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lewis >i. <jriiisT, Proprietor. | A" Jnbepenbcnt Jmmiln Jletospapcr: Jor t|e promotion of tlje political, Social, Agricultural anii Commercial Interests of % $out|. |TERMS--$2.50 A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. VOL. 26. YOEKVILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, APRIL 1, 1880. NO. 14. 3 Romance of eto to EMMS Gi 0 KING'S M BY MRS. MAR CHAPTER VII. Siclis now breamed T'niitu-rable, wliich the spirit of prayer lii^pireil and winced for heaven with speedier Might Than loudest oratory. Mii.tok's pirtino: Lost. The twenty-fifth of September dawned a bright and sunny day, in one of the valleys of the beautiful Watauga. It is a lovely spot! The torrent, emerging from the bosom of the mountains, conies bounding along like a silver thread, then suddenly spreads itself into a broad shallow stream, making a rippling symphony to the distant roar of bass above. The gentle slope, on oue side, is shaded by the native growth of beech and maple, and the rich verdure of the sward makes a soft carpet, swaying to each breatli of the pure mountain breeze. On the opposite side are bold and rocky precipices, with narrow bridle-paths traced over their precipitous sides. This was the rendezvous of a noble band of soldiers, and here lay the patriot's camp. No martial music, no tents, no sentries, no pomp; none of those gorgeous trappiugs of war surrounded the devoted men. The reveille was the matin song of the birds; their tattoo the soft whisper of the whippoorwill and the cry of the katydid ; their tent the blue heavens above them, the waving boughs their canopy, the velvet sward their couch. Their sentries were the barrier mountains around them and their own fearless and houest hearts ; and with these guards they rested in security from their foe. Ere the mountain peaks hid the declining ' -? ? ? ? i sun, at, least a tnuusanu men were guiutrreu iu this quiet valley?some on foot and some on horseback?dressed in the fringed huntingshirt of the mountaineer, and bearing on their shoulders their trust}* rides, while others were yet descending the perilous paths; and the tread and plash of their horses as they struck the pebbly bottom of the strong current, blended richly with the natural music around them. And not only stalwart men were there, but the gray haired and the aged came to give the patriarch's blessing to their sons, to counsel a prudence that their enthusiastic boldness needed; and others came offering, gratuitously, the product of their farms, and furnishing, unostentatiously, all that was in their power to offer. Women were mingled with the groups. The mother, gazing with sad and noble pride upon her sons ; the wife with mournful tenderness upon her husband ; the sister's heart swelling in triumphant affection as she gazed on the stalwart figure of a brother ; the daughter sighed in dread for the wel fare of a father ; aud the maiden, in timid wonder at the ardor of the lover, who seems to * forget there is danger and death in the coining struggle. Every pulse beats high with hope, and every heart yearns for the battle. Moving from group to group, might be seen four or five men, who, from their martial bearing ami their air of command, might well be judged to be leaders in this movement. One of these, who seemed to be invested with more authority than the others, in a stern and dignified manner, was discoursing ou the perils of the times. "The paltry tax was not what drove us to this rebellion," said he; "but taxation without representation led us to inquire into the nature of civil liberty and our connection with Great Britain. We denied the British right of taxation. Then the way was open for an investigation of the restrictions of our commerce and the disadvantages of our subordinate station. It was a right of the subjects to meet together and petition for redress of grievances. Our committees, our congresses, were all constitutional, and deserved to be recognized by the power from whom we claimed national protection. But the answer to our petitions were insults and injuries; and when stung by these, we would defend ourselves. We are robbed, imprisoned and butchered. With a refinement of cruelty, our oppressors iustigate our countrymen, our neighbors, our friends against us; and ties of nature, good will and confidence, which hold society together, are, in a great degree, destroyed. This distinction of whig and tory?what is it but brother against brother, brought on by their own system of piratical robbery? Congress pays for all articles consumed in their camps, which the royalists, failing to do, all expense incurred by them is a robbery. But all disti 'ess between 1 /15 and 1180 is not to be compared with the calamities sutiered by our people since the surrender of Charleston. (Our enemies seem not only to have forgotten the laws of war, hut the principles of humanity. Every act of cruelty and injustice is sanctified, provided the actor calls himself a friend to the King, and the sufferer is denominated a rebel. Each day brings news of some fresh act of atrocity, and each act exceeds the last in cruelty. If ever there was a sinner ripe for judgment, the licentious and cruel Ferguson is the one. But his cour?e is well nigh run," said Campbell, looking proudly arouud his mountain band, "and I trust the web we are weaving around the giant, will serve to crush the tory ascendancy in our Carolina. "It has been well said, by one of the old country's greatest statesmen, and one who has been our best advocate in parliamentary hall," said McDowell, with magisterial dignity, "that liberty, such as deserves the name, is an honest, equitable, diffusive and imperative principle. It is a great and enlarged virtue, and not a sordid, selfish, and illiberal vice. It is the portion of the mass of citizens, and not the haughty license of some pot ' ir dividual or some predominant faction." "Ah!" replied the usually taciturn Shelby, "if I'VPii Cliristianif.v has failed lo teach our oppressors that, they will not be apt to heed the lesson from a patriot's lips." "Then, we will teach them by the good swords of the hardy dwellers on the Watauga, by the unerring knife of the sons of the Nolliehucky, and the patriots of the forks of the Holston !" cried the impetuous Sevier? "but when will you move, Colonel, and how shall we organize ?" "For the present, we