn, and under no more fa
vorable circumstances could this tact De learned
than when releasing those who had bten
captured by the enemy. No doubt Marion
had another object in view. Most naturally
would he conclude, that the prisoners, when
released, would join his little band and render
good service to their country. In this fond
hope, as we will see, he was disappointed.
No sooner had he learned that a British
force was in striking distance, than he set
about making preparations for attacking it.
Nelson's Ferry is on the Santee, near the corner
of Orangeburg, Sumter and Charleston
counties. It is about thirty-five miles from
Kingstree; about the same distance from
Sumterville, and fifty or sixty miles from
Charleston.
About sundown, on the eveuing of the 19th
of August, the British guard, in charge of one
hundred and fifty prisoners who had been captured
in the late battle near Camden, crossed '
the Santee at Nelson's Ferry. They halted for |
the purpose of spending the night at what was
called the "Blue House." The party had no
idea that they were in any danger, and the
early part of the night was spent in singing
comic songs and drinking apple brandy. Late
in the night, overcome with fatigue and full of
apple brandy, the British sunk into silence.
Only a small detachment was left to watch
the American prisoners.
Marion and his men, pretending to be a
party of loyalists on their way to join the
British, crossed the river between midnight
and day. Colonel Hugh Horry, with sixteen
' brave and daring men, was detached and sent
to occupy the road in front of the British.
The plan was to begin the attack just at dawn
of day?Horry in front and Marion in the
rear. The surprise was not complete, but the
victory was. On approaching the "Blue
House," the sentinels in front of the house
fired upon the Americans and ran into the
house. Both Marion and Horry pursued
them, and in a moment the whole party were
surrounded. The British and tories, panic
stricken, ran in every direction. Nineteen
British regulars and two tories were taken
prisoners; three were killed. One captain
and a subaltern were also captured. The
spoils were a wagon loaded with supplies,
| and one hundred and fifty prisoners released.
Marion's loss was comparatively nothing?
one man killed and Captain Benson wounded
j slightly on the head.
The recaptured prisoners were mostly Continentals
of the Maryland line. These were
part of the men who, only a few weeks before,
had made all sorts of sport of Marion and
his ragged men. Marion offered to take these
liberated prisoners into bis Brigade, but
strange and ungrateful as it may appear, only
two, possibly three, could be induced to join
the ranks of the man who had liberated them.
They were completely demoralized. They
said their country's cause was hopeless, and
they were unwilling again to risk their lives
in freedom's cause.
wr ' 1 - I
Prom Tlmley'it London Magazine.
OLD ABEL'S~MILLSTdltE.
"Understand me, Abel; both my father and
myself are perfectly satisfied with the amount
already paid."
"Many thanks to you, sir, for the saying of
it; but nothing short of the full sum will satisfy
me. At the time (eight years ago next
midsummer) it was reckoned at a hundred
and fifty pounds in round numbers. I mean
to pay it every farthing, please heaveD, if I
live long enough. If I die afore, I hope
Polly'll keep up the payment reg'lar."
"But, really, Abel, I don't like taking this
money. I am sure these payments must cripple
you terribly."
"Never you mind that, Mr. Baker, junior.
I feel something on my conscience which is
worse than hunger or cold, and it won't be easy
until I've paid you all. There's five pound
ten, sir; not so much as last half-year, because
of Polly's illness in the spring; but I hope to
make it more next time. If you enter the
sum in this book and add it up, you'll find it
makes ninety pounds."
"Ninety pounds exactly. Well, if you insist
on my taking the money, I suppose I must.
Is your daughter married yet, Webb ?"
"Not yet, sir."
"Likely to be ?"
"Well, I'm afraid it's nigher than I like."
"What 1 you disapprove of her choice?"
"Oh 1 no, not a bit. Tom Smith's as good a
fellow as ever lived. He'll get on, that boy
will. He's sober, honest and manly; and
that'll tell in the long run. But I'd rather
she hadn't anybody after her?leastways until
the debt's squared 'twixt you and me."
"A debt that, as you know, we already consider
discharged."
"But which I don't, Mr. Baker, junior.
However, I'm a keeping you. Good-night,
sir ; and many thanks for your kindness."
With that Abel Webb retreats, hat in hand;
and bowing to Baker, junior, with every backward
step he takes, finds himself by aDd by
.at the hajf-.fflaaa.door ofteauxg.to tfre outer.
Tu^~''^Lrffvefr1fere,1ie once more thanks the
young partner of Baker & Baker, wholesale
druggists of Ipecacuanha lane, Alderraanbury,
and at last emerges into the crowded thoroughfare.
