Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, February 26, 1880, Image 1
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lewis m. grist, proprietor. |^n Inbepenbenf Jfamilg ^tttospsptr: Jfor tjie promotion of % political, Social, ^griraltaral anb Commercial Interests of % Straff. |TERMS?$2.50 A YEAR, IN ADYASCE.
YOL. 26. YORKYILLE, S. O., THURSDAY, FEBEUAEY 1880. - NO. 9.
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Jut ?rigittal ^toro/
Written for the Yorkville Enquirer.
THE THREAD OF FATE.
BY VICTOR VERNON.
CHAPTER XIII.
Madelaine accompanied Eugene to within a
short distance of her father's dwelling, and then
stopped.
"I do not want to go in," she said, timidly.
"Would Monsieur be angry if I left him to go
on without me ?"
"No, certainly not. You need not go with
me if you dislike to do so. I shall understand
how to introduce the subject to your father
-ir ?
my?eu.-He
went on alone, and knocked at the door
of the little cottage. A surly voice bade him
enter. He did so, and found the peasant, Jean
Favel, smoking his pipe, with a sullen face, iri
a corner of the apartment which constituted
bed-room and parlor in one, while his wife, a
comely woman, whose red eyes bore witness to
recent tears, was busying herself putting away
some clean dishes, in a little cupboard that ;
stood in a recess, near the fire-place. Favel
rose at Eugene's entrance, taking his pipe,
with a sort of apology, from his mouth.
"I didn't know it was Monsieur knocking,
or I should have risen to admit him. Please
to be seated."
Eugene accepted the wooden chair, which the
wife hastened to place for him, making, as he
did so, some pleasant remark about the fine
weather, and the brilliancy of the evening.
"Aye, it's well enough, "assented Favel. "I
haven't troubled myself to look out. I've other
things to think about."
"Iheard you were in trouble," said Eugene,
rushing boldly into the subject, at once, "and
to be frank, I have come in to-night to see if I
cant be of service to you."
"Monsieur has heard of it, has he ! Aye, it's
all over the place by this time, no doubt," said
the man, bitterly. "Disgrace doesn't hide itself
long."
"I don't see that there is any disgarce in the
matter, Favel. You feel sore on the subject,
no doubt; but if you look at it in the right
light, I think you will find that your daughter
is more to be pitied than blamed."
"Don't name her to me," exclaimed the
peasant, bringing his fist heavily down upon
the table with a muttered oath. "If she had
been dutiful and obedient at first, this black
stain wouldn't be upon her now. Disgrace !
how can there be anything but disgrace in
such behaviour? I am an honest man, and
have carried an honest name, like my father
and grandfather, aye, and my great-grandfather
and his father before him. Until now I
have never felt ashamed to look any one in the
face ; no, not even when she?the girl?ran
away, though that was hard enough to bear.
But now it's different. She has brought shame
upon us, and I can never hold up my head
again."
"Oh, Jean!" sobbed his wife, who now held
hor anrftii tn hpr pvps
"Hold your tongue, you foolish woman,"
said Favel sharply. "If I were to listen to all
you women-folk, I should be nothing but a
woman, or an idiot, myself. If Monsieur
could but hear them talk!" he added, disdainfully,
to Eugene. "They would argue me out
of my senses if they could."
His wife, weeping aloud, left the room.
Eugene drew his chair closer to that of the
peasant, and in the kindest manner gradually
led him on to speak of all that was weighing
r on his heart. Favel was not really a hard or
cruel man ; but he had been wrought up almost
to frenzy by the unhappy circumstances of his
daughter's condition, apd in his first transport
of grief and shame had uttered certain threats
and declarations which lie was now unwilling
to retract. He had always been a kind father,
and had been especially fond of his daughter
Marie. For this reason her misfortune weighed
upon him with double force, mid filled him
with a bitterness that seemed to destroy every
soft and kindly sentiment of his nature.
Never before had Eugene employed his argumentative
powers to such an exhaustive extent,
or against such api>arentlj, invincible
obstinacy, as in the present case. But by
degrees, the old peasant seemed to yield, or at
least to listen with more favor to hi& representations.
And when, at length, Eugene assured
him that he would place the case immediately
in the hands of a comment lawyer,
and see that no expense was spared in the
prosecution of the unprincipled man who had
so ruthlessly wrecked his daughter's happiness,
and in forcing him to acknowledge her rights,
his stoicism fairly gave way.
"Monsieur is goodness itself," he said,
drawing his rough sleeve across his eyes.
"The good God knows I should be thankful to
ha ire my poor girl righted ; but I could not see
how it could ever be accomplished without my
shedding the blood of this scelerat, and for the
sake of my family I should not wish to be
branded as an assassin?and I would be, as
Monsieur knows; for where the rich and the
poor come in conflict with one another, the
sympathy of the world, and what is called its
justice, is always on the side of the fonper,
and we of low degree stand a poor chance.
I might have swung for it, and then the poor
wife and children would have had the finger
pointed at them as the family of a gallowsbird,
and the sons' prospects would have been
ruined forever. So, as Monsieur sees, I believed
I should have no redress. But if Monsiepr
is.so generous, so princely as to take the
matter into his hands, my life shall be spent
in trying to repay him ; for it has never been
said that a Favel was ungrateful, or forgot a
kindness."
"I want no payment, man ami, except your
nromise to be kind to vour daughter, and re
voke at once all your harsh resolves which j
have cost her so much pain. Consider how j
much you might soothe and console her, by !
treating her with affection, and assuring her j
of your forgiveness for her fault."
"Monsieur is right. I have acted like a |
brute," said Favel. "But it was my misery j
which soured me. I looked at the matter with
prejudiced eyes, and forgot her unhappiness'
with my own. I will take her under my roof
at once, and then, at least, our domestic harmony
will be restored."
After a little more conversation, during
which Eugene made one or two business ar- {
rangements, in regard to apiM)intnients with a
lawyer, whom he promised to see on the fol- j
lowing day, he took leave of the grateful i>easant,
and retraced Ins steps homeward. It was ,
now quite late, and as he reached the door 1
of the Chateau he heard the parlor clock strike 1
^ ten.
To his surprise, he found Mr. Eustace sitting
in the library witli the rest of the household.
He told hiin that he had felt so much better
| that he had taken a sudden resolve to leave his
chamber and join the family down stairs. As
* was natural, Eugene told them all how he had
spent the evening, in order to account for the
lateness of his return. Mrs. Stanley's sympathies,
and indeed those of all his listeners, were
warmly enlisted in favor of the poor girl who
had been so deeply wronged.