had each better lead our own volunteers and take it hunting fashion?every man independent, till we hear from Gates. I propose, however, deferring any action in the matter till we meet with Cleveland and Williams," replied Campbell. "Well, when shall we move?" asked Sevier, restlessly pacing to and fro. "The gathering is now complete. If you don't mind, the game will slip through your lingers." "l'atience, Sevier, patience, man," replied Campbell "It is not always the swiftest step that is the surest. Ferguson is vet too near mv lord over yonder in Charlotte. Give Williams time to bait him a little longer." "Let Williams coax him a step or two farther South," said the prudent McDowell. "Our numbers will then be more complete, and we can match the blood-hound in swiftness as well as keenness." "I'm tired of this wait, wait, wait,' replied the impetuous Sevier. "We surely are now a match for him !" "How many raeti^iveyou,Sevier?" asked the practical McDowell. v \ the Revolution. K, OUNTAIN. ,Y A. EWART. ) "Two hundred and forty," replied Sevier, i "as hard" North Carolina boys as you would wish to see." "And you, Shelby?" I * "The same number; and I'll match my | Sullivan boys against Sevier's Washingtons, i for hardihood and courage," replied Shelby. ' *'-- --- P it?-? l- . Un/1 .?? Avrvorionnn | "ii,very man 01 mem nus u?u ?u v.vj^i j in It dian warfare that prepares liira for the hardships of a soldier." "So," said McDowell, "we have four hun' dred and eighty. You have four hundred Virginians; Campbell and mv Whig refugees, make about one hundred and sixty more." "And Ferguson has between eleveu and : twelve hundred men, and only about one hundred and fifty of them regulars. I think ' we may venture. What say you to moving, Shelby ?" said Campbell, excited with the prospect of action. "I'm ready to start at the crack of day," i . replied Shelby sententiously. " Then, we'll go. What say you, McI)ow- J ell ?" said Sevier, hastily fearing his wiser ! prudence would counsel delay. | "I would propose," replied McDowell, "to J hover in the enemy's neighborhood, than advance directly toward him. Their force is yet too formidable; not so much in numbers or discipline," said he, noticing Sevier's quick frown, "but we must remember they are elated from recent victory, only 70 or 80 miles from Cornwallis, and they are in a positiou to make their way in safety to the main army, and we thus endanger ourselves by alarming them, and injure our own interest. We must also recollect that they are well provided with munitions of war; they are flush with hope and eager for new conquest. Gentlemen, it is well enough to encourage our \ men by talking of the certainty of success, the impossibility of defeat; but we who are j entrusted with their lives and fortunes, must j calmly contemplate every exigency of the , case. The enemy swarms in all our strong-1 holds. South Carolina is literally under British, nay worse, under Tory rule. Cornwallis' i system of imprisonment, confiscation and j hanging, threatens to make his word true of; "subduing the whole country south of the j Delaware before winter." Look at the pit- j iable condition of Clark, amidst the iuhospit- j able wilderness of the Alleghany, encumbered by a troop of women and children, who, having suliered from the cruelty of the savage and the more ruthless fury of the Tory, prefer the rigors of the mountains, to their own desecrated and ruined homes. And, if it were not that Ferguson is so completely absorbed in the pursuit of our gallant com-1 rade, what hope would there be for us ? Our j safety, as well as our success, lies in the con-1 fidenco of the enemy, which leads him to negI led the most ordinary precautions of a com- j ! maiider. Then, comrades, let us not destrov,' ... . I by our imprudence, this fancied security, and j ?o lose our last hope in Carolina, and leave j Clarke to the mercies of the butcher, who j spares neither age nor sex." "And you will still counsel delay ?" asked : Sevier, inwardly chafing at the prudence that admitted no reply. "No," replied McDowell, "I propose to ; move at once, but slowly, till we can effect a junction with Williams, who is still in his encampment at Fair Forest, coaxing Ferguson south. I believe Clarke's situation to be critical, and the sooner we strike the better; but we must choose the opportune moment." "To sei/.'j that, we must watch it. Gentlemen, what say you to moving in the morning said Shelby, with military brevity. "Agreed." replied the officers ; and at once dispersing through the camp, they gave notice of the decision to march. Early in the morning of the following day, the little army were in active preparation for , their inarch. 1 here was no sounu or noise and revelry in that camp. Every man's soul , was filled with a high purpose; every nerve was strong with a firm resolve. Buckling on the wallets their wives and mothers hail fill- J ed ; stowing carefully away the bullets their : sisters and daughters had moulded ; with ; their well wiped rifles, glittering in the sun's morning rays ; these noble patriots, with the 1 lofty bearing and calm determination of a high-souled purpose, turned to bid farewell to j women, whose pallid cheeks and tearless eyes 1 I spoke a brave and answering heroism. ChilI dren clasped their father's neck in tearful, but4' I silent wonder aud awe at the sternness that i gave no answering caress, little knowing the ! heaving, bursting heart that was chained in | that icy firmness. The mother, parting from j the hoy who meant to give his life, if needful, to the cause of human charity, mutely' j blessed her child and turned from him?peri haps forever. The wife clung in silent an-: j guish to the arm that had never yet failed ! | its encouragement and support, or rested | against the heart of the father of her ehil-j dren. Maidens sobbed aloud as for the last ! time they were encircled in the arms of fathers aud brothers ; while lovers pressed each others' hands in silence and looked a last farewell ; and thus they stood oue little moment ere they part, many of them forever. A whisper goes round. Each group draws nearer, until, as a body, they stand together. "Let us pray," rises from the lips of the man of God . and every head is reverently uncovered, and every heart, with its full burden of tears, of anguish and supplication, ascends j to the God who will surely hear the prayer of ) the