It is the dusk of au October evening, and
brisk dapper young men are hurrying along
the narrow courts and alleys, bent upon the
delights of home or the intoxicating pleasures
they expect to find elsewhere. The large
warehouses are closed, and the gas burns but
dimly in the grimy chambers appropriated to
those whose duty it is to remain in the premises
after business hours. Abel Webb takes
scant notice of what is passing around him.
He is a little man, poorly clad, upon whose
shoulders fifty-five years of unremitting toil,
anxiety, trouble and heavy disappointment
weigh heavily. His hair is as white as the
hoar-lrost, and the wrinkles upon his forehead
and the dark hollows beneath his eyes make
him appear a far older man than he really is;
but despite his puny stature, his weather-beaten
aspect, and the wrinkles of age, he is as
hopeful in spirit as ever, while there rests on
his features an expression of patience and
quiet determination, giving token that Abel
Webb still thinks himself capable of many a
tussle in the struggle for life.
Generally speaking, Abel cannot be considered
a good walker; neither does he ordinarily
whistle stirring national melodies as he
elbows his way throu jj.the teeming street.
Yet, however, as he^mys his half-yearly visits
toBaker, junior, he seems to become imbued
with fresh life, fresh hope and increased
strength. The patient old man recognizes
thechange himself, and joyfully feels that the
millstone of debt, which has for so many
years bung about his neck, is less heavy than
before.
Away from the close thoroughfares of the
city on to the Thames embankment. His
walk has been long and fatiguing, and resting
his arms upon the stone balustrade, he pauses
for a few moments with his eyes fixed upon
the dark, sileut-flowing river. "A hundred
and fifty pounds," he murmurs, as be looks
out upon the sweep of waters before him?"a
lot of money, a lot of money ! Easily squandered,
but how difficult to save! A fortune
to men like me. Honest Abel Webb, the
boys used to call me at school; honest Abel
Webb, I have been to my employers, and
honest Abel Webb, I'll try to be to the end of
my days."
The clanging tones of "Big Ben" woke Abel
Webb from his reverie.. With the sudden
thought that his daughter Polly would be
home before him if he didn't make great haste,
he set off at a brisk trot, resuming his cheery
whistle as he went along.
And, sure enough, home she was.
How cozy the little place looked ! It was
a pattern of neatness and domestic comfort.
The table was laid for supper, a nice crisp
loaf being flanked by a piece of cheese (placed
upon a small plate in order to make it appear
more than it really was), and jes, really a
gigantic cucumber. Polly, who was kneeling
before the fire, vigorously applying the bellows
and inciting the coals to a perfect fury of
flame, had not lighted a candle, and certainly
none was wanted. The bright blaze brought
into full view the nettle-geranium occupying
the table in front of the window ; it lit up the
photograph of the mild looking woman (Polly's
mother) on the other side of the room ; it
showed the bras3-knobbed piece of furniture,
fn nntnior/1 viour a hnroflti hut tr? the initiated
frequenter of Abel's apartments, nothing more
nor les9 than a turn-up bedstead, in which the
father himself slept ; and it reflected its
brightness upon the sideboard, with its ornaments
of ware, a few books, and the old-fashioned
work box, containing so many relics
dear to Abel and his daughter, among others
a tiny baby's shoe, once worn by that boy
(now dead) on whom Abel had lavished such
wealth of paternal love.
"Why, you're rather late, father, ain't you ?"
inquired the girl, springing to her feet, and
giving old Abel such a sounding kiss that it
might almost have been heard on the pavement
outside, if anybody had been curious
enough to listen. "I've been home a long
time."
"Well, Polly, I've be^n to the savings bank,
and afterward to Aldermanbury?you know
where. I took five pound ten; and Mr. Baker,
junior, spoke so kindly that the time
slipped by, and it was seven o'clock afore I
knew where I was, almost."
"Heaven bless Mr. Baker for those kind
words 1" responded Polly, giving her father
another hearty kiss as she unwound the woolen
comforter encircling his neck. Then, after
a pause, she asked: "Does not that make
ninety pounds you have paid ?"
"Yes, ninety pounds. It's a good deal, ain't
it ? All saved, too, by you and me, Polly."
"0, father, I doii't do much to it. If you
weren't to deprive yourself of comforts, why,
we shouldn't have paid off twenty of it"
"Don't say that, "Polly. If it was not for
your earnings, how could I put my wages in
the savings bank, as I do nearly every month."
"Well, daddy, dear, you know it's only you
I've got to live for," said the girl, archly.
