Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, May 20, 1880, Image 1
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VOL. 36. YORKYILLE, S. C., THURSDAY, MAY 30, I88O. NO. 21.
|l0man? af
ILLEK Gi
0]
KING'S Mi
BY MBS. MAR"!
CHAPTER XXL
Then more fierce
The conflict grew; the din of arms?the yell
Of savage rage?the shriek of agony?
The groan of death, commingled in one sound. J
Southey.
"To horse!" shouted Hardy. "Where is
Col. Graham ?" And hastily entering the
house, he encoimtered Ellen in the passage.
His quick eye caught the paper which she
unconsciously held in her hand.
"Some rebel communication, I'll besworu,"
he muttered. "Miss Ellen," said he, stepping
toward her; "that paper looks suspicious?I
must see it."
Her lip curled haughtily.
"You are rude, sir. This was intended for
' me alone."
"Doubtless," said he, smilingly; "which
perhaps makes it more necessary that I should
inspect it."
Her eyes flashed, but she did not answer.
"Let me see it, Miss Ellen."
She grasped the paper closer.
"You will force me take it," said he sternly.
Still she did not move. He advanced
towards her. The dauntless girl maintained
her position.
"Once more give me the paper," said Hardy,
iu smothered rage.
"What is it?" said Graham,now advanced
k A nOODtWrn
blJlUUgu vilO
"I demand a paper of her which I believe
that whig rascal, Davie, has found means to
send, qnd with bis cunning, and her?"
"Silence, sir. I brought it, and will take
all the responsibility. To your troop, Capt.
Hardy. You delay uselessly."
"By Jove, sir, you seem to feel quite easy
in your unenviable position ; but doutless the
T' fact of your conniving at rebel schemes, will
scarcely be necessary to complete the offences
with which you are already charged. Ride,
sir?I attend you," said Hardy, with mock
humility.
"Nay, then," said Ellen ; "as Capt. Hardy
attaches so much importance to this innocent
paper# he may be persuaded to take a copy
of the rebellious document. Jerry, paper
for Capt. Hardy."
"It makes not the slightest difference," he
... ^ i J ?L
replied. "Uol. Uraham nas assumed me responsibility.
I will not now interfere."
"I take you to witness, Col. Graham, that
Capt. Hardy refuses to satisfy himself, and
to you I entrust a proof that may prove as
intangible as the rest of his evidence."
Hardy scowled a glance of mingled hute
and rage, and taking the paper ere Graham
could reach it, carefully read the words. His
brow darkeued as he read the evidence of
a unshaken love and courage, but further than
| that it was enigmatical to him.
* "Confound such mystery ! What does it
all mean ?" he said.
"Nay, Capt. Hardy, that is too much. I
k can scarcely be coerced into expounding for
your benefit. You see for yourself, it is a
h|| cuuuing and mischievous billet."
He could Dot brook the mocking tone, and
cursing the caprice that a second time had
denied to the utmost, and then relinquished
what proved valueless, he said?
"I wait your pleasure, Col. Graham. Let
us away."
"Col. Graham must also understand more
of the dangerous weapon that is to act against
kim an nrnollv Will pnit rpilH it flip tllP
sake of your own defence, Colonel ?"
He bowed low over the extended hand, as
with his air of high-toned breeding, he said :
"God forbid I should so far forget myself?
so dishonor the character of officer and gentlemen,
Miss Campbell."
He clasped her hand. He would have
again spoken words, but for the presence of
the coarser nature. His own emotions choked
him, and raising her hand he pressed it to
his lips, and not dariug another look, he
hastened away. There was a hurried "Good
bye," from Mr. Willoughby, who had nerved
' himself to strange and unwonted courage, and
Ellen marked the almost alacrity with which
he mounted, riding by the side of Graham,
as the troop moved off at a gallop down the
' road.