oppressed and anguished spirit. And ) prayer, solemn and earnest, for the protection I and guidance of this little hand, and for the I support and security of those who were now to he sundered from their protectors, was ear' nestly offered. A scene so touchiugly sublime, J has seldom, if ever, been witnessed. This handful of devoted men, going out to j battle, not in their own might, but in the ! strength of the God of their fathers ; those fathers who had willingly renounced all for | the privilege of worshipping Him in freedom, and whose sons now stood battling for their I second right, equality of man ; and I firmly j believe that prayer was the weapon, that little I more than a week from that day, reverberated in shouts ot victory from King's Mountain, : bore the souls of dying heroes in triumph he! fore the great white throne; caused the heart I of Washington to leap with joy, as the men i to whom he had entrusted the liberties of j America, when all else failed, sent tip the shout I of victory aud triumph ! Truly, "the moun I tain is the birth place, hut never the grave of | Liberty." I CHAPTER VIII. Shall we resign Our hopes, renounce our rights, forgot our wrongs Hecause an impotent lip beneath a crown < 'ries, "He it so ?" Siu A. Hunt's "Julian." "All that is best springs from the heart," and this sudden and spontaneous gathering on the banks of the Wautauga, sprung from I the heart of the mountains west of the AlI leghanies. It was a voluntary act of patriotism, planned by no congress, ordered by no ' executive. Human charity called them to! gether?the need of their fellow men. These rude denizens of the forest, these strange wild men from "unknown mountains," where "nai ture dwelt in awful solitude," assembled together, not only from the love of country, but their love of virtue. Though never witnessing j the horrors of civil war, their spirits were fired, I their souls indignant at the records of crime ! and slaughter that were daily brought to their 1 ears. They heard of human brothers, who, | for the crime of loving their country, were bound to their own door posts?their wives ! and daughters ravished before their eyes, and they at length perishing in the flames of I their dwellings. They heard of women ripped ' open by the butcher-knife of the Tory, for I the crime of refusing to betray their own ! husbands. They heard of sons hung like dogs ! or butchered like beasts, because they were 1 the children of Whig parents. They heard ! of American Statesmen, the pure patrols who ] had sacrificed their all for freedom, bound I with the British felon, suffering indignities j and distress in common with those who were : accused of crime, tending to subvert the peace and existence of society. They heard of oth! ers, tenderly nurtured, accustomed to the comforts and luxuries of life, obliged to abandon their hornet and seek safety in their native woods and swamps. Rapine, outrage and ! murder seemed to be the pastime of their ! enemies. Civil rights and order were now no i longer objects of attention, but the will of the j strongest was law. Roused to a righteous horror against the perpetrators of such crimes, i they left their homes, encountering dangers from which the bravest might shrink, to battle for the sympathies and sweet charities of life. And their courage and fortitude lay not only in attacking an em my superior to themselves in numbers and munitions of war; an enemy established in the strongest military posts of the State, from Savannah to North Carolina?at Augusta, Ninety Six, Granby, Winnsboro', Camden and Charlotte?but they knew their departure from their homes was a signal for British emissaries to excite herds of savages to burn their dwellings and murder their wives and children. Every breeze echoed, in imagination, the Indian war whoop' with the shrieks of their murdered families' and the dvintr groans of their loved and dear " D O # ones. But trampling this fear in the dust, i this noble band, in abiding trust in God and | their cause, nerved their hearts not only in | their courage to meet their foe, but in the faith, to trust their wives and little ones to j His keeping. The army had received intelligence that I Major Ferguson had advanced as high as Gilbert Town in Rutherford county, Forth I Carolina, and threatened to cross the raouutains to the western waters to entrap, if possible, our gallant partisan, Clarke, who was now retreating from Augusta towards the mountain districts of North Carolina. So intent was Ferguson upon this pursuit, so satisfied of the British ascendency in South Carolina, and so confident of the patriots' inability to recover their lost ground, that he was totally unsuspicious of any movement against him. It was a matter of the utmost importance to our little army to preserve aud profit by this confidence, in order to obtain a position from which Ferguson might more certainly be cut off' from Corn wall is, now stationed at Charlotte, some seventy or eighty miles distant. Ferguson, without being aware, played into the hands of the patriots, as he slowly and cautiously moved toward Ninety Six. As warily as the tiger after his prey, did Campbell and his comrades steal after him ; their anxieties stimulated by their fears for Clarke, * 1 .1 - n?_ i.i ami their apprehensions thai uornwams woum receive information of their movements. From the 26th to the 30th, they pursued their slow and weary march. They were then joined bv Colonel Cleveland, with three hundred and fifty men from the counties of Wilkes and Surry. Their force now amounted to fourteen hundred men. With such a body, it became necessary to have a commander-inchief, and an express was dispatched on the 1st of October, to Major General Gates, at the American head-quarters, at Hillsboro', N. C. In the meantime, Col. Campbell, by unanimous consent, took the command of the gallant army. On the morning after the appointment, they proceeded toward Gilbert Town ; which, after a weary march, they reached, to find it vacated by Ferguson and in the occupation of the Whig leaders, Brandon and Lacy. Here the army halted until they could hear from Williams, of Ferguson's late movements. Immediately after their arrival in the village, a small body of travel-stained soildiers entered the camp. These bore the welcome arms and provisions captured by Major Davie, the preceding week. They gave a graphic description of the perils they