"What's that yon say ?" replied old Abel,
highly pleased with his daughter's remark,
but determined not to be hoodwinked. "How
about Tom Smith ? D'ye mean to say you
don't care for him Y'
"Hush ! Don't speak so loud."
Polly blushed, and looked half-frightened,
toward that corner of the room where the big
bureau cast its shadow.
"Why, there's nobody can hear."
"Yes, father, the children might; and children
sometimes make a lot of mischief," observed
that little wiseacre, Polly. Then, with
a desperate intention of changing the subject,
she said: "You must have a great-coat, this
winter, or you are sure to have the rheumatics,
as you bad 'em last year. Oh! I saw a
beauty in the Horseferry road, to-night?so
thick, with nice, warm lining inBide, and the
price only eighteen shillings. Second-hand,
of course, but almost as good as new."
"Oh! I think I can do without it, this year.
Let's save the eighteen shillings, and send it
to Mr. Baker, junior."
"No, I shan't allow anything of the sort.
I'm just as anxious as you are to pay our
debts, but I'd rather work my fingers to the
bones than that you should suffer another year
as you .did last."
"And I, too," added a strong, manly voice,
which seemed to issue from Mr. Webb s sleep:
ing-place.
Polly gave a shriek, then burst into a ringing
laugh that seemed to fill the room with
joyous harmony, like the sound of bells upon
a frosty night; and Abel, turning suddenly in
hiB chair, saw the burly form of Tom Smithg
! emprorfl frnm t.he Hunkv corner.
"Hallo, Tom 1" shouted Abel, "So you've
been listening. Well, luckily, you ain't heard
no secrets. I suppose you are one of those
children that makes mischief, as Polly says."
This retaliation upon his daughter struck
Webb as such an extraordinary master-piece
of witticism, that he fairly roared with laughter.
By and by, Tom Smith roared, too; and
when he had had his laugh out, finding that
Abel's attention was still engrossed by the
wondrous joke, seized the opportunity to throw
his arms around Polly's waist, aL which the
damsel, who did not like being laughed at,
told the devoted lover to "a-done, and not be
so silly."
"Well, what brings you here ?" inquired
Abel, whose laugh had now subsided into a
giggle, and winking at his young friend.
"Why, father, he saw me home, and brought
the cucurabe*.for a present."
r ~ I'M v a beauty 1 I'm -wrtftfr- to
you, Tom, for"there's nothing I like better.
Some people Bays cowcumbers ain't good, that
you ought to peel 'em nicely, and then fling
'em out of the window ; but taken with a little
oftherind on, a bitofingun.and lots of pepper,
I don't think there's much harm in 'em?
leastways they don't harm me." And apparently
cucumbers were thoroughly inocuous to
Mr. Webb, who speedily drew his chair up to
the table, and began to ply his knife and fork
with a will.
Mr. Tom Smith considerately waited until
his old friend had completed his repast, and
then explained the object of his visit.
"You know, Mr. Webb, Polly and I have
been courting a long time, nigh upon eighteen
months, and we're beginning to think?that
is, I'm beginning to think," (this alteration in 1
response to a protest from Polly)?"it's time I
we got married. I don't like to see her wearing
her young life out in our hot work-rooms.
My salary, as you know, is at present ?80 a
year, and I live on the premises. Now I
think if I were to tell Loustring the facts of 1
the case, and that I wanted to live away, he'd
give me ?130. Now ain't that enough to get 1
married on, and have you any objection to
Polly and I being married at once?"
Here Tom Smith paused, not because he
had exhausted his subject, but for the reason '
that he was out of breath. Then Polly took
up the parable. Sliding her stool to her father's
side and resting her head upon his knee,
she said, tremblingly :?
"Don't think, daddy, dear, that my being
married will make any difference to you and
me, for you are to come and live with us ; eh,
Tom ?'"
Mr. Smith, thus appealed to, vowed that
his father-iu-law's residence with them was
considered quite a settled matter, as in truth
it was. A tear stood in old Abel's eye, and
his voice quivered with emotion as, laying
aside his pipe, and taking his daughter's hand
lovingly within his own, he said :?
"Tom Smith, I know you to be a true and
honest fellow. There is no man upon the face
of this earth I would more desire to call my
son-in-law; but before I give my consent to
your marriage, I must tell you of something
that may perhaps cause you to draw back."
Tom was about to speak, when Abel, in
trembling accents, resumed:?
"If you'd both been content to wait a few
years, it might never have been known to either
of you. I was still a young man when I entered
Baker & Baker's warehouse; you, Polly,
were three year's old, but your brother Sam,
was eleven or more. He used sometimes to
bring me my meals to the drug warehouse,
and once or twice Mr. Baker?the old man I
am speaking of now?took notice of him.