"It is like you. my dear Eugene, to take the
cause of the "unfortunate in hand," said Mrs.
Stanley. "But do you think you will be able i
to obtain redress?"
"If the scoundrel can be caught, he shall
certainly be made to suffer; though to what extent
I can't tell without knowing the exact
nature of his crime. If he deceived the girl
by a false marriage, he is certainly answerable
for such a deception ; and if the marriage was
a true one, as she claims it to be, then of course
she is his wife and can force him to acknowledge
it. LeBrun is a sharp practioner, and
has a great (leal ot experience, it mere is justice
to tie obtained I can trust him to get it done."
"There's a saying that law and justice
don't go hand in hand," said Mrs. Stanley;
"and if this man is able, as I presume he must
lie, to employ his own counsel, he may come
off trnmpiiant yet."
"I'll see that he doesn't," said Eugene vindictively.
"I'll employ the first counsel in
the land, if necessary, to get him punished,
no matter what it costs. If there is one thing
above another which gives me satisfaction, it
is to see villainy like this meet with its deserts."
He looked quite excited, and paced up and
down the floor with folded arms, too absorbed
in this new subject of interest to think about
anything else.
"Helen my, dear," said Mr. Eustace suddenly,
speaking in an odd, hurried sort of
wav, "I think I'll go back to my room at once.
I?it's getting late, and I have been up long
enough. Let me have your arm."
/'
"Do you feel worse, papa?" asked Helen
anxiously, as she hastened to give him the
required support.
"No?oh no. But I must go now. Good
night, Mrs. Stanley?Mr. St. Orme?and all."
"Pray, sir, take my arm, it is stronger than
Miss Helen's?allow me to assist you up stairs,"
said Eugene, coming to his side. As Mr.
Eustace accepted the proffered support, he
noticed that the old gentleman trembled, and
seemed so feeble that he could scarcely walk;
his face also denoted much agitation, though
he still insisted, on being questioned, that he
was not feeling worse than usual.
"I fear, sir, you have tried your strength
too severely this evening, in coming down
stairs," said Eugene.
"No, no, "nonsense," said Mr. Eustace with
unusual testiness. Eugene, finding that the
subject annoyed him, said no more, but having
conducted him to the door of his own room,
bade him good night, and left him to the care
of his daughters.
The following morning, just as he was preparing
to ride off to the next town, to consult
the lawyer in whose hands he intended to put
Marie's ease. Helen Eustace came to the front
door.
"I am so sorry to detain you, Mr. St. Orrne,"
she said, "but papa has taken a fancy to have
you to come up and see him, and seems so
earnest about it that I didn't like to disappoint
him, though I knew you were just going
out."
"Certainly, I will come with pleasure," said
Eugene readily, though not too well pleased at
the delay. "I hope he is feeling better this
morning?"
"He says he is very well; but he seems nervous,
and a little different from his usual self.
Perhaps you can cheer him up."
"I shall do my best, at all events."
When they reached Mr. Eustace's room,
Helen, having ushered Eugene in, left him
alone with her father. "Sit down, sit down,
my dear sir," said the old gentleman, in the
same nervous, agitated manner, which his
host had -remarked on the previous evening.
"I trust I am not.detaining you from any important
business?"
"My business can very well wait, sir; a half
hour one way or the other can not make much
difference," replied Eugene.
"Well, t shant detain you more than a half
hour; probably not so long. It may seem superfluous
to you, Mr. St. Orme," continued
Mr. Eustace, twisting himself uneasily in his
chair, "for me to claim your attention to a
matter of private interest?a?a subject in
which you can have no concern?but I am impelled
to do it. I feel it my duty to leave no
stone unturned?no means untried, by which
I may yet succeed in having tardy justice
done to the innocent victim of a great crime?
one whose shadow hangs over me almost as
directly as if I had been its perpetrator. Your
account of the unhappy young woman, whom
you are now trying to befriend, impressed me
deeply, on account of the similarity of her
case to this other of which I am about td tell
you?and awoke in me the dormant resolve to
make you my confidant, as I have already
done one or two others, though, unhappily,
without success."
Eugene, a good deal astonished by this preamble,
replied that if he could in any way assist
him, in the matter to which he alluded,
he would be most happy to do so.
"You must know, then, my dear young
friend," continued his guest, in a lower tone,
"that I once had a brother, who was the idol
of my affections, and the pride of my heart,
lie was more like my son than my brother,
being several years my junior, and having been
confided to my care by my mother, on her
death-bed. He was a "handsome, clever lad,
winning and lovable?but, alas! he had defects
of character which I was blinded to, and which
* > .- i-x-. T ?: 1 i.4?v,
x uiscovereu oniy 100 laie. x rumen miu, mi.
St. Orme, by my indulgence ; allowed him to
spend money freely, trusting implicitly to his
sense of honor not to put it to a wrong or foolish
use; and seldom called upon him to give
an account of his behavior, when absent from
me. The result was, that he got in with a fast,
reckless set of young men, who, at last, succeeded
in making him almost as dissipated as
themselves. I was very much engrossed in my
business, which is my only excuse?and it is a
poor one?for not having looked after him
more carefully, Besides, nothing happened to
make me suspect the true state of affairs. At
home, he was always affectionate and cheerful,
ready to oblige me in every way, and conversing
with a seeming frankness and unreserve,
which made me think him as open as the day.
When he was about twenty-one, I married, and
my wife, a most amiable and lovely woman,
always treated him with sisterly affection, and
united with me in making my home pleasant
for him. But not very long after our marriage,
I began, for the first time, to detect a
change in his conduct and manner. Hebecame
a little constrained, and was less with us
than formerly; though, when I questioned him
(thinking he might have got into some little
trouble which I could help him out of) he
laughed, and declared it was all imagination,
on my part, and thus threw me off my guard
again. 2sot very long after this, he declared
his intention of making a little tour through
some of the States, (this, you understand, was
in America, We lived in Pennsylvania, at
that time). lie was now, of course, his own
master, and at liberty to go where he pleased,
lie left us, and after writing me two or three
letters, I heard 110 more of him for nearly a
year. I grew very anxious, wrote to various
addresses, and even put advertisements in the
newspaper, but without success. After a period
of most trying suspense to me, he one day
suddenly made his appearance?but oh, how
changed! Evil habits had told fearfully
upon him, and he looked years older than when
we had seen him last. He told me he wanted
money; that he was hard up, and had come to I
me to help him. "And what but dissipation,
Harry, can have reduced you to this condition
?" I asked him, shocked beyond measure
at his reckless, defiant manner, so different
from his old affectionate way. He declared
that if I refused to help him he would obtain
money by some means or other, since it was
necessary for him to have it., I replied that I
would help him, and do all I could for him,
provided he would stay with us and settle
down quietly to some respectable occupation.