had passed, and the stratagem they used to avoid the enemy. "And where is Davie?" asked Sevier. "He concluded to join Major Williams at Fair Forest, as Clarke's peril seemed imminent ; and the Major determined to strike a blow for him if Ferguson entrapped him," replied the young ensign, a nephew of Sevier, who was in command of the stores. "I thought he was with Williams," replied Sevier. "The hot headed rascal, he must he onnff anomv T-f o n^orl utrui euiiugu i\j ouuii mu buvuij. xav nut be longer alarmed about Clarke, however ; our dispatch of yesterday brings us word of the gallant fellow's sale arrival in the settlements of Nollichucky and Wantauga?but do you know Major Williams'position now?" "He has left his encampment and is endeavoring to pass Ferguson and make a junction with you. You should hear front him soon," replied the ensign. "I trust so ! I trust so! This eagerness of I expectation and restless longing is more try| iug than the most laborious duty," cried the | impatient Sevier. "Has the Major a fine body of troops ?" "Splendid, and all well mounted." "Ah ! that speaks well. How the devil the young blade has kept ao many together, 1 when every one else is hiding his head, 1 cannot understand," said Sevier, laughing, in high good humor. "He never gives one the chance to catch him, although he almost ran his head in the noose a short time ago," said the ensign. "Ah ! how was that!" Here the ensign related the events which occurred in a preceding chapter. "And what became of Hardy ?" asked Sei vier, deeply interested in the peril of his | young friend. "Made a hack door escape ; and favored by i the shades of the night, and the speed of a ! fleet horse, got out of our reach. I think our j boy9 would have hung him, if they had caught him." "And the villain, Ferris ?" "Hid in a dry well till an opportunity offered of knocking one of our men on the head, when he seized his horse and scamper! ed after his master." "That was a cruel fate that allowed the wretch to escape," said Sevier. "It was; and the greedy villain was in the j the very act. of relieving old Mr. Willough: by of some of his heavy plate ; but he had to 1 drop it like a hot brick, and run for his life. ; Hanging would have been too good for him j if we had caught him. I think we would j have given him seven deaths if anything had j befallen Major Davie. I never saw Bowen : so furious at the escape of any one in my ; life. He would have crossed the Catawba afI ter him, if we would have let him." I "I do not wonder," said Sevier ; "and you say a girl brought the information to the cuiiij), of Davie's capture?" "Yes; a child in appearance, and yet as i prelty a little piece of woman flesh as I ever i laid eyes on. The Captain was mighty par! ticular about her safe conduct. He entrusj ted the charge to me with more words than I he would have spent on the cure of a regsment. I talked to her along the road, but I small notice she gave me till I spoke of the | Captain ; and then, though she did not talk ; much, her pretty blue eyes spoke for her, and ! the smiles fairly danced around her mouth, j The Captain has spoiled as pretty a little co' nnetto us ever Venus had the making of. j She would have laughed at affection if she ! dared, would have jested at devotion, even ' while braving the perils which it led her to enI counter; but some secret impulse or princij pie withheld her, and she only shook her I brown curls over her laughing face, and hid j the blush my praise called up, or with a yet i-more intoxicating caprice, lifted her blue eyes (o mine with a full free gaze that bewil! dcrcd me with its audacious innocence," said the ardent young ensign, more in love with the pretty Bessie than he cared to own. j "Take care, or you'll ^et Bowen on you I for breach of trust," laughed Sevier. "But I I thought he was sly of the women gender. I ; never imagined Bowen would speak to one of ! the sex." j "I don't know. I only know he proved his j taste when he did speak ; and by some magic, I he has got as sportive, coy, and changeful a : nature as ever bewildered the brain of man, subdued to a child-like trust, a wife-like dej votion ; and that a nature like this, should j . hold such danger as she encountered cheap, I is a mystery I cannot fathom. I don't bej lieve that woman ever was taken from man. | That is an antediluvian tradition that all exj perieucc disproves. .She is a cross between ! a witch and an angel, or she never could be | so caprious and yet devoted, so tantalizing, j and so fascinating." "One of them has certainly bewitched you, Ned, and I shall put you, at once, on stern camp duty, in order to exorcise the spirit," said Sevier. "What is her name?Venus, Cleopatra or Delilah?" "Venus!" cried the young ensign, in affected horror. "My little life and blood girl, compared to that old heathen divinity? Cleonnfi-si! Heaven! little Bessie. that rrreat black eyed Egyptian queen ? Delilah! Puri- | ty an innocence forgive the thought! No, she is none of these. Her name caps the cli j max of her perfections and is a poem on affection ; a household word and a woman, all combined?Bessie. Bessie Craig. Did you ever hear a sweeter?" "Away with your nonsense. Try and talk, if you can, of graver matters. What carried Davie to the Mansion House?" "Ha ! ha !" laughed the merry youth, who possessed, in a great degree, the vivacity and ardent temper of his uncle. "The Major has a way of his own of resting from the toils of war. You may call Miss Ellen a Venus if you will. She possesses a high, cold beauty that t would chisel finely in marble." "Ha ! is that Davie's game ? He has been very sly about it." "He has been very sure about it, at any J rate, 1 should judge. I know her heroism i cheated Captain Hardy of his captive, for j some hours, and gave us a chance to trap him." "Strange! strange!" replied Sevier, gravelv. "How affection scours to inspire woman, I i ..X- i _ u iu inu uuur in iiiiiigui, Willi a uuuift^c ucn;iu which even man's pales, and leads her on to j accept any ordeal to shield or vindicate her 1 love. Give nie a regiment of such spirits, with muskets in their hands, and I will proclaim freedom though our whole western continent; convulse Europe, and cause kings to totter on their thrones. But what is thecoudij tion of the country you passed through ?" "As usual, the path of Ferguson and his ! Tories, is marked by terror and bloodshed. They