As I was a bit of a favorite, he used to say to
me : 'Now, Abel, when that boy's old enough
I'll take him into the counting house, if you
like.' If I would like? I treasured 'those
words, and your mother and myself did all we
could in the way of sending him to school and
such like, soas he should befit when Mr. Baker
him wanted. Oh! how we loved that boy!
how proudly we watched him grow up, and
what hopes we formed of him 1 Sam seemed <
n atfiftdv. industrious lAd enoueh. and for a
time he certainly gave great satisfaction in 11
the counting-house. He was then seventeen,
and as handsome a fellow as you might wish i
to see, though I'm his father as says it. He l
was a general favorite in the office, and at <
last got trusted to collect some of the debts 1
due the firm. About this time there came a 1
sudden change in his habits and appearance, <
which alarmed me and his mother very much, i
He got to keeping late hours, made some bad <
acquaintances, and began to dress extravagantly.
It was no use our cautioning him, <
for he seemed determined to go on his own '
course. But all the sorrow and disappoint- i
ment we felt was as nothing to the fearful i
blow that almost stunned us when, on a chance
examination of the books, it was found Sam <
had embezzled his employer's money to a hun- '
dred and fifty pounds. From the moment of
that terrible discovery your mother drooped :
and drooped until she died. What he bad <
done with the money be would never tell; but
the head cashier, Mr. Robert Wilmot, he who i
went soon after to Australia, declared that
more than once he had heard the boy talking
about horse-racing; and it was in this way fa
always considered the money had gone. A
for Sam himself, be stack to it hard and fat
that he was not guilty of any dishonesty
He swore that the money he'd collected hai
always been paid over to the cashier; but th
evidenee the other was too strong, and ou
boy was branded as a thief. Mr. Wilmot, wh
was angry at Sam's insinuations, wanted hit
sent to prison; but Mr. Baker was a mercifi
man, and did not bring upon us further dii
grace. After this I felt that I could no longe
remain in Mr. Baker's employ, and thus
went to Loostring & Tool's. So that Sac
might have a chance of getting back his chai
acter, Mr. Baker gave him a letter of intr<
duction to a merchant at Bombay, somewher
in India, who might be able to find him en
ployment such as wouldn't have tempt$tioni
Sam eagerly jumped at the offer, but up t
the moment or his departure deolared himsel
innocent of stealing Mr. Baker's money
Poor fellow ! it was the last we saw of hin
Before the vessel reached India she met
fearful hurricane, and every soul on ooara c
her perished."
Overcome by these painful recollection
Abel buried his face in his hands and wep
Complete silence reigned in the room for a fe'
moments, and then Polly, controlling, with a
effort, the strong emotions that swept throug
her heartj crept to her fathers side and place
her hand in his.
"Dear father," she said, in broken tone
"the story of your sorrow makes^ you deare
to me than ever."
The old man withdrew his hand from he
embrace, and, when she had kissed the teai
from his cheeks, resumed :
"There could be no doubt of your brother
guilt, and I was too sensible of the kinduei
of his employers to allow them to suffer. I ri
solved, come what might, that I would do m
best to repay them. For this I daily denie
myself; for this I narrowed your opportun
tie* of education ; and this, next to your ha]
piness, my child, is the object of my life."
"Dear father, and until now you have a
ways led me to believe that the amount pai
half-yearly was to discharge a debt of yot
own."
"My darling, was it to your interest to kno
the truth ? When your brother left Englan
you were but a child. Up to to-night, it hi
been my constant endeavor to hide the rei
facts of the case from you. I had hoped 1
have paid off the whole amount before you g<
married. Tom's proposal to night, howeve
has frightened the secret out of me, for I coul
not allow him to marry you without knowin
the truth."
"And now I do know it, Mr, Webb," e:
claimed Tom, who had been trying to spea
for some time, but had been unable to do si
uwing to a strange sensation as of marbh
rolling up his throat and a determination 1
water his eyes?"now I do know it, I am no
more than ever desirous of making Polly m
wife. I thought of having the banns put u]
next week, and then we can be married hi
fore another month is over our heads."
"But, Polly," inquired Abel, "is not the
rather soon ?"
His daughter was at that moment engage
in attending to the fire, the brightness <
which had, during the recital of Abel's reveli
tion, become somewhat dimmed. Just afte
he spoke, a cheery flame shot forth and di,
closed a happy smile upon Polly's face and
-bfogir-B^UB uel fbhnfng quitesufficiei
answer to the question.
"Well, my children," continued the ol
man, "do as you will."