After some hesitation, he replied that lie was
forced to gooff again, but would shortly return
and accept my conditions. In the mean time,
he must have some money for an imperative
purpose. Finally, I consented to give it to him;
0../I 11'iHi t!Ar?n tniivirmif rallipn fvf nisi fnrivipr
axiu n ivu ov/jiiv uppuivuv ivtuj.it vt. <jj^ i.v? .?.v*
feeling, he thanked me warmly, assured me he
would never forget my kindness, and so forth.
He went off, and I saw 110 more of him, nor
had I any idea where he was gone. About this
time my wife fell ill; and when she was convalescent
the doctor ordered us away to the
sea coast for a change of air. We were absent
a month, and on our return the servants told
me that a young woman, apparently in very
miserable circumstances, had come to the
house several times during our absence, asking
to see some of the family. The last time, she
had left a little note, which she begged might
be given tome. It was addressed, however, to
my brother. I opened it, and soon discovered,
from its contents, one reason of his altered
and strange behavior. This poor, young creature,
it seems, had been deluded, by him, into
a secret marriage. Iler parents were resectable
j>eople, living in Connecticut, and she hail
left them without tlpdr sanction. After living
awhile with her, he had deserted her, and
she was now absolutely without the means of
; supi>ort. In fact, in the most frightfully destitute
circumstances. They had been out West
somewhere, and he had cruelly left her there,
: without the means of returning home. I
waited anxiously for her to make her appearance
again, but she never came.
"Well, sir, it's a sad story, and I'm making
it a longer one than I intended. Soon afterwawlu
I nrsiu eiimniftno,! to 111V lirother'S dviUCT
bed, in a hospital where he had been carried,
i injured in some disgraceful brawl in a gamj
bling house. lie confessed to me all his
[ guilt?and I believe his remorse was sincere.
He had shamefully treated his poor wife, who,
he said, had truly loved him; and to make
matters worse, lie had even told her that she
was not really his wife?that their marriage
i certificate was forged. "Whether she believed
him or not he could not tell; but he made
me promise to find her out, if I could, and assure
her of his repentance for his liehavior to
her, and tell her that in his last moments he
had solemnly sworn that she was his true.and
lawful wife. They had a child, it seems, a
little boy a few months old. Well, immediately
after his death, 1 started off on my mis|
sion?reached her home, as he had descrilied it
I to me?found it in the hands of strangers?
her father dead?and no tidings to be gained
of her or her child. The only person I saw?
a woman who had known her father very
well?was unable, or unwilling, to give me the
least clue to their fate.
"Now, Mr. St. Orme, the object of my life
since that time has been to discover this poor
woman and her son, if they are still alive.
The remembrance of the guilt of my brother,
who was so dear to me, hangs over me like a
dark cloud, and has embittered my existence,
and robbed me of my peace. I have chosen to
tell you this secret, which is unknown to my
own children, because it is just possible that
you may at some time be able to assist me in
my object, and because I am assured, from the
active benevolence of your nature, that if
such an opportunity ever occurs you will not
hesitate to take advantage of it."
"You are quite right in supposing so; but
you have given me no names, nor furnished
me with any other clue by which I might be
aided in such an undertaking 'r1
"That I can readily do. My brother's
Christian name was Henry; the young girl
whom he married was Helen Dudley, and her
father, at the time of her marriage, was a
farmer residing on his own property, near the
little town of Woodford, in ?county,
Connecticut."
"Why," exclaimed Eugene, after a moment's
reflection, "it seems to me that that is
the very "neighborhood that Miss Lyle?Mr.
Stanley's niece?lived in before her uncle
brought her away. She was there from childhood
; she may perhaps know something of
these people, or their descendants?why not
ask her ?"
"But you forget," despondently replied Mr.
Eustace, "that I myself went to the farm
where Mr. Dudley had lived, and could get no
information concerning any of the family."
"And who was your informant ?"
"A woman?a very intelligent person, I
should say, though of a common class. She
told me that no one of the name of Dudley
lived there any more; that the farmer was
dead, that she laiew nothing of his daughter
or her child, and that strangers were in possession
of the farm."
"And did you inquire anywhere else ?"
"I did ask at another place near by, but met
with no better success ; so I concluded that
the poor girl, if still living, had eifher been
afraid to return home, or that she had heard
of her father's death, and so tried to get a
living elsewhere. While I was still in the
neighborhood, I received a telegram summoning
me home on account of the illness of my
oldest child, and left sooner than I should
otherwise have done. Then my own health
failed, and I had to come abroad."
"Well," said Eugene, "if you will allow
me, I will speak to Miss Lyle, and tell her
enough of the facts of the case to make her
understand my object in wishing to obtain information.
If she cannot give me any, she may
be able to learn something from her friends in
America in regard to the subject."
"You may do so, certainly; though the
chances are small that she will be able to assist
us. Many thanks, my dear Mr. St. Orme, for
the interest you have manifested in my story.
You forgive me, I hope, for having trespassed
thus upon your valuable time?"
Eugene assured him that he had nothing to
nvk/J A-nstin/v fViof \fp T?llcf{lPO VlQrl
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finished all that he wanted to say, he took
leave of him, and set off on his delayed expedition
in behalf of the peasant's family.
"I am coming out in a new light," he said to
himself as he rode along; "that of champion
to injured females. Well, it's fortunate that
I do happen to be good for something, after
all. I am pretty certain of being able to help
Favel's daughter. As to the other case, too
long a time has elapsed since it occurred for
me to be able to rake up any useful information
in regard to it now. Still, I'll talk to
little Jennie. She may possibly throw some
light oil the subject, and at any rate there
will be no harm done."
And when he had seen the lawyer, made an
appointment to meet him at Favel's cottage
that evening, and returned to the chateau, he
did talk to Jennie, and the result of their conversation
was that she wrote a long letter
home to Mrs. Thomdale, relating minutely all
the facts which had been imparted to her, and
asking "if she had ever heard of Mr. Dudley,
and his poor daughter, and could tell Mr. Eustace
anything about them."
She little guessed what important results
were to follow the sending and receiving of
that letter, which she wrote merely to oblige
Eugene, and on which haying sent it to the
post, she scarcely bestowed another thought.