are carrying out Cornwallis' instrucI tions in the most vigorous manner. The orj der to hang those who have borne arms with j the British, and afterward joined our forces, i has bceu construed into a command to hang I all who will not tight against the Americans; i and these, with prisoners on parole, have | ! been literally murdered in cold blood." "The very surest way he could take of ! rousing Carolina spirit; but he could not,! ! with any show of justice, carry out such j j brutal policy in York District, for the j inhabitants never have accepted protection as ; subjects, nor were paroled as prisoners." i "Yes, but British justice is now a stout; , rope and a strong limb, applied to the first j ' Whig they can catch; but revenge and des-! pair are working for us as steadily as zeal and j patriotism in more prosperous times. It is ! sad, though, to see the terror and distress of I the people." "The shocking tales of brutality we have heard of are almost incredible, and seem to be more the cruelty and hatred of fiends | than men," said the Colonel, i "You may believe all, and more than all ; you hear. There may be some Tories who are men of principle and humanity, but they arc i not in the upper districts. These men,or devils, are a set of horse thieves and outlaws, men whose crimes have exiled them from society; ignorant, unprincipled banditti, whose idleness, licentiousness and deeds of! i violence, find no parallel. Ferguson himself,! : I have heard, is a stout, fearless and efficient i | officer, hut constant communication with such : [ vile refuse, has transformed him into a cruel,: ; swaggering bully, and his hatred to the i j Whigs and the Whig cause, is only equaled j by his zeal and activity in exterminating j I them," replied the youth, j "You think, then, we will meet with the I cooperation of the people?" said Sevier. "They could not more effectually drive, them to us," replied the young officer, "and ! all they wait for is opportunity." "Which, by Heavens! they shall have ere long," said Sevier, impetuously interrupting j him. "This confounded waiting wears out j ! my life-blood. I would have pounced on ! t he rascal before he shook the dust of Gilbert Town from his heels." "And why did you .not?" asked the young ensign, as ardent as his uncle, "Because," replied Sevier, laughing at his j own impetuosity, "wiser heads than yours or i mine decreed differently." The next morning, a courier from Williams apprised Campbell of Ferguson's whereabouts, with full particulars of his force. The strat! agein and wily movements of the partisans, j had placed a distance of one hundred miles | between his army and Cornwallis, andFergu! son was, at length, aroused to alarm. He was I now making a rapid retreat, iu order, if possible, to connect with the main army. His 1 efficient force consisted of about twelve hundred men, of picked regulars, and the best loyalists fie could muster-" and though retreating, it was in incredulous scorn, that a host, such as he had heard of, could, so secretI ]y and suddenly, have arisen from the heart of | the mountains. On the receipt of this information, Campbell at once put his men in marching order, and moved toward the point! at which he proposed to meet Williams. This j was at the Cowpens ; where the partisan was awaiting him with four hundred followers, j On his arrival there on the Gth of October, lie found that Ferguson was still rapidly rej treating and, becoming more alarmed as the : imminency of the danger pressed upon him, had crossed the Cherokee ford of Broad river at night, and was urging his tired troops still I on. With the promptitude which eharacterI ized Campbell, and with the courage of his daring character, he at once resolved to pur1 sue him. Picking out about nine hundred of his best men and stoutest horses, and leaving the weakest of the cavalry and footmen behind, he pressed fast on the enemy's heels. The chase now grew warm, and the hearts of the i mountain hunters beat high with eagerness, i Every man knew his duty, and as firm in i their saddles as they were fixed in their pur! pose, they dashed on in hot pursuit. With j the reckless, enthusiastic, but skillful and judicious Campbell at their head, their hearts never entertained a thought of defeat. Each j troop had their chosen leader in front, and i their men knew they were to follow them to victory or death. As if to dampen an ardor | that might seem impetuous, a heavy rain fell, and it was with the utmost difficulty the little | hand could keep their rifles dry; but putting ! them under their arms, and cheered by the | voice and encouragement of their leaders, 1 with a stern determination they continued the chase. About daylight they crossed the CherAn PfAml olioltf f U'nltfft tniloc U n wu IV/IV* \Jl I JLJ 1 l/C* VI I I V VI , (lUWUl I ?? V.I * v. mnvc ! from King's Mountain. Heic they called.a ; halt, and in the pelting rain, partook of their parched corn, and whatever else of provisions 1 remain in their wallets. Scarcely breathing after their hasty meal, again they pursued the foe. About twelve o'clock they came within three miles of Ferguson. He was encamped on the summit of King's Mountain, a height ! of about 500 feet, covered with a growth of heavy timber, with occasional huge boulders of rock, which made the ascent more difficult. His position was admirably chosen, and from the commanding height he had full view of Campbell's march for several miles. Feeling they had at length brought the game to bay, and anxious to give his men full time to recruit their strength, Campbell again called a halt, and made disposition for battle. The morning that had opened so unpropitious, was now cleared off' to a clear, cool noon, and the exhilarating autumnal breeze refreshed and enlivened the spirit of the weary soldiery, Nature smiled upon the array of devoted patriots, and drawing a favorable omen from the circumstance, with hearts beating high with hope, they awaited the signal for action, CHAPTER IX. Of many an ill untold, unsung, That will not?may not, find a tongue. Byron. It was early morning, when Bessie Craig stood, with her sun bonnet in her hand, in the porch of their little cottage. "Indeed, father, I don't like to leave you," said she. "Supposing harm should befall you, I would never forgive myself for the desertion." "God's goodness and my grey hairs will preserve me, lassie," replied the old