Tom Smith sprang from his chair, and ws
wringing Abel's hands in token of gratitudi
when the sound of footsteps ascending tb
stairs caught Abel's ear.
"Here, Polly! quick with the candle," b<
cried: "there is some one wants us, or ha
mistaken the floor."
The room had hitherto been illuminate
solely by the fitful gleam of the fire, and jus
as Polly had got the candle alight the doo
was opened, and in strode Mr. Baker?Bs
ker, junior?whom Abel had left only ai
hour and a half before.
"0, A bel," said Baker, with his broad, rue
dy face glowing with excitement, "I'm s
glad I've found you at home. I've good new
for you?news that will make your heart lea
from your bosom."
"What?what is it? exclaimed Abel, whil
^ " i? i it J ..i_ _ J _:i
rouy ana ner Deiroinea looaeu ou m biibu
amazement.
"Why your boy Sam?he who eight year
ago was thought to be guilty of robbing usis
proved to have been innocent."
Abel sank back in his chair, his face grei
pale, and bis hands clutched the wrist of Toe
Smith and his daughter, who had rushed .t
his side.
"How?how do you know this V' he gaspec
"An hour after you left my office, a lette
from Australia was delivered?it was writte
by a magistrate in Melbourne, and was to th
effect that our late cashier, Robert Wilmo:
having received a fatal injury through bein
run over in the streets, in his last moment
made a deposition before the legal authoritie
that your son was innocent, he himself aj
propriating the moneys of the firm, and in oi
der to conceal his own delinquencies was con
pelled to fix the guilt upon some one els<
The official papers will arrive by next roai
Abel, believe me, no person is more rejoice
at this intelligence than myself." ,
The old man was in tears?he could nc
speak; but the pressure he gave the extende
hand evinced his belief in Baker, junior's, sit
cerity.
"And, Abel," continued the new-comer, "i
gives me great pleasure?more pleasure tha
I can tell you?-to hand you back your ninet
pounds. Both my father and myself resolve
never to touch a penny of it; if you had die
before you were satisfied you had discharge
the sum, we should have banded over th
money to your daughter. I am deligbtec
kninaiiar tn rrirra it KqpIt tft Vflll nflTSOnftlfv
""" ?"*?,?*/ 6. .%..v J - - J
and, if you will come to our office, to-morrow
I will hand you over the 5 per cent, intere*
which has accrued since the first paymem
Good-by, Abel. I feel myself an intrude
cow. Good-by, and Heaven bless you, or
honest fellow 1"
Baker, junior, who seemed with every won
to become thicker and thicker in his uttei
ance, then placed in Abel's lap a small car
vas bag, which gave forth a clinking sound
and once again heartily wringing the the ol<
man's hand, bounced out of the room, ere an;
one could bid him farewell.
"Polly, Polly," whispered Abel, "give m
that work-box."
The girl knew what he wanted, and placet
the box before him. She saw his fingers drav
from its contents of precious relics of a bygon
jay a tiny baby's shoe which had never be
longed to her. The old man held it withu
bis hands, and after gazing at it for some sec
onds, drew it reverently to his lips, and mur
mured: "My boy innocent, my boy innocent
Oh I tbat he had lived to see this day I"
Tom Smith stole his arm around the wais
of his betrothed and drew her to the window
They raised the blind, and looking out, wit
aessed the heavens resplendent with myriat
stars and a bright creseut-shaped moon.
"Polly, dear," said Tom, "it's the first dai
of the new moon. Yon ought to wish, ant
what you wish is sure to come true."
"Is it, Tom?" replied the girl,, with a wish
ful, trusting look in her eyes that made hin
draw her still closer to him. "Bo you knov
I have watched for the new moon and wishec
regularly the same thing for many month
past?"
"And what was your wish, Polly?" is
e quired Tom, archly, (I think he knew, al.s
though he pretended to be entirely ignorant.)
;t "Oh, if I were to tell yon now, the charm
j. might fail. Ask me, dear, when the next new
d moon comes, and, perhaps, I'll tell you my
e wish."
ir "Then darling, we shall be man and wife."
0 His voice had sunk to a whisper, but it
n reached her ears, and, when the words ceased,
il her head sank, upon his shoulder. The fire
5- in the grate died away, the candle upon the
ir table flickered and at length went out; but,
1 with its last ray, it showed the old man, wrapt
a in contemplations of his precious relio, and
r- the two lovers?one in heart and mind^-still
>- gazing upon the peaceful splendor of the star..
-1 1 1 c
e miouiiou uiaiauicuu
J- JUDGE COOKE 0N G0Y. CHAMBEELAI5.
a Judge Cooke, who some time ago renounced
,f his connection with the Republican party of
South Carolina, delivered a speech at Camden
b, last week; and took the occasion to tell his
t. hearers something about Governor Chamberlain.