TO BE CONTINUED.
Washington's firth-flag.
ORATI():v
OF
COL. THOMAS HARDEMAN,
OF GEORGIA,
On the occasion of the celebration of Washington's
Birth-day at King's Mountain, on
Saturday, February 21, 1880.
We stand to-day upon soil hallowed by
Revolutionary memories, while the history of
the struggles and triumphs of our patriot fathers,
who near here struck a decisive blow for
American Independence, stirs our blood and
fires our bosotns. The same mountain rises
before us ; the same valleys gladden us with
their beauty and their freshness; the same
heavens circle us with their curtains of blue ;
the same sun lights the empyrean : but all
else?how changed! The forest has fallen under
the stroke of the pioneer ; the "aged munificence
of nature" has succumbed to the
power of "youthful civilizationthe wild
beasts have abandoned their invaded homes for
more undisturbed retreats; and the harvestfields,
the smiling village, the school house, the
college and the church of Zion evidence
the progress of civilization, the diffusion of
knowledge and the triumph of the Cross.
The brave men?actors in that bloody
drama?they, too, have passed away. One
after one, like forest leaves, they fell; but the
memory of their deeds, the results of their
conflicts, the effects of their successful struggles,
will flow on like the rivers, in a ceaseless
current, as long as gravity controls the waters
and heaven born inspiration sways the soul.
To inaugurate the ceremony of celebrating
their achievments, and paying ?ome tribute to
their memory, is the object of this assemblage
to-day. Sacred spot! Interesting duty ! Hallowed
association! Around a cradling-place of
Independence, on an anniversary of the great
apostle of Freedom?the immortal Washing|
ton?have the devotees of Liberty assembled
1 to suggest some suitable testimonial worthy
of the heroes of 1780, who, near this spot,
i gave to valor a new song, to heroism fresh
laurels, to patriotism a richer offering, to
liberty an inalienable birthright. It is an j
interesting occasion. The Present has come I
| with grateful offerings to the Past, who like I
! tearful Niobe, pleads for her children. Come, I
j now, ye patriots of Watauga and Nollichucky, J
! from Burke and Cleveland and Kutherford ; \
\ come, ye noble descendants of Sumter and i
i Marion and Rutledge ; come, ye gallant Ten|
nesseeans from Washington and Sullivan ;
! come my fellow-citizens, from the Gate City
of the South ; come from beside the jewelsprayed
Toccoa, or from the banks of Tallulah
the terrible; come maidens fair, beauty
blooming on your cheeks and joy filling your
hearts; come ye matrons grave, your souls
fired with a patriotism as pure as the breath
of early morn ; come one, come all, to these
consecrated grounds, and while eye speaks to
! eye and heart responds to heart, resolve here
j to erect an altar suitable for the memorial
offering that will be made on the centennial
anniversary of King's Mountain battle.
Standing upon this blood bought soil, in the
presence of these sons of Freedom, with Freedom's
banner waving over me, I am awed by
the "genius of the place," and my heart is
stirred to its lowest depths, as I commune with
| the spirits of Williams and McDowell, of
Shelby and Campbell, of Sevier and Cleveland,
of Chronicle and Wiuston, and their
brave compatriots enthused with the conscious
ness of their presence, and sheltered with the 1
shadow of their wings. History has recorded ]
their chivalric daring ; orators have eulogize 1
their memories; poets have embalmed their (
names in song ; but that mountain height will c
monument their deeds when eloquence is mute
in death, and the harp hangs tuneless and unstrung
on the willows of time. Patriots of a
Seventeen Hundred and Eighty, down the
corridors of a century comes the story of your
heroism?your conflicts and your victory?
and for centuries more the muse of history
will fling across the burning strings of the
harp the stirring drama of your deeds, which
will sound on and on in unbroken harmony j
as long as freedom has an altar or patriotism
a votary.
It is not that you were shaken by the
storms of revolution ; it is not that you bared 1
your bosoms to the ravages of war and death ; e
it is not that you snatched liberty as a brand ?
from the furnace of tyranny, that have given ^
your deeds to history and your name to fame. ^
!.?. 1 1
It was your devotion to priucipie tnat goia
could not corrupt, nor power weaken; it was
your unfaltering fidelity to the cause of *
freedom and representative government. It F
was your resoluticnJt4ii.iid disheartening (lis- 11
asters, to maintain the institutions you had ?
founded, of civil and religious liberty, aud ^
transmit them as legacies to posterity that n
has immortalized your deeds and engraven a
your names upon the tablet of a Nation's ?
heart. Appreciating your hardships, grate- ?
ful for your sacrifices, enjoying the liberties ?
you bequeathed us, we have assembled on this Jconsecrated
spot, so intimately associated with "
your memories, to evidence our veneration v
for your deeds and our devotion to those civil a
and religious privileges your heroism secured
for us. And in the performance of this duty, ?
there should be but one sentiment in this as- ?
serably?a sentiment of fraternal union ; but a
one feeling?that of Americanism ; for there ^
is not au American heart in this presence, p
that is true to its patriotic instincts, that does ^
not throb with delight in contemplating the "
character of those who achieved our indepen- ^
dence and laid the foundations of a Govern- "
raeut which should command "the overflow- s(
iugs" of patriotic gratitude and the fealty of P
patriotic devotion. ~
Great results flow from great achievements
; but no event in the world's history, 8j
since the day of the Reformation, has had a
more direct and controlling influence in tho ?
advancement of civilization, in the develop- .
raent of science, in the enlargement of commerce,
and in the encouragement of a passion
for civil liberty and religious tolerance, than 81
the successful termination of the American
Revolution and the formation of a Government
that relieved its citizens from the oppressions
of thrones and from the tyranny of 0
religious despotism?a government based up- .(
on the consent of the governed, and founded .
upon the principles of an elevated civilization
and a pure Christianity.