man ; "and I'll he better satisfied to know you are up at the mansion." "Yes, but father, God's goodness can preserve me, too ; aud the mansion did not preserve Miss Ellen from fear the other night." "I know that, Bessie," replied the old man, sighing ; "but still I'm thinking they'll be apt to show you more respect if you were up there, though it's little the respect these tory troopers show to any one now. Maybe it's as weel for you to bide with your auld faither after a." "I will go, if you hid me, father, but I'd rather be with you," replied the dutiful girl, as she clasped the old man's arm. "As you will Bessie. After a' it is He only who kills and who makes alive again; and though I ken it so weel, and ken that He who Keeps me young ravens win gun.ru my little Bessie, still my faith is trembling to night, and I fear for you my bairn." ' You have heard so many bloody tales lately, dear father, of those wicked troopers, that you are uneasy; but Col. Campbell will soon drive then, from our country, aud we will have peace once more." "Peace, peace," said old Andrew. "God grant it! Sometimes I fear we will never see it again." " You desponding, father ! Why I thought nothing could shake your trust in the holy cause. Why you'll have your little Bessie scolding you for want of faith. Go down aud see the minister awhile. You know a talk with him always does you good, and you will come back cheered." "I believe I will, Bessie, for whether this failing faith is a sign that the silver cord will soon he loosed and the golden bowl broken, or no, I canna say ; but this I know, that He who so long has granted me living grace w^l also grant me dying grace ; and I will do as you say, chiel, and awa and seek strength from the man of God." And the old man went away murmuring "a little child shall lead you ; unless ye become as a little child, ye cannot enter the kingdom of heaven." Little Bessie was too light-hearted a maiden to remain long sad, and too busy a body to remain long idle; so drawing her spinning wheel from its cover, she kept time to its low buzzing music, with many a plaintive ditty of olden time. It was easy to read the memories that filled her innocent heart as she sang "A soldier once I lo'ed, forget him shall I never," And the yet more tender love that breathed from her lips in "The dearest lad that ever blest a woman's e'o.'" Bessie was never lonely. Her wheel and her song and her merry heart were an antidote against all ennui, as well as against all care; and besides that wheel, her busy fancy wove many a bright hope for the future, with Elliek Bowen to share it and peace to bless them both. So absorbed was she in her pleasant fancies, that she did not notice the frequent passing of many persons on the hitherto quiet road, p.:d it was not till her attention was aroused by a gruff' call for water, that she discovered some unusual occurrence was enacting. Small parties of troops were hurrying down the road as if reconnoitering, while here and there a weary traveler plodded on as if he dared not rest. To Bessie's inquiries she received a coarse reply, or a profane oath, and closing the door of the cottage she awaited, with considerable anxiety, the return of her father. It was not long ere tie came, tue nurriea manner 01 nis riaing testifying to his anxiety. Hastily dismounting, he drew his horse within the shadow of the trees, and hurried into his dwelling. The news he brought was startling. Ferguson, in his rapid retreat, had crossed the Cherokee Ford, and was making for King's Mountain, where he intended to take a position to give battle. The rabble of the army, who followed it for the purposes of plunder, were scattering through the country to await the decision of the battle. The soldiery had been guilty of the most wanton cruelties and depredations. A party of them, the night previous, entered Mr. Adam's house and wantonly burned all the Bibles and psalm books they could find, swearing that Presbyterian covenanters were the inciters of the rebellion, and he might thank the luck that spared them from throwing him on the burning pile. 4,Oh father!" cried Bessie, horror struck at the sacrilege, "if God's word is not sacred, what will these people respect?" j "Nothing, lassie, nothing; there's no age : nor condition beyond their cruelty, and I | hear yon devil, Ferris, has got Mr. Willough| by's plate safe in the British camp." "Why that is downright robbery," cried Bessie. "And what do they care for that ? If they do not value human life, they will hardly respect human rights. Jack Adair's wife, down on the creek, refused to tell some of the party where the cattle were, resolving they should not go to feed the British, and they ripped her open on her own door steps, and ' the dead mother fell on the bairns that were crying around her knee." "Horrible, horrible?" said Bessie, covering ; her face with her hands. "Yes, and what I'm to do with you, chiel, | I canna say. My heart faints at the thought j ; of the terror to which you will be exposed." "I will not leave you, father," said Bessie, ; firmly. I "Deed, Bessie, I dinna what to do ; but I'm | thinking you'll be better at the Mansion House." "It is useless to persuade me, father. You see yourself they are not free from the in* I suits of these lawless men, and I am as safe it * 1 T _ 1 T x nere \viin you as i am auywnere. i cannoi go. Do not grieve me by asking, clear father," said little Bessie, in her coaxing way. "As you like, lassie. Dear knows I canna ' find it in my heart to send you from me now." Bessie now busied herself about her usual household duties, and though interrupted frequently by rude guests, still the day promised to pass without other danger than the terror these coarse visitors inspired. Late in the evening, Andrew gathered, from theremarks of the passers, that the Americans were in hot pursuit, and would likely come up with the enemy on the following day. "It is positive madness," said one, "to attempt forcing Ferguson from that position. He commands the whole hill, and each column of the whigs, as it advances, will be swept by his guns till not a man remains. He's got a body of regulars there, too, that would face a thousand devils if they were commanded to do it. I tell you, there's small chance for those hunting-shirt fellows below. Why Ferguson could crush them by only rolling the stones down." Such conversations, and the like, were