The correspondent of the Charleston
? News and Courier says,:
j After a humorous introdnction, Judge
Cooke commenced on Governor Chamberlain.
Chamberlain would not accept Hampton's in9>
vi tat ion, because, as he had told the speaker
!r himself, he was afraid that if the colored people
came to Democratic meetings, they would
:r hear the truth and be converted.. He charged
3 Chamberlain with recommending the pur,
chase of Hell Hole Swamp for $175,000; not
8 worth over $10,000. The speaker next atf
tacked the land commission. Chamberlain,
" 'Parker and Neagle stole all the difference be^
tween $130,000 and $200,000 appropriated
for lands for the homeless. He received $30,000
for aiding the phosphate bill. He (in
1871) added $1,000,000 (after being scaled
by 50 cents on the dollar) to the public debt
of South Carolina. Chamberlain would not
" allow Scott to prosecute the land commissionlr
ers, because the people who owned the lands
were rebels. All the bonds issued during
* Scott's administration were issued by advice
" of Chamberlain. The land commission spent
^ $800,000 when the acts only permitted $700,"
000. Chamberlain advised that the land
? commission could use the money in the treas}t
ury. Chamberlain had not reduced the taxes
as claimed. In Scott's administration the
" taxes averaged 9} mills. The next fonr
8 years the taxes averaged 12 mills. Of these,
two years belonged to the administration of
z~ Governor Chamberlain. Cardozo first filled
? his pockets and then retired. Scott had nothing
to do with it.
28 Chamberlain's reforms are Scott's. With ?
out Democrats he could not have effected a
w single reform measure. Chamberlain recent7
ly bought for $5,000, of ex-Treasurer Parker,
P? all the papers which implicated Chamberlain.
B* But, before delivering tbem up, Parker took
photographic copies of every one of those
lt papers. Chamberlain procured Puffer's discharge
as receiver, by which the State lost
<1 one hundred thousand dollars of the funds of
>f the Bank of the State. Thirty thousand doli
lars were taken out of that fund and spent by
>r Chamberlain to elect himself Governor. He
a- produced the cancellation of Puffer's bond
ft with D. H. Chamberlain's name upon it. and I
it wwlretKTfTfffii^rrain wefe here~to listen.
Chamberlain was asleep in the cars while
d the Combahee riot was going on. Judge
Mackey woke him up. He said: "Wake up.
ift Go back to Columbia. Protect the colored
ft. people." "Oh ! no," said Chamberlain, "I
e must go North for my family."
Chamberlain was like the Irishman's horse,
ft He had two qualities. When he started, all
? hell couldn't catch him, and when you caught
him he wasn't worth a dam. Chamberlain is
d a coward. He had said that at Abbeville
t there was a rush, and he heard the click of
r numbers of pistols. I was there, said Judge
i- Cooke, but I saw no rush and heajrd no click,
ft I have never seen but one man with a pistol
during this campaign. During the same
I- meeting Chamberlain followed me very close*
o ly; he insisted on my dining with him.
ft Chamberlain received a large sum of money
P ($3,000) to bribe a Judge of the Supre ne
/-I . TT. a. At- J? v:? ?./.1rA?.anJ
V^ouri. nu put mo uiuuojr iu uio jwi/kcu, ouu
e never paid the note. He attempted to bribe
t one of the Judges of the Supreme Court '
Chamberlain really was responsible for the
* election of Moses and Whipper. /Be left Co
lumbia knowing that these men were to be
elected. Chamberlain, too, urged Democrats
to organize and to arm themselves. Cham*
o berlain is responsible for the Hamburg affair,
o on account of the character of the appointees
of his officers at Hamburg. His proclamation
1. shows that he has given up the contest, unless
ir be expects to fill this entire State with armed
n- soldiery. But if he did you would still vote
e for- Wade Hampton. His proclamation is
t, without warrant of force or of law. Chamg
berlain was a direct lineal descendant of the
s thief upon the cross. If Hampton's soul
s could be placed inside of Chamberlain's body,
h one of two results would inevitably follow:
r- either Hampton's soul would freeze up, which
i- could never happen; or Chamberlain's body
3. 1 would be bursted.