"Now," said Ellen, "for patience?a hope
I will understand," said she, reading her
precious billet. "Yes, I thiuk I do. I have
acted on this judgment at all events. There
will be time enough for grief or despair when
everything fails."
When Ellen had so hurriedly left the
room on Hardy's entrance, she called a young
and faithful servant, more active and shrewd
than hone3t Jerry. Disguising his real erraud
by meal bags and miller's clothes, she'dispatched
him to meet Sevier, if possible; or
failing to find him, to press on to Morgan's
camp, with the tidings of Davie's capture.
Another was dispatched for her faithful friend
and counsellor, Mr. Adams, with an urgent
request that he would come immediately ;
aud these had been sent under the superintendence
of honest. Jerrv. hv routes avoiding
J , -'J ? o
the main road, and thus shunning unwelcome
guests. When left alone, and after she had
done all that was in her power, she moved
restlessly about the vacant house. Everything
reminded her of the joy of the previous
day. Still she would not give way. Her
brave spirit kept back the tears. She went
out in the piazza. The cool January air cheered
and refreshed her drooping heart. A dull
sound struck her ear. She listened, and
sighing, thought, "alas! it is the sound
of hurrying hoofs bearing those who are near
to me, away?perhaps to death." But it
rapidly increased, growing sharp and ringing.
She could not be mistaken. It was the sound
of advancing cavalry, borne by a west wind,
to her ear. H^r heart bounded. This, then,
was Davie's hope ; the hope she had scarcely
dared to entertain, though acting upon it in
her endeavor to detain Hardy as long as possible.
Sevier had come. Her messenger had
met him. His active spirit had at once
determined to rescue his coifJtnander. He
had been able to collect a force, she could not
tell how, and was now hurrying to the rescue.
Oh ! how her heart went out, that he
might be successful! She could trace them,
the ?towrtutwtt. ,
t i
HulH
a,
OUNTAIN.
ST A. EWART.
I
by the rapid beat, cutting across the main
road, and following down the creek that
branches from the Pacolet river, till lost in
the distance, the sound died upon her ears.
| Her messenger had been indeed successful.
; Meeting Sevier advancing at full speed, ho i
at once communicated the unwelcome intelligence.
The young officer's resolve was at
ouce taken. Determining to strike a blow
for Davie, if it cost him his life, he prevailed
upon a few of the neighboring whigs to arm
* i i /?-ii t_;
themselves as best they could ana ionow uiiu.
Taking their horses from their plows, and
mounting bare back, for there was no time
for saddling, (even had they possessed such a
luxury,) they were but a moment in preparation.
Ast they reached the road, what was
their surprise to meet Bowen with half a doz
en of his men. Bowen had not been at all
satisBei that Davie should again venture
alone to the place that had before proved so
unfortunate.
His expostulations, however, not being met
very patiently, as Davie at that time was in
but little humor for thwarting, he had desisted,
and accepted the commission of commander,
with what grace he might After Davie's
departure, hearing from his scouts that
Tarleton was advancing, Morgan struck his
camp and advanced to the Pacolet to meet
him. Bowen now became seriously uneasy,
and understanding that instead of going on
to Greene, Davie would be recalled to take
part in the coming struggle, he determined to
run all risks and obtained leave to follow Sevier,
who had left for the purpose of countermanding
the dispatches. Their little force,
not amounting to ten men, pushed on at a double
gallop, and availing themselves of the
short cuts, with which their party was so
familiar, bid fair to overtake the laggard motions
of Hardy.
"Can't we start a bugle in our troop ?"
said Sevier. "Its a wonderful help to a small
party?its noise is worth a dozen of men at
any time."
Nothing of the kind could'be obtained, but
a lad of seventeen said he had a cow horn in
his pocket, with which he would promise to
raise the dead if the Captain said so.
"The very idea, my boy," said Sevier.