not calculated to quiet Andrew's mind ; yet just us little did they intimidate hopeful little Bessie. With a quiet smile and many an inward prayer, for well she knew Ellick was i there, did she pursue her duties. As evening i advanced the confusion became greater, and J the ribald oaths and obscene songs of the | brutal rabble, more than once startled and i shocked Bessie's ears. Still she bravely kept | up her courage, and setting the table for the j evening meal, prepared it with the usual ! tirlv desnatch. J 1 't j "I am afraid you are no better, father," I said Bessie, who had twice called the old man j before he had answered. "Yes, lassie dear, better and "more comfortable since the morn," replied the old man. "If I get a night's rest, with God's blessing, I will be the same as ever, and may He bless and keep us," said he, as he reverently bowed his head, asking the customary blessing on J the food provided. They had scarcely set \ down ere the door was rudely thrown open and a party of troopers, headed by Ferris, entered. "Just in time," said he, with a coarse oath. "Come, Bessie," said he, familiarly laying his hand on her shoulders. "Give us some supper, girl ; the best the house will afford." Now Bessie was neither patient nor prudent, and quick to resent such conduct and language from the man whom she hated above all others in the world, she replied? "I'll never wait on you, Reuben Ferris, nor any like you ; but I know you'll take what you want. There are the keys; wait on yourself," and throwing them on the table, she entered her own room and closed the door. "A spicy jade," said one of the men. "Let her alone," said Ferris. "I'll deal with her presently." "1 trust, sirs," said Andrew, in pale alarm at Bessie's imprudent words and the swaggering impudence of the party, "that you will thiuk nothing of the hasty speech of a silly lassie. You are welcome to whatever my poor house affords, and I will wait upon you better than a foolish girl." "I'll swear if it ain't the deaf Scotchman, Tom! You can hear well enough now, you grey-headed hypocrite," said a trooper, with an oath. "Ha! what is that Tom ?" asked Ferris iu surprise, at the indignant astonishment of his companions. "We came here, the night of your big expedition against Major D*.vie, up at the Mansion House," laughed Tom?with whom and his companions, Ferris' bungling business was a standing joke?"and found the old sinner so deaf and psalm singing, as not to be able to hear anything we said to him. You have recovered wonderfully since that time, friend." "Yes, and I'll be sworn he was the very man that carried the news to the Whig camp," said Ferris, in gathering wrath. "If I thought so, I'd make him dance on nothing, pretty soon," said the trooper, a reckless and cruel bully, who was a match for Ferris iu every crime. "But no, it could not have been, for there was no one here but himself." "No one but himself! Where was Bessie?" said Ferris, with his keen grey eyes fixed on the man. "His child? Oh! she had gone to see a friend," said the trooper, who could not understand the gathering cloud on Ferris' brow. "She had, had she?" thundered Ferris. "Now," said Ferris, with a terrible oath, "she will pay dearly for that visit. Tell me where she went," cried he, starting up and grasping the throat of Andrew, "or I'll choke every drop of blood out of you." There was a low gurgling sound, and Ferris, not aware himself, in his fury, of the giant grip that was suffocating the old man, was startled by a piercing shriek, and Bessie, who bad been an anxious listeuer of the foregoing conversation, rushed from the adjoining room and threw her arms around her father. With a furious curse, the wretch dashed the old man from his hand, and dragging the girl from the now insensible body, thundered out? "So it was you, my little Miss, that done Bowen the good deed of carrying tales to him, was it?" "My father, my dear father," cried the girl, wrenching herself from the ruffian's grasp; and, kneeling by the side of the still prostrate form, called on him in piercing tones to speak to her. He was not dead, but partially strangled and stunned. He slowly opened his eyes, and with difficulty raised himself from the "Are you hurt, father, dear?" cried Bessie, as she bent over him iu tearful anxiety. "I cunna say, my child. I feel very strange?here?" said he, hesitatingly pressing his hand to his head. "I think, child, I, have had a stroke," and he looked into her : face in pitiful distress. "Shut up that confounded blubbering and j tell me if it was you who carried tales to the i rebel Boweu," said Ferris, for a moment intimidated at the girl's grief; but again furious at' the memory of that night's disappointment. "Ellick Boweu is no rebel, Reuben Ferris, and if you want to know who spoiled your i murderous plan, I'll tell you. I did, and I'd do it again and again, to disappoint such j Tory cowards as you, who are only fit to fight: old men and frighten women." It was a brave speech, but a sadly irapru- ] dent one. Ferris' hitherto noisy tones grew deep, and his smothered wrath made his thickened utterance barely intelligible. Words of concentrated passion burst from his lips, which little Bessie replied to in scornful recklessness ; then a sneering familiarity which Bessie did J not hesitate to show was as hateful as it was : despicable ; there were words and tones which j caused the maiden in terror aod bitter shame , to hide her head on the old man's bosom, fol-' I lowed by brutal insults, which were met by 1 passionate tears and vain pleadings ; there was the tremulous voice of an old man pleading, as only a father could plead, for an only child, and that child a maiden, answered by curses and blows; there was a struggle, a groan, a woman's shriek of mortal terror, of bitter agony, a hoarse laugh, a ribald jest; then darkness and silence, and gloom gathered around the dwelling so long the abode of innocence and peace ; stars looked down on a ruined garden, trampled by rough and unheeding feet; the little gate swung back from its hinges, and desolation seemed stamped upon the hitherto lovely spot. [to be continued.] "Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep."?A correspondent of the Churchman says: "I presume that, except the Lord's P.-ayer, there is no form of petition as frequently used HJiWU^liUUL Vlll lOLVUUUUl UO Will*!. 