1. Judge Carpenter has no more use for Chamd
berlain than I have. He bates him like an
adder. He did not write a letter, as the other
>t judges did, because he was at variance with
d Chamberlain, and thought his motive would
i- be misconstrued. But Judge Carpenter is
fully in accord with us. ?. D. Morgan, who
it is running for Governor of New York, owns
1 - .L. XTT l T_
seven Hundred negro slaves in me webl xuy
dies, and has them branded "E. D. M;" so
d that he can have them caught when they run
d away*
d Judge Cooke then explained to the colored
e people the true condition of the political quesi,
tUn.
; William Boykin (colored) interned the
1, speaker, and said: "South Carolina has been
it very sick and diseased. We have tried three
t. doctors?Dr. Scott, Dr. Moses and Dr. Cham*
r berlain; none of them could cure the disease.
y I am now going to try another doctor. [Immense
cheering.] This colored man had been
d a leading Radical np to to-day.
Judge Cooke, continuing said: Chamberi.
lain had peijured himself in trying to escape
|s the consequences of asuit against the Uniond
Herald. He solemnly swore that there were
Y other parties owners of that paper, besides
himself and Cardozo, when he knew that those
- a a Anlv nArsons who had anv inter
e - ?- J r , - .
est m that concern.
] Judge Cooke next took the State ticket, <
v Dominated by the Republican party,and com- |
e pared some of them with the Democratic can- {
>. didates. Then,with an eloquent appeal to the ,
j ladies, be closed amidst tremendous applause, j
SPOTTED TAIL'S DAUGHTER j
! A gentleman writing from Fort Laramie^ i
Wyoming Territory, tells the following roman- j
t tic story about the daughter of Spotted Tail, |
. the famous Sioux chief: j
Twenty yards from the new hospital, on j
1 the hill overlooking Fort Laramie, are two j
Indian graves?i. coffins raised fifteen feet j
j from the ground, on stout poles. One of these \
1 coffins contained the bones of a young daughter
of Spotted Tail, the famous chief of the. .j
- Sioux tribe, who died in 1864. The tribe of. <1
i Spotted Tail was at that time permanently f
r located near this fort, and the chief and. hit1 i
i family were treated with much consideration i
b by the officers?volunteers. Theyoungsquaw \
was one of the fairest of the dusky maidens i
- of her tribe, She ?dw4 hy her old I
father, and her hand sought by many of the
warriors.
Unfortunately for her, the eharme of her
dusky face and figure were not passed unnoticed
by the pale faces, and a pertain gay captain
found opportunity to whisper pleasant
nonsense in her ears. Moonlight strolls and
wayside meetings were soon in order, and the
flower of the Sioux began to sigh for the company
of the gallant pale fhoe. She made
known her story of love, to her father, and he
immediately waited upon the young officer
and demanded his hand in marriage for his
daughter. The captain's name was not Smith,
however, and he was decidedly ignorant of
the precedent of Pocahontas, for he positively
declined the honor.
The old chieftain, tfBore in sorrow than in
1 A1_ l:? u:.
anger, returned wiui tuc oruauiug ??no ?uuu
daughter. It was a burning sun to the "Fair
Flower" of the Sioux. She drooped and began
to withernam! her father, as a last resort,
sent her to visit some relatives whose hunting
grounds were on the Father of Waters, five
hundred miles away. Hers was a disease,
however, which change of scene and air did
not affect, and she had been gone hut a short
time when a mounted messenger 'came to her
father, in breathless haste, to summon him to
the wigwam of death. Mounting his swiftest
pony, be galloped madly over theplain, andthenonly
reached hjs daughterVvide in time
to receive her dying request that she should
be buried at Fori Laramie.
His promise was kept, and the brokenhearted
girl was laid to her last rating place
amid one of the grandest displays ever witoe&
-jd on the plains; soldiers and Indians
alike participated, and twenty Indian ponies
were killed in her honor. The commanding
officer of the fort gave bis solemn promise to
the old chief that the box containing .his
daughter's body should never be disturbed.
This promise has been sacredly observed until
two months since, when a meddling army
surgeon, just before,starting on on expedition
with General Crook, emptied the coffin of its
sacred contents, gave the bones to a subordinate,
and ordered him to expose them to the
sun occasionally during the summer, to bleach
thAm. and urion his return he would refresh
his anatomy with the skeleton..
Imagine the feelings of this sob one day,
not long ago, upon being confronted by another
surgeon with theqneiy, tremulously
put, if he did not have the bones of Spotted
Tail's daughter in his possession. Me answered
affirmatively, ana was further Questioned
about the accompanying bedding,
wrapping, trinkets,, etc. This had all been
burned, except two rings and bracelets, and
Spotted Tail had just arrived for the purpose
of removing the remains to. his own agency.
It was feared that if the desecration of the
grave became known to hifr it would cause
him to abandon his pewfeul attitude and
join his brethren on the war path.