"The raising of the dead, will be the dernier
resort. If -you can inspire the living, it will
be all we'll ask you at present. Now, boys,
recollect, Davie's troop never runs; but if
any of you should attempt such a thing, I
will show you that Selim can run as fast or
faster than any of you, and if he once gets
before you, he ll drive you back if it kills
him. I just mention this, not that I'm afraid
of any of you hut as a warning that British
regulars are apt to scare those who are not
trained apprentices to our trade. But let us
remember we are better riders, better woodsmen,
and better marksmen, too, than they
are, and that we are fighting for an officer
we love, and I'll warrant you'll follow like
hound's whelps on a trail. Ride on, my
boy's?close columns. Burning eyes, eager
hands, brave hearts that win the day."
Bowen smiled grimly, but his encouragement
was all action. His voice was now seldom
heard/save in the din of battle, in high
and stern command.
Thanks to Hardy's delay at the Mansion
House, they were enabled to get beyond
the crossing of the creek before his troops
reached it. Posting his men in the thick
woods on the opposite side, Bowen waited the
approach of the enemy.*
"Wait till you see them in the middle of
the stream," he whispered, his eyes flashing
with a terrible joy. "Let every one pick
out his man, take sure aim, fire and charge!"
Presently, unapprehensive of danger, the
tmnn nnme in aicrht. scattering UD and down
" vvr ?? > o i
the stream in order to water their horses.
Mounted on a strong and fiery charger, in
the centre of the troop, Davie was riding behind
a Hercules of a trooper. Graham and
Mr. Willoughby, on their own horses, were
a little apart, and were quietly waiting for
the summons to move on.
"That fellow who has charge of the Major,
is mine," said Bowen, his voice trembling in
eagerness.
"Are you all ready? Sure and steady:
then Fire !" he thundered; and every crack
sent a death messenger. Hercules tumbled
from his horse. There was no time for another
load.
"Charge!" shouted Bowen. A deafening
bray from the impromptu bugle seemed, indeed,
sufficient to raise the dead with its discordant
notes, and ere they could recover from
the panic, the surprise, and the terrible yelling
those notes had thrown them into, Bowen
was down on them, his men, snatching the
muskets that had fallen from the hands of
the slain, or clubbing their guns, gave with
furious strokes, the final blow."
"Kill the prisoner. Don't let him escape,"
shouted Hardy, rushing on Davie, who had
been almost borne down by his falling guard,
and was now striving to catch tie bridle
which the dying man still clutched. But
Graham was by his side, and dashing up the
descending sword, said ?
"You must not and shall not kill him, and
he incapable of defence. I will save him
from murder, if my life pays the forfeit.
Think of saving your men and less of your
private malice. What madness is this ?"
"On them, lads, on them," bravely shouted
ii- .u :j~?. r?_
Dowen, aasning mho meir miusi. owme iui
the Major. Another blow and we have him!
God bless you, Major !" he cried, springing
to his side and placing in his hands his own
sword.
"We've got hira boys," he shouted. "Now
charge the red coat villians. Rein up, or I
fire!" he cried, as those who could escape the
carnage bounded away.
"Hold Bowen. Spare him!" Baid Davie,
trembling for the safety of the friend, who
had so generously interposed for his life.
Bowen reluctantly dropped his musket.
"For your sake, Major ; but we'll have a
dash at their leader." And rising in his stirrups,
he wavt ' his sword in fiery circles, as in
his charging voice, he thundered to his boys
! to follow.
"Rescue Mr. Willoughby, if you can," said
Davie, dashing after, suddenly espying him
borne off by a trooper, who kept a detaining
hand on his bridle.