'New I lay me down to sleep.' Nor is it confined exclusively to the days of infancy and childhood. I knew a dear old man in Philadelphia, for many years a warden in one of the chief parishes there, who was heard, almost up tc the time of his death, at the age of eighty-four, repeating these same words as a part of his daily evening devotions. And yet I am inclined, as well from observation as from iuquiry, to believe that the majority of persons teaching and using this familiar prayer, make a very serious mistake in one of its most important particulars, thereby departing from its original intent and form. "As usually said, it is as follows: " 'Now I lay me down to sleep; I pray the Lord toy soul to keep. If! should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. "Whereas it ought to be: " 'Now I lay me down to sleep: I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to keep, If I should die before I wake, I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to take.' "One need not compare the differences to see the most pregnant distinction between the two. In one a mere declaration is made ; in the other a direct prayer is addressed to the Divine Keeper and Saviour." Make Up of the Body.?Suppose your age to be 15 or thereabouts, I can figure you to a dot. You have 160 bones and 500 muscles; your blood weighs 52 pounds; your heart is 5 inches in length and 3 inches in diameter; it beats 70 times a minute, 4,200 times per hour, 100,800 times per day, and 36,792,000 per year. At each beat a little over two ounces of blood is thrown out of it, and each day it receives and discharges about 7 tons of that wonderful fluid. Your lungs will contain a gallon of air and you inhale 24,000 gallons per day. The aggregate surface of the air cells of your lungs, supposing them to spread out, exceeds 20,000 square inches. The weight of your brain is three pounds; when you are a man it will weigh eight ounces more. Your nerves exceed 10,000 in number. Your skin is composed of three layers, and varies in thickness. The area of your skin is 1,700 square inches, and you are subject to an atmospheric pressure of 15 pounds to the square inch. Each square inch of your skin contains 3,500 sweating or perspiring pores, each of which may be likened to a little drain tile, one-fourth of an inch long, making an aggregate length of the entire surface of your body of a drain, or the ditch for draining the body, 23$ miles long.? Dio Lewis, What Becomes of All the Pins ??What becomes of all the pins? asks the London Leisure Hour. It is now as much as forty years since the daily supply of pins from the English factories was 20,000,000, and ever since that time the daily average has been steadily increasing, till it now stands at 50,000,000 every day. Notwithstanding this enormous supply, one can hardly be in the company of man, woman or child for a day, without being asked, "Have you such a thing as a pin about you ?" Of our daily 50,000,000 pins, Birmingham produces 37,000,000, leaving 13,000,000 as the production of London, Stroud and Dublin, where pins are also made. The weight of wire consumed annually iu the pin manufacture of England, is about 1,276$ tons, or 2,857,120 pounds, oneeighth of which is iron wire, used in manuniAiittnitm onrl hair nina hraag iUttUXlUg UU'UIUIU^ l*UU UMI4 |/<UU! A..V wire consumed amounts to 2,500,000 pounds, which, at lid. per pound in money value, reaches the sum ?114,583. The iron wire consumed is 344,800 pounds, its value ?7,183 6s. 6d., and to be added to these amounts are the wages, power and ornamental envelopes, boxes, wear and tear of machinery, manufacturers' profits and the like, bringing the whole amount to not less than ?200,000. A Clergyman's Will.?The "Rev. Mr. Perry, a clergyman near Worcester. Mass., recently deceased, has left a will bequeathing to his Christian friends his unspeakable and everlasting love, to his enemies his forgiveness, anu his books to a parishoner. His sermons, letters and manuscripts are to be burned unread ; his death is not to be announced in a newspaper; his corpse to be dressed in his poorest clothing and nailed up in a box of unplaned boards; at his funeral no one is to look at his body; there must be no Powers, no clergyman, no strangers, no service except the reading of two Psalms by "Deacon Bowker; he is to be taken in an express wagon to a grave in any lot one of his parishioners will give him, but there must be no head-stcne or any sign to mark his place of burial, as bis "Lord and God will need no reminder of the place where his dust reposes." His wife, from whom he some time before separated, is forbidden attending his funeral. She has asked that the will be not admitted to probate. Be Warm-Heartkd.?Don't let us get soured with life. It does not mend matters for us, and make9 us very disagreeable to others. If we have had misfortunes, we are not alone. The world is not all sunshine to anybody. We love the fresh light-hearted laugh of a child. Why not keep it t rselves in after years. Does groaning ease axiy burdens? We love the hope and faith of children. Are we any better if we have allowed them to slip from us? We love the ardor and natural enthusiasm of children. Are we any wiser if we have covered up all the impulse and warm feeling of our natures, so that the world knows only a cold calm exterior? We know a woman who has lost all her property, though once very rich, nearly all her friends by death, has her hands so cramped by rheumatism that she has been unable to use them for years, and yet she is full of sunsnine, and thanks God every day. The Human Figure.?The proportions of the human figure are six times the length of the feet. Whether the form is slender or plump, the ruleholdsgood ; and any deviation from it is a departure from the highest beauty in proportion. The Greeks made all their statutes according to this rule. The face, front the highest point of the forehead, where the hair begins, to the chin, is one-tenth of the whole stature. The hand, from the wrist to the middle finger, is the same. From the top of the chest to the highest point of the forehead, i9 a seventh. If the face, from the roots of the chin, be divided into three equal parts, the first divsion determines the place where the eyebrows meet, and the second the place of the nostrils. The height, from the feet to the top of the head, is the distance from the extremity of the fingers when the arms are extended.