Accordingly, at the dead of night the box
was replace, the bones deposited therein,
each bedding, trinkets, etc., as oould be mustered
accompaniedjthem, and fortunately, next
morning, Spotted Tail left for Cheyenne, to be
gone five days. During his absence, to coyer
the thing, a handsome coffin was made, the
bones placed therein, and all removed to the
hospital, as if to save trouble to the ohief.
Oo his return he visited the hospital, inspected
the remains closely, expressed himself satisfied,
and started with his preoiooa burden
for the Spotted Tail rescm^ion.^
JEFFERSON'S OPINION OF WASHWONHT
While at Monticello, in the year 1814, Jefferson
wrote a letter in which he says: "I
?W:_1~T Irnnm CUnaml Waaliiniif/in infimkIaIir
bLIIUBk X QUVTT WUOICU IV WHiM^fvu
and thoroughly; and were I called on to delineate
his character, it should Ite in. terms
like these: His mind was great and powerful,
without being of the very first order; his penetration
strong, thoogh not so acute as that of
Newton, Bacon or Locke; and as far as he saw,
no judgment was ever sounder. It; was slow
in operation, being little aided by invention
or imagination, butsure in conclusion. Hence
the common remark of his officers, of the advantage
he derived from councils of war,
where, hearing all suggestions, he selected
what was best; and certainly no General ever
planned his battles more judiciously. But if
deranged during- the course of the action, if
anv member of his plan was dislocated by
suaden circumstances he was slow in a re-ad}
ustment The conseouence was that he often
failed in the field, and rarely agaiiist an ene- 4#
my in station, as at Boston and York. He
was incapable of fear, meeting personal dan(lia
aaltnagf nnanniWm . PflrliaM
JgCIO TViMA UiV VWmiVBH Huwuvv>a>r- *. ? ??,
the strongest feature in his character was prudence;
never acting until every circumstance,
every consideration, was maturely weighed, refraining
if he saw a doubt; but when once decided,
going through with his purpose, whatever,
obstacles opposed. His integrity was
most pure, Lis justice the most inflexible I have
ever known, no motives of interest or consanguinity,
of friendship or hatred being able to
bias his decision. He was, indeed; in every
sense of the word, a wise, a good and a great
man. His temper was naturally irritable and
high-toned ; but reflection and resolution had
obtained a firm and habitual ascendency over
it If ever, however, it broke its bonds, he
was most tremendous in his wrath. In his expenses
he was honorable, but exact; liberal in
contributions to whatever promised utility;
but frowning and- unyielding on all visionary
projects, and all unworthy calls on his charity.
His heart was nqt warm in its afibctions; bnt
he exactly calculated every man's value, and
gave him solid esteem proportioned cc it. His
person, you know, was jSne, his stature exaotly
what one would wisby his deportment easy,
erect and noble; the beet horseman of his age,
and the most graceful , figure that oould do
seen on horseback. Aftjftugh in the circle of
his friends/where he migat be unreserved with
safety, be took a free share in conversation;
his colloquial talents were npt above mediocrity,
possessing neither copiousness of ideas,
nor fluency of wordk In nublio, when called
on for a sadden opinion, he was unready,
short and embarrassed. Yet he wrote, readly,
rather diffusely, in an easy and correct
style. This he had acquired by conversation,
with tb" world, for his eduyafion was merely
reading, writing and common arithmetic, to
which he added surveying at a later day. His
time was employed in actum chiefly/ leading
little and that only inagricillture and English,
history. His correspoadeg|ft.becam6 necessarily
extensive, and, with(jf||nal using his agricultnral
proceedings, occupied most of his
leisure hours within doors. On the whole,^
his character was, in its mass, perfect, in noth- v
ing bad, in few points indifferent/and it may
truly be said, that never did ttttpra and fortune
combine more perfectly to make a great
man, and to plaoe him in thp same constellation
with whatever worthies have merited from
ftan, an everlasting remembrance. For hia. .
was the singular destiny and merit of.leading
the armies of his country, successfully through
in arduous war, for the establishment of its
^dependence, of conducting its councils
through the birth, of a government, new in its
forms and principles, until it had settled down
nto a quiet and orderly train / and of scrupuously
obeying the laws through the whole of
lis career, civil and military, of which the bia*??' ?'^
J9& The circulation of counterfeit bank notes
viU be materially lessened in the United
5tft?t^;&e,ftribt enforcement of the act of
Zfeh^roas requiring bank officials to deface
inch notes on presentation and thereby render^^
hem .entirely worthless. The Secret^rv^^
he Treasury has issued a timely^^g
he subject,