V? maamUo it, conn rinrr P
Ill UUOUIIipilBIIlUg L11C3C 1CSIIIW, ill inuuiiug
these inestimable rights, history has accorded ^
a prominent part to the heroes of King's |
Mountain. They were not numbered by legions,
as were the armies of Napoleon and j
Wellington; nor was this a field of Austerlitzor
Waterloo, but an humble spot in the j
wild wood of America, where a few hundred
undisciplined troops struck for home and ^
country, and never did the Old Guard of j
Napoleon or the reserves of Wellington ^
strike with more heroism, with more daring, j
and with more successful results. ^
At that time the country's history was v
gloomy and discouraging. Her armies had
been vanquished ; her States overrun ; her :(
resources exhausted, and the hand of patriois vj
that here and there supported her sinking ^
fortunes were almost powerless for want of j
resources and munitions of war to carry on n
their struggle for independence. But iuured t(
to dangers and baptized with the spirit of g
Liberty, they clung to that country's destiny t|
with a tenacity that reverses could not shake, t|
thkt promises could not weaken, or dangers
pervert. The dust of a hundred years has c
not obscured their bright record; the chilling 0
frosts of a century have not blighted the g]
green glory of their deeds ; nor has the tide n
of forgetfulne8S obliterated their footprints t|
from the "sands of time." The sun of their g,
existence has set; but his power is still felt
in the warmth of example, calling from the a
wintry bed of self-satisfied indifference the e
vegetation of a pure devotion. The fountain g
from which flowed the waters of their being a
is dried up, but the course of the stream it
supplied is still fringed with the flowers of an g1
exemplary patriotism, and fragrant with the M
perfume of an uupurchasable loyalty. The 0
light of their lives has gone down in dark- fl
ness and in blood ; but ils "relict radiance" is p
as soft and as cheering as the last glance of g
the day king as he retires to rest in his bed t|
of stars. v
Their entire history is one of romantic in- p
terest. For five years the States had been ji
struggling for independence; for five years ri
their altars had been desecrated and their n
temples destroyed ; for five years the heavens 0
of their nationality had been darkened by \\
tempest and cloud, and at no previous time in ti
- 1 * ? > rr 1^,.
tneir nistory naa nope sung a more eueeneao c
song, or Anticipation painted a gloomier picture.
Campbell had invested and captured ^
Savannah ; Augusta and Sunbury had fallen j
into the hands of the enemy; Portsmouth t]
and Gosport, with all their vessels, had been a
captured ; Charleston, after an unsuccessful r
defence, had been 'surrendered to Sir Henry I j,
Clinton ; Gates had been defeated at Camden, ^
where fell the brave German, Baron DeKalb, w
in making his last charge for the cause he had
espoused ; Sumter had been surprised and his c
forces scattered and captured by Tarletou, at ^
Fishing Creek ; British gold and promise of ^
British protection had filled the country with ^
tories and deserters; Ferguson was muster- j(
ing into service the loyalists of North Caroli- a
na; Cornwallis had advanced to Charlotte on .<
his march of subj ugation. Clarke, of Georgia, j E
having failed to recapture Augusta, was com- j
polled to beat a hasty retreat. Ferguson | t
sought to intercept him. The mountaineers j v
of Virginia and North Carolina thwarted his 0
designs, and he sought a junction with Corn- j Jj
wallis. Camping at Gilbert Town, he issued h
his proclamation to the people of Watauga t
and Nollichuky, threatening them with the ; c
halter if they did not espouse the royal cause. ! I
Vain were his boastings ; harmless his threats. | d
Liberty had peopled those mountains with . o
men who defied power and ridiculed menace. ' v
Patriot refugees from Georgia and the Caroli-11<
nas were there. The descendants of men ' y
were there, who like ^Eneus and his father q
Anchisis, with their families, had fled from . u
4'? J-"-?-- nnimtpir f Vi<11 tVxiv mioht. I 'I
miu utuigci^ ui tucii vwuui.j buMb im.cj . j
worship their God in a happier land. And as \ C
on their voyage the starof Venus, the mothefor a
Arneas, stood over them, shining by day and
by night, till they came to the shores of the I o
Land of the West, so did the star of Religious j c
Liberty shine over the heads of the Scotch- j
Irish and Huguenot emigrants until they i o
landed in this western world, where Fate had : y
appointed them to dwell, and where their de j g
scendants had resolved to perpetuate that! r
liberty, or die in its defence. These were the ! c
men that laughed at a tyrant'9 threat and j C
scorned a tyrant's rope. Shelby and Sevier j fi
were stirred with patriotic indignation. ! e
And then; "mountain chief*their bugles blew, g
Ami Held and forest dingle, clitf and dell
And solitary lienth the signal knew, n
And fast the faithful clan nrcuiid them drew." ^
No thought of danger?no fear of the hang- li
man's tree?assuaged the sLorm that stirred b
their souls. In their rage they formed trhe
fiery cross, and bearing it aloft, it was seen in I
the valleys of Watauga and in the forest of p
tfollichucky. Among the mountains of
Burke and Rutherford, McDowell
"Sprang forth and seized the fatal sign
Campbell and his Virginians saw' the "cross
if fire,
"And pressing forward like the wind,
Left home and altars far behind,"
ind wherever the fiery symbol flew
"The fisherman forsook the strand,
The swarthy smith took dirk and brand,
With changed cheer the mower blithe,
Left in the half-cut swnrth his scythe.
The herds without a keeper strayed,
The plough was in mid furrow staid ;
Prompt at the signal of alarms,
Each son of Freedom rushed to arms,
knd as they came, the signal cry was heard
The muster-place is Lanric Mead ;
Speed for the signal, comrades, speed '!"
Sycamore Shoal was the muster place, and
he 25th of September the time for the gathring.
And at the appointed day the clansnpn
were there readv for the hattle charge.
Selecting from those that had mustered the t
test material, they began their search for him t
rho had threatened them with a traitor's f
loom. After a few days they found him at i
Cing's Mountain. It is not necessary to my t
>urpose to recite the details of that engage- i
nent. Suffice it to say their victory was i
omplete. Ferguson and three hundred of i
lis men were slain -and wounded. The re- J
oaining eight hundred, with all their arms ^
nd munitions of war, fell into the hands of i
he victors. Here fell Chronicle and the s
rave Williams, and twenty-six of their pa- j
riot followers. Peace to their noble ashes! j
fathered to their fathers, they live in the i
istory of the country they died to save. It g
/as a day of triumph to the struggling States, t
nd one of terror to the loyalists. Cornwal- j
is lost here one fourth of his army, and with
ommuuications threatened by Marion and a
lumter and Pickens, he fell back to Camden z
nd abaudoned his projected conquest of r
forth Carolina. It checked the invasion of t
Virginia by Gen. Leslie, who depended upon c
'oruwallis' cooperation, and thus two States c
rere rescued from British subjugation. The h
ay of disaster had now closed. Cornwallis, e
epleted in forces, was unable afterward to r
trike a decisive blow. Defeated at Cowpens, d
rofiting nothing by his victory at Guilford r
Jourthouse, he retreated to Wilmington; \
hence to Virginia, where at Yorktown he 1
urrendered to our own Washington. For \
hese facts I am indebted to Frost's and Der- i
y's History of the United States, and Rev. e
Lobert Lathan's sketch of the battle of
[ing's Mountain.