But Sevier was before them all: for Selim
I was not easily distanced. His eye was on
Hardy, and the chase became close and eager. I
Hardy's horse, though strong and powerful,
[ was no match for Selim, and Sevier evidently
gained upon him. On they went, clattering
down the road, till advancing in dangerous
proximity to the main army, Davie's voice j
was heard in recall. Reluctantly giviDg up !
all hope of a single-handed encounter, Sevier i
urged his noble horse to one more effort, and, j
cheering him with voice and spur, he gained j
on Hardy sufficiently to plunge his bayonet j
i 1. nf aaI cnnorofo/l frAIYI t.h e I
Ill 1119 ua'v'b.. 111C ObC^I Ob^HiUVVU A> VtM V..V |
gun, and with no time to extricate it, Hardy
galloped into camp. The wound was not fatal,
and the bayonet preserved its position more
from the sideling thrust, which buried it in
his thick military coat, than from any deep
wound. Sevier, reluctantly turning his horse,
was soon rapidly seeking bis own safety.
The surprise had been so complete that not a
man of their little party had been injured ;
but fearing the alarm might bring fresh troops
after them, they did not draw their reins till
distance made them feel secure. Davie, however,
released one of his prisoners, in order to
warn Cornwallis to bury the men that had
fallen. Sevier also insisted that it was a
point of honor to recover his bayonet; and
finding the young trumpeter quite willing to
act as messenger, he dispatched him with a
flag to Cornwallis, demanding his property,
and gravely assuring him, if it was not returned,
he would take means to avenge himself
of the affront, and six of his men should
answer for it with their lives. He would also
beg leave to refer him to Captain Hardy, as
one competent to judge of the va.ue and
temper of the metal. Hardy was furious at
this absurd and audacious message, and would
have taken the life of the bold boy that dared
to carry it; but, fortunately, he being no favorite,
the English officers were disposed to
treat it as a good joke, and Cornwallis himself,
in view of the pretty trap his favorite,
Tarleton, was preparing for the impudent
rascals, good humoredly declared it should be
returned. Sevier received the weapon without
manifesting any surprise, and after dressing
the wounds of a poor fellow, who was un
able to keep up with them, he mounted him
on one of the captured horses, aud charging
him with his compliments to "my Lord," and
condolence to the worshipful captain, he declared
L ~ would now take but four of their
lives, and hoped they would appreciate his
moderation.
They had now to exercise all their caution
in order to escape Tarleton, who was directly
on their route. This they accomplished, and
on the eveuing of the 15th of January, they
reached Morgan in safety.
Morgan was a. brave and active officer, and
made preparations to meet Tarleton, in spite
of superior numbers, without the least intimidation.
His force consisted of five hundred militia,
three hundred regulars, and seventy-five horse,
under the command of Colonel Washington.
Tarleton had every prospect of success. He
had two field pieces, and two hundred and
fifty horse, beside his thousand choice infant* *
.1 1 /? ? - j T__t_
ry. .Longing to avenge tne neieai at -things
Mountain, the sanguinary Briton burned for
the encounter. That Morgan should desire
the8anie thing, was too improbable an idea for
the British commander to entertain for a
moment. It was madness that carried defeat
on the very face of it. Fearing his foe would
escape him, Tarleton made a feint to cross
the Pacolet above the position that Morgan
had taken, and thus place his adversary between
his own and the main army under
Corwallis, which was only a day's march
distant on the left. Morgan made a corresponding
movement, and the wily Tarleton,
making a night march, crossed the river at
daylight, a few miles below. Morgan now
made a hurried retreat, and before night regained
a favorite position above Thickety
creek, on an eminence sometimes called
"Thickety Mount," where he made preparation
to meet his pursuer. Here his army
rested for the night and refreshed themselves
with a quiet breakfast. The spot on which
Morgan had taken ground was an eminence
which ascended gently for about three hundred
and fifty yards, and was covered by an
open wood. The militia, commanded by Col.
Pickens, were drawn up about two hundred
and eighty yards in front of the regulars, and
the horse, commanded by Col. Washington,
under whom was our friend Davie, were a
short distance in the rear. They were covered
by the descending ground, which again arose
to a height sufficient to cover a man on horseback.