The storm of revolution that had swept in
jch fury over the Young Republic had now ^
pent its force. Fainter and fainter grew its .
lutterings; more distant and less frequent
'ere the flashes of its wrath; for the sunshine J
* ? 11# .1 1 i. J -1 J _ 1
r peace was dispelling tne exnausiea ciouus,
nd the bow of promise was arching, with f
3 splendor, the gloomy grandeur of the re- 1
iring storm. 8
Happy realization of patriotic hope and ^
rophetic promise! Revolution had brought
isaster and bankruptcy and death, yet it had r
rought liberty and independence. As the star
hat rose over Judea's plain guided the wise (
len of the East until it stood over lowly Beth?hem,
where lay the promised Saviour, "born
o set his people free," so the star of Revolution
hat rose over Lexington went before our pariot
fathers at Bunker Hill and Trenton, at j
laraden and Saratoga, at Monmouth - and
Cing's Mountain, until it stocd still over J
forktowo, where lay the infant Goddess of .
liberty, cradled in revolution and baptized in 1
Jood, the herald of "peace on earth and good
nil toward men."
Peace was now achieved, and a feeling of
>y and enthusiasm pervaded the country. .
ieven years from the laying of its foundations,
as Solomon in "building a house unto the
jord," which gave to the Hebrew worship a
lagnificence that bound Israel more closely
o her national rites; and for seven years our i
ithers were building the temple of freedom, ^
he splendor of whose service has challenged
he admiration of the world. ^
A century has finished its cycle since its ,
orapletion, and though tempests have swept
ver it and the earthquake of revolution has ?
haken its foundation, the ark of the coveant
is still "in the oracle of the house," and *
he cherubim of peace covers it with ber outLretched
wings. D
In that temple, Liberty erected her altars v
nd promulgated a new ritual of political ?
thics for the government of mankind. The
rst high priest that officiated around those f
ltars was Washington, who, uuiting the heolsm
of the soldier to the wisdom of the
tatesman, rolled the tide of invasion backward
to its trans atlantic source and gave an
ffering of freedom to those who had shared
soldier's danger, and the blessing of inde- t
eudence to a nation that had been saved by t
is soldier daring. Upon these altars shone p
he light of a new civilization?a civilization e
which was the fostering mother of new princi- e
lea of government, and which marked an d
nportant period in the annals of the human r
ace; a period characterized by the establish- e
tent of the principles of popular government v
n the basis of representation ; a period of a d
written constitution with its grants and lirai- i
itions; a period of religious tolerance, edu- i
ational advantages and civil liberty. 1
Hail, eventful era, hail! Birthday of In- t
ependence ; dawning morning of Liberty ! t
lever did storm-tossed mariuer, rocked by d
he billow and lashed by the tempest through F
stormy night, his vessel dismantled, her F
udder gone, hail with more delight the morn- o
ug when the king of day would silence the s
L'tnpest and calm the waves, than did our g
far-worn fathers hail that morning when the ?
ay-9tar of liberty arose, dispelling the war- t
loud's gloom, and suffusing its radiance ever >!
omes, people and country. Joy filled every C
eart; enthusiasm swelled every bosom ; while e
rora hill-top and valley, from woodland and
own, rolled the songs of victory in strains C
s exultant as those 1
That floated over the waves c
'rom Miriam's timbrel and from Moses' tongue." I
Across the rolling deep shone the light of e
hat morning star. All Europe was enthused t
,'ith the glory of its rising and the effulgence c
fits beams. France caught the spirit of i
iberty, and her Marseilles of freedom filled g
ovel and palace hall, temple and camp, unil
the throne of the Bourbons, and royalty, p
rownless and spendorless, wept over its ru:.ns. 1;
lut the Republicanism of France was the c
espotism of liberty ; and because of a want 1
f moral preparation for the liberty for a
fhich she struggled, France was soon remit- t
ed to revolution and to blood. Venice, g
diose liberties had expired under the con- d
ueriug march of Napoleon, heard the signal r
otes of freedom and struck for independence. ,(
"he spirit that resisted the aggression of the
)ttoman, revived in the bosoms of her sons, c
nd the patriotic fires that once burned upou
Venetian altars were rekindled in the land
f Dondalo and Carmagnolo. But her tri- h
olored flag, which was unfurled in the place h
it. Mark, amid the exultant shout of "Hon- f
r to America?long live our sister Republic," t
fas soon lowered, and with her moral ener- v
ies decayed, her nationality was lost in the s
evolutions that convulsed Europe. On this C
ontinent the republic of Chili, Buenos Ayres, p
Colombia and Mexico, rose, flourished and o
sll. Ignorant of the blessings of freedom, n
ot sufficiently enlightened to appreciate p
ood government, ignoring the principles of c
lorality and religion, national sin brought a
bout national dissolution, and of these repub- S
ics all that can be said of them is, they were, d
iut are not. c
Diflereut, indeed, was the republicanism of a
America. Based upon respected rights, moral f
irinciples, general intelligence and religious t
obligations, it was, and is a government of
law. Liberty here is not anarchy and license,
but freedom under the restraints of law; freeiom
of action under the limitations of law;
Freedom of person and property under the
protection of law; a freedom based upon perjonal
obligations and personal independence.
A.nd this personal independence, drawn from
ihe very nature of our institutions and our
jystem of tenure of property, is the founda:ion-3tone
of our political organization, and
;he surest guarantee for its perpetuity. There
ire two principles iu our republicanism, says
die gifted Webster, strictly and purely American
: "Popular government restrained by a
.vritten constitution, and universal education."
riuse are the great elements of our strength,
md the agencies which have placed us in the
ront rank of enlightened nations. The very
lesire to participate in the Government and
ts management (coupled with the knowledge
.nat mo avenues to us positions are upeu tu 1
ill) stimulates a spirit of enquiry?a desire ]
"or the knowledge necessary to self-govern- i
nent. There are no hereditary honors, no \
mtailed distinctions here, to stifle ambition i
ind dwarf genius. The "Mill Boy of the t
Slashes," and the farmer's sou, from the snow <
ifts of New Hampshire, lived to electrify <
Senates by their eloquence, and filled a nation i
vith their praise. The young tailor of Ten- 1
lessee, fired by the spirit of our institutions, t
eized the highest honors of the nation and <
iresided over the destinies of her people. \
rhis spirit of independence elevates and en- t
lobles man, and gives tone to society and 1
government; for it raises society, as has been 1
ruly said, "from beneath governments to a i
larticipation in them." t
Who can estimate the influence of our social f
ind political system upon the spread of civili- v
ation, the success of agriculture, the enlarge- 1
nent of commerce, the development of science, i
he progress of liberty, the elevation of so- t
lietv and well-being of mankind? What t
ountry has given proof to the world of a ii
ligher civilization under her system of govrnment?