The rear line was commanded by
Lieut. Col. Howard, a brave and efficient
officer. About one hundred and fifty yards
"* r * 1- - n 1!... I
in advance or me nrsi jme, as iuauy .piu&eu
riflemen were placed, scattered in loose order
along the whole front. Those on the right
were commanded by Col. Cunningham, of
Georgia; those on the left, by Major McDowell,
of South Carolina. No particular
order was given this scattered body, but
they knew their service.
"Mark the epaulette men !" was whispered.
The advance men were ordered not to deliver
their fire until the British were within fifty
yards, and this done, to retire, covering them|
selves with trees, till reloading, they could
fire again.
! Tarleton, who believed that Morgan was
resolved on flight, hurriedly pursued him,
I and came up with him about 8 o'clock on the
| morning of the 17th, after a five hours march.
| What was his surprise to see his adversary
j drawn up and ready for battle. His uniform
success, however, and the high renown
| his good fortune had given him, inspired his
troops with alacrity and courage, and he prepared
at once for battle. Advancing to reconnoitre,
he was prevented by the picked riflemen,
who gave his escort a discharge which
made them tremble at the deadly aim of the
Southern rifle. Tarleton now halted, and
formed his line about 250 yards from Morgan's
detachment. Under cover of their artillery,
they now advanced with a triumphant
shout, pouring in an incessant fire of
musketry as they came.
"Hold your fire 1" cried Pickens. "Wait
till you see their eyes?fifty yards between
you, now boys?fire !"
A deafening discharge was the answer,
and dead and wounded, commissioned and
non-commissioned, fell under that fatal and
deliberate volley. But this was not sufficient
to repel the excited foe. They advanced
rapidly, the militia were obliged to retire, and
were gallantly brought off by Col. Pickens,
and formed on the right of the second line.
The British rent the air with their shouts, as
certain of victory, Tarleton's cavalry pushed
hard after the retreatiDg militia. The British
infantry having crossed a little valley in
pursuit of the retreating enemy, now found
themselves within twenty paces of Howard's
regulars, who, at this moment, poured upon
them a general and deadly fire.
"On them, my boys!" cried Howard, as
he sprang into the thickest of the fray. "The
/ton to /M,f nmn Diiwri with the red-coats." 1
"Charge the hunting shirt rascals," cried
Tarleton. "Down with the rebels! Charge,
j my boys, charge I" and again the British
bayonet told, as after an obstinate conflict,
the continentals retreated to the cavalry.
"Follow me," cried McDowell, pressing to
the front of the battle. "Remember King's
Mountain, boys. We b<&t them once ; we'll
beat them again! Come on, hunting-shirts,
and let him who scorns the tartan fear the
dirk. Follow ! One more blow for victory
and freedom."
And they did follow, and nobly did those
untrained soldiers come to the charge. The
havoc was fearful; but goaded by their commanders,
the British sustained their position,
though thrown into some confusion. Morgan's
quick eye at ouce perceiving this, he
rode up, exclaiming with a loud voice, while
waving his sword to his halting troops?
"Hurrah my brave fellows ! Form ! form !
Old Morgan never was beaten in his life!?
one fire more, my heroes, and the day is our
own!"
With answering shouts, regulars and militia
advanced, rallying at the voices of their
commander.
"Charge!" shouted Howard, as with fixed
bayonet9 they bore down on the foe. Rickens,
McDowell and Cunningham sprang to the
head of their men in dauntless heroism. On
they came against those bristling bayonets.
"Seventy-first Regiment, form into line on
the left," cried Tarleton ; "Dragoons on the
right," he cried, as the determined phalanx
bore down upon him. Again, Morgan's
watchfulness and decision saved him. He
perceived the movement and the necessity of
covering his flank. Ordering up the cavalry,
Washington's impetuous troopers came thundering
down. The bayonets of Howard's
continentals were interlocked with those of the
foe. The militia had recovered and formed
a new reserve. There was a shock of contending
columns, the clashing steel, and deafening
war seemed to rend the very heavens.
"Washington and freedom!" "Davie, to
the rescue!" was shouted by the excited
troops, as they poured their columns upon the
foe.
"Ha !" cried Davie, as burying his spurs in
his noble steed, he spied Hardy in the fray.
"Now?my life or yours."
"Come on," replied Hardy, with a volley of
imprecations, "and I'll spare your rebel neck
ii. ?>
a naner.
~ Davie's brow darkened, and there was death
in the wrathful glare, as he bore down upon
him. Although Hardy was a match for Davie,
in brute strength and dogged courage, he
was none in sleight or cool daring. He was
soon unhorsed and rolling in the dust.
"Ha! I have you then, cowardly assassin,"
cried Davie, springing to his side. "You are
my prisoner. I will not stain ray sword with
your cowardly blood."
"Mine is not so choice, unfortunately for
you," Hardy interrupted, laughing; and suddenly
springing to his feet, "I accept no quarter
from your rebel hands?take that," he
cried, with a bitter oath, swinging a blow with
such unexpected vigor, that Davie had barely
time to parry it, ere another pass bathed
his face in blood.
"Fool," cried Davie, dashing the blinding
blood from his eyes; "you force me to this,"
and springing on him, his sword passed directly
through his body. Hardy fell with a look
of mortal hate in his face.
"So perish all the enemies of my country,"
said Davie, as he extricated his dripping
blade. His bridle rein had been caught by
young Sevier.
"Hurrah, Major! Well done ! The boys
missed you, aud I came to hunt you up. You
have given him his -passport to Paradise,
more or less. I've somehow had an added
grudge against that fellow ever since Bessie
Craig's death. Well, the king has lost a servant
and the devil's got one; but mount, Major,
mount; the battle is uot yet over. It
promises a glorious day though. Hurrah,
boys! Here he is ! Come on! Followyour
leader!"
"Thank God, you are safe, Major. We
missed you," said Bowen's stern voice. "Now,
my men, on to victory!"
Riding up to the side of the Major, his
usual post in battle, his dark brows meeting
in vengeful wratb, he dashed into the fray.
Conspicuous by his black horse and tall person,
he was a fair mark for many a one that
day, but yet he was impassive to fheir shot.
Few men ventured to cross swords with him ;
j but like a minister of vengeance, his curse
I was marked by a track of blood. Sometimes |
an adversary of greater weight or courage opposed
him, and for an instant his bloody path
j would be checked. Then as the foe fell under
his unerring sword, a hoarse laugh would
issue from those compressed lips and crying,
"God do so to me and more also, if ray righteous
vow is not redeemed," he would again
dash on with savage joy, uttering his terri;
ble cry of "Justice and no mercy."
Tarleton fought with a dogged valor,
I thought now forced to confess it was in re!
treat. His soldiers became unsteady, and
: at every fresh charge he found it more diffi
i cult for them to halt and form regularly, and
| their retreat also was much more rapid than
! consistent with good order. The panic inj
creased. Each individual seemed to think it
I unanswerable that he should be the last in
; retreat, and several troopers set spurs to
| their horses and fled outright. Others seemj
ed inclined to follow their example, and
I ever moment the British officers feared the
| troops would leave the field. The trampling
j of the horses, the groans of the wounded,
j the continued fire of the enemy, the loud
I shouts which accompanied each volley, made
; a terrible picture of blood and confusion.
With the composure of deadly hatred, Bowen
rode through it all, the death his recklessI
ness seemed to woo, flying from him. Suddenly,
he wavered upon the seat he had so
rigidly maintained, and clapping bis hand
<+
to his aide, the palor of death spread over his
face.
"What is it?" cried Davie, in alarm ; "are
you hurt ?"
"I've got my discharge at last, Major,"
said he gaspiDgly. "God knows I longed for
it."