What name has been given to n
oankind that is so suggestive of moral gran- fc
leur, of nobility of character, of unblemished a
eputation and spotless patriotism as that of
Vashington ? What heavens shine with more
ustre than that which glows and gleams ?
vith such brilliant stars as Jefferson and
^.dams and Hancock and Hamilton, and
luraberless others, of whom it might be said?
"Men doubt because so thick they lie,
If these be stars that paint the galaxy." v
It was American genius that, like the son
if Japetus, scaled the heavens and robbed
hem of their lightning ; and it was our own
Horse that subordinated them to the necessi- i
ies of commerce and the demands of en- t
ightened progress. It was a New England t
>edagogue, who had migrated to Georgia, t
hat gave the world the cotton'gin, which has t
o materially aided in the development of t
lomraerce and the growth of civilization. It t
vas Fulton who called into existence a new t
cience?the practical establishment of steam 1
lavigation? which revolutionized trade and c
ihanged the whole face of the material in- ?
lustries of man. Tongue cannot number its
riumphs, for it enters into every art, into s
(very science, into every industry of civilized a
nan?carrying with it its blessings and trans- 1
nitting to posterity a name that will live as e
ong as an engine runs a rail, or a vessel c
doughs the sea. It matters not whether in c
he domain of science, in the realms of art, J
n the kingdom of philosophy, in the walks ?
if civilization, in the world of letters, in the
>aths of commerce, in the forum or in the
acred desk, in the duties of peace or in the
irt of war, in the growth of independence or
n the science of government, America has
eason to be proud of her contributions to the
ivilization of the world and to be "satisfied
vith the brightness of the constellations"
hat shine in the firmament of her glory.
^ hundred years ago, she was almost an uniroken
wilderness. But such has been the (
xpansive nature of her institutions, that her ^
rhirteen States, with their three million in- t
labitants, have become thirty-eight, with a
lopulation numbering forty millions. "Her erritorial
expansion is as illimitable as the
ontinent." Her progress has been an eventul
one. Step by step, year by year, her
aarch has been over mountain steeps to the
ast wilderness of the west; and today it ?
nay be said her sons can see no limit to her
lorizon, for as one is surveyed, another stretch- *
s out in endless perspective, and he sees new ?
ields of conquest and of wealth, as one? 1!
"Who climbing some fair height at break of day C
Among the Alps ur lonely Appeoines, * g
Sees ever at his feet new landscapes spread
New vales, new towering heights, and the arc b
Of fresh horizons widening at every step."
Onward and upward is her progress in all jj
hat constitutes the happiness of a people and a
he glory of a great nation. Her civilization, n
irotected by her government and her laws, is ^
ntering unexplored fields, leveling their hills, r
levating their valleys, arching their streams, t
leveloping their mines, and tunneling their 0
Qountains, while her hardy sons of toil, with j
10 master but the law, and no law but the c
written constitution, look out upon a country v
liversified in climate, fruitful in soil, unified n
interest, in the full enjoyment of the bless- g
ngs of free institutions and civil and religious p
iberty. These blessings?these institutions?
his country?are yours; yours to enjoy, yours j(
0 develop, yours to transmit. A common <]
langer aud a common destiny make us one a
teople. A common purpose to form a more a
terfect Union; to provide fbr the common p
lefence; to promote the general welfare and j
ecure the blessings of peace, made us one j.
;overnment?not one "in the extinguishment t
if State sovereignties," but in the preserva- t
ion of those sovereignties, all exercising "leg- j
slative, judicial and executive powers," un- ,
ler a constitution of a "limited, a constrain- g
d, a severely guarded" general government. a
The very conformation of the country, our j
lissirailar yet dependent industries, our inand
ocean?the common property of all?
iur inter-State commerce, our almost ideal
mundaries, our Anglo Saxon civilization and
xtractiou, our common inheritance of libery,
our blood bought independence, all, all, I
inspire to make our people one in mind, one li
n union, and one in all that "makes a nation \
;reat or a people happy." p
But, Sirs, at the very time of our greatest s
irosperity, before the Nation had reached t
ler centennial anniversary, the clouds of dis- fc
ontent darkened the heaven of our hopes, v
die spirit of the storm shrieked around and v
,bove us, until, stirred by the fanaticism of p
he North and the spirit of disunion in the a
iouth, it burst into a war of desolation and t
leath. Of its ravages, its disasters, its vioto- 8'
ies, its defeats, I will not speak to day. t
1 'Tis thino Apolyon, of jarring wars to speak, h
But to me belongs c
'lie smoother but the not less onerous work
>f garlanding with buds and flowers and fruits 1
The paths of pleasurable Peace." a
The war is ended. The spirit of the storm il
ias uprolled his black banner and retired to t<
is bed of clouds. As the waves are troubled \
or hours after the storm has passed, so are a
he waters of prejudice yet morbid ; but they u
rill soon be calmed, for the genius of our in- o
titutions has said to them, "Peace; be still. U
Carnage has ceased. Strife is ended and e
ieace blesses the land that in the providence S
f God has been again joined together." And, o
ay hearers, had I the attributes of divine a
lower, I would gather the people of this tl
ouutry to day around this historic mountain r
s Israel was gathered around memorable v
iinai, and from the clood of misfortune that a
larkens its summit, while the thunders of p
ivil strife were dying away in the distance, p
nd the lightning of sectional animosity was n
lashing irregular in the heavens, the voice of t
he trumpet should sound long and wax v
louder and louder, unni scarueu israei
jhould receive the fiery law?"Whom God
baa joined together let no man put asunder."
Mar not the services of the temple with
the discordant orchestra of jarring worshippers
; but with cimbals give praise, ye sons
Df Asaph, for is it not written in the book
jf prophecy, "the glory of this latter house
shall be greater than of the former, and in
this place I will give peace." Peace now,
peace forever!