He would have fallen from his horse, but
Davie caught him, and dismounting, supported
his fainting head.
"Gracious heaven," said Davie, in strong
emotion ; "this is a heavy ransom for liberty.
Speak my friend, speak; tell me it is not so
bad?the wound is not mortal."
"Thank God, yes," he said gaspingly.
"Hush ; do not mourn for me," he feebly uttered
as he marked the deep' anguish of Davie's
face. "I have so prayed for it, and
just so on the battle field, on your breast, my
brave Major, my true friend." He pressed the
hand that clasped his. "I longed so to give
my life for years. My Bessie risked hers.
Thank God it will soon be over now. My
life has been dark ; so dark, since Bessie left
II
me.
The gaspiug utterance showed that life was
fast ebbing. The tide of battle had moved
beyond them, and the two friends were alone.
"Major," said Bowen, after a moment's silence,
"I lose you. Where are you? Ah!
I know. What shouts are those ? Hark ! do
the red coats fly? Then three cheers for
victory ; hurrah !" the last spark of life lighting
up his glazing eyes. "Hurrah my lads,"
said he, struggling for fainting strength.
"Hurrah !" The shout died on his tongue.
"God bless you, Major," said he, kissing Davie's
hand. "Now Bessie, for you and heaven,"
he smiled, loosed the bold which had
been staunching the life blood, and the gallant
spirit of the wronged patriot went to its
reward.
The charge of the continentals had been
completely successful. The British advance
wavered, broke, and at length fell back . on
the rear. Morgan now ordered up his reserve.
With loud shouts, the brave fellows
bore down upon their opponents.
"One more fire, and make the victory secure,"
cried Morgan.
The enemy were within thirty yards when
the final fire was delivered. It was a terrible
discharge.
"Charge !" thundered Morgan, leading on
his men with fiery valor.
"Charge !" shouted Howard, bringing up
his continentals, with fixed bayonets.
"Onward, my boys," cried Washington, as
with his accustomed impetuosity, he bore
like a sweeping wind upon the enemy.
Nothing could surpass the intrepidity of
both officers and men. They rushed on in unshaken
resolution, and nothing could exceed
the astonishment of the British, at these unexpected
charges. A panic was communicated
to the whole. In vain their leaders endeavored,
by shouts and encouragement, to
rally them. In vain they goaded and threatened.
They could not withstand these desperate
charges.
"Hurrah, my boys, hurrah 1" shouted old
Morgan ; "the day is ours. Down with your
arms and beg for quarter, you scoundrels!"
"Quarter to all those who will lay down
'I--!" U/-V??rr? *A 1 a K1 r?h
lueir ttlliJO, CGUUCU UUT?oiu a vui^) "46"
above the confusion. The survivors of the
boasted legion immediately threw down their
weapons, and fell upon their faces. The remains
of the British cavalry, with Tarleton,
escaped, though hotly pursued by Col. Washington,
who pressed hard on them. Davie
arcje from the side of his dead friend, and
was about going away to obtain assistance,
in order to place the body in safety till the
moment ol interment, when Sevier approached.
"Major, yon are wanted in another part of
the field. Come with me immediately. But
who is here?- Good God, Major!"?Bowen?
Poor fellow. At regt at last; but come?
leave him with the boys. You have done all
you could. The living claims you now. But
you, too, are wounded," said Sevier, marking
his increasing paleness.
"I am sick and dizzy, Ned?that is all"?
he said, staggering, and with an eftort recovering.
"But what do you mean ? Ah ! poor
Bowen and still unnerved from the shock
of Bowen's death, he dashed his hand across
his eyes.
"Come, Major, come," replied Sevier, cheerily
; "don't give way. Death is Bowen's best
friend. The man has never held up his head
since that stroke. And he met it as he hoped
to meet it?in harness, and near you. Come,
Major; you must prepare for other trials."
Davie followed him mechanically, stepping
over the bloody corpses that strewed the path.