In the interest of that promised peace, I
beg you bury the animosities of the past?
the sectional prejudices of the present. As
the Thebans, after their defeat of the Lacedsenonians
destroyed the brasen monument they
iad erected in honor of their triumph, that
30 evidence of strife should remain between
3reek and Greek, so would I destroy all evilences
of the internecine struggles that deuged
our fair land in blood. Not that I
vould forget the Past or her sacred memories!
Never! Never, while memory is true to her
f Wawam vwUSIa *Uin lino rf f V? rnKfl
IbvllUUtCO 11CVC1) ITUilO IUIO ULuiu ui?wwu
nrith life! Never, until it is spoken over my
emains, "dust to duat, earth to earth, ashes
;o ashes," will I be false to the memory of
>ur Confederate dead. True men will not
jensure; brave men will applaud this sentinent.
For one, I honor the people of the
tforth for their ceaseless care of the ashes of
heir dead. And, my countrymen, if I could
sail from their battle-made graves those who
vore the blue and the gray, and could muster
hem in one grand army here to-day; aye, if
! could summon the restless living from the
North and the South to witness that muster,
nethinks they would see in that mighty
hrong the genius of Liberty sandaled with
orgetfulness, girded with charity and crowned
vith mercy as she pointed them with one
land to the bloody past over which was rollng
Lethe's dark waters, and with the other
o that country of plenty which stretches out
tefore her in grand perspective, as did promsed
Canaan before expectant Israel.
Yes, ray hearers, this is your country and
ay country. That flag that you have given
o the breeze to-day is your flag and mine;
nd thongh the Confederate banner
" is tattered.
Broken in in its staff and shattered,
et this bosom was wrung with agony when
)estiny ordered?
Furl that banner, furl it slowly;
Furl it gently, furl it holy;
For it droops above the dead."
And with reverential regard, I exclaim
irith the Poet Priest?
"Touch it not, unfurl it never,
Let it droop there furled forever."
Yet, Sirs, true men North will appreciate
he assertion that as fidelity to principle and
o truth bound the people of the South to
heir flag and their cause, so fidelity to obligaions
assumed at Greensboro and \ppomatox,
will make the Southern people true to
heir renewed allegiance to the Union and to
heir duties and responsibilities as citizens of
he government in which they live. For the
louor of that government, for its growth and
iaoAlnnmont'.. fnr ita hanntnpaa and naaofl. now
ind hereafter, let oar prayers ascend to-day.
Fathers in our political Israel, you have
een your country riven by the tempest and
ihaken by the earthquake. You see her now,
jasking in the sunshine of peace, calm as the
ivening of your days and lovely as the sunset
>f your existence. Young men, this is your
lountry. It is the legacy your fathers gave
rou. Preserve it?perpetuate it?for it is a
;reat country.
Grand in her rivers and her rills, _
Grand in her "woods and templed bills,"
Grand in the wealth her soil conceals,
Grand in her grain and cotton fields,
Grand in her mines, in commerce grand,
In sunlit skies, in fruitful land;
Grand in her temples and in her schools,
Where knowledge dwells and virtue rules,
Grand in her strength on latfd, on sea,
Grand in religious liberty; , "
Gjand in her men, but grander for
In Spartan mothers, as our women are.
Mothers! Daughters! Here are the sepulshers
of your fathers, and here your kindred
(well. Among these sepulchers and aroubd
hese headstones, set the example of patriotic
levotion, and from sepulcher and altar -let
rour prayers ascend.
"God bless our native land,
Firm may she ever stand,
Through storm and night."
To the altars of your sires and the temple
f your fathers, I welcome you all to-day.
!lorae one, come all. Come, true men of the
forth, and patriots of the South, and set the
olemn seal to the covenant of your patriot3m
and your loyalty. Methinks I see you
oming. Methinks I see South Carolina, who
evered the first cord that bound the States
ogether, and fired the first gun of the revoluion,
bringing to the temple her fathers built,
ier sacrificial offering of former prejudices
nd past animosities. Methinks I see Georgia,
ne of the Old Thirteen, entering the portals,
learing in her hands golden vessels filled with
ichest incense, for the temple service. Mehinks
I see the Old North State, the mother
f the first Declaration of Independence at
decklenburg, entering the "holy of holies,"
arrying before her the ark of the covenant;
chile following in her steps is her daughter,
iroud Tennessee, bringing for an oblation
;ema from the mountains of her loyalty and
learls from the ocean of her patriotism.
Solemn assemblage 1 Sacred duty 1 Halowed
ceremonies! Spirit of Washington,
lescend to-day and kindle the sacrificial fires
>mid the rejoicings of a reunited people;
,nd while temple and court ate filled with a
toly incense, let a prayer ascend to our
father's God that the sword has forever been
teaten into the plowshare, and the spear into
he pruning hook; that State shall not lift
ip the sword against State, neither shall they
:now war any more. And that the reign of
>eace, union and fraternity over these States
hall be as lasting as the home of the stars?
,s eternal as the foundations of the "everastiDg
hills."
ipfr- For other proceedings of the day, see next
page.
M????M
How Wellington was once Deluded in
Military Discipline.?-"I got famously ta;en
in on that occasion," said the Duke of
(Vellington, once. "The troops had taken to
ilundering a good deal. It was necessary to
top it, and I issued an order announcing
hat the first man taken in the act should
ie hanged upon the spot. One day, just as
ie were sitting down to dinner, three men
/ere brought to the door of the tent by the
>rovost. The case against them was clear,
nd I had nothing for it but to order that
hey should be taken away and hanged in
ome place where they might be seen by
he whole column in its march next day. I
ad a good many guests with me on that ocasion,
and among the rest, I think, Lord
lugent. They seemed dreadfully shocked
nd could not eat their dinner.-J didn't like
; myself, but as I told them, I ifed no time
j indulge my feelings; I must do my duty.
Veil, the dinner went off rather gravely;
nd next morning, sure enough ! three men in
niform were seen hanging from the branches
f a tree close to the high road. It was a
srrihlft Aramnlp nriH nrnfincpH tVio dnairwi
fleet; there was no more plundering.?
lome months afterwards, I learned that one
f my staff took couusel with Dr. Hume, and
s three men had just died in the hospital
bey hung them up and let the three culprits
eturn to their regiments." "Weren't you
ery angry, Duke ?" "Well, I suppose I was
t first; but as I had no wish to take the
oor fellows' lives and only wanted the exaraile,
and as the example had the desired effect,
ay anger soon died out, and I confess to you
hat I am very glad now that the three lives
fere spared."