Sevier evidently wished the Major to ask
where he was going; but Davie, wrapped in
his own thoughts, followed like one in a dream.
The two men had been like brothers, for Bowen's
honest worth and chivalric devotion had
not only commended him to Davie's discriminating
judgment, but had endeared him to
his generous heart. Since Bowen's great
trouble, too, Davie's kindness had partaken
more of the tenderness of woman, and Bowen
would have laid down his life at any moment
for the friend, whom, in his heart, he held
next to his God. ^Waiting, in vain, for some
intimation that Davie was heeding him, Sevier,
with a soldier's bluntness, said?
"Do you know Mr. Willoughby is here ?"
"Mr. Willoughby?" said Davie, at once
aroused. "Impossible."
"But he is though. He followed Graham,
I understand."
"Graham, too? And here? How comes
that?"
"I cannot tell you much about it, but it
seems Graham would insist on an investigation
of some matters connected with himself,
the moment he returned to camp. He found
but little difficulty in proving his innocence,
but was so stung with even the slightest sus'
?* ^ f ?.Innnnnn in lUnf V* A inQlota/1
jJIClUil U1 ^CIII1331JC33 111 UUl/J, Liiab lit luoiovtu
on joining Tarleton, and thus prove his readiness
to discharge all requirements. With
h'is nice sense of honor, he refused to table
charges against Hardy, till his own position
was fairly established, and though, I warrant
you, he had but small frieudship and scant
courtesy for the miscreant, yet he would not
accuse him."
"But, Mr. Willoughby; how came he
here?" questioned Davie, moving with more
alacrity.
"That is what I cannot understand," replied
Sevier. "Graham's influence got him off on
parole; but why he should follow him to
Tarleton's camp, I cannot see. I knew he
liked the young fellow, but such infatuation
as this would infer, seems fncredible."
i "And where are they?" said Davie, who
did not seem to be so taken by surprise, as
Sevier expected.
"Yonder, under? those trees," replied Sevier,
hesitatingly.
"Mr. Willoughby?but where is Graham ?
Good heavens, Sevier, he's wounded!"
"Mr. Willoughby is safe, Major," said
Sevier gravely, laying a detaining hand on
his arm; "but Graham is dead!"
"Dead," ejaculated Davie, springing forward.
Mr. Willoughby was seated on the ground
supporting Graham's head on his knee. A
pale blue mark on the temple, through which
a few dark drops had trickled, told it all.
His brow was yet knitted with the storm of
passion, and his hand clutched his sword,
even in death. let in death, how beautnuu
The long curling lash shaded the half closed
eyes, and hid the death in their glazed pupils.
His cravat was untied, and the femininely
beautiful throat exposed, soft and fair as a
woman's. The graceful liinbs not yet stiffened
in death, lay as if in careless repose, and
the hand on the sword but betokened the
watchfulness of the sleeping soldier.
Mr. YVilloughby looked up as Davie approached.
Never had the young man seen
I such a look of strong despair. His mouth
quivered in spasmodic emotion, and his eyes
were encircled by deep rings of dark purple.
He spoke in accents of deepest misery, yet
not a tear dimmed those stony eyes.
"My child is dead, Henry! My boy, ray
brave, my noble boy; gone forever! I watched
him through all this terrible duy, and my
heart trembled and swelled and fainted, at
his fearful daring. When he rushed into
the thickest of the fray, I followed him with
my wild terror; and when he came out unharmed
I blessed the proud and defiant boy.
My eyes never once lost him till that last
fatal discharge?then I missed him. Good
God, the maddening agony of lookiug over
the dead for him. I found him at last in
the thickest of the fray, and he was dead!
Oh! God, the misery of that moment! My
heart shrank, and shivered, and broke in
the agony. He was dead, Davie, and died
without blessing me. Not a word for the
father that begat him ; the wretched father,
I A 1- L!_ **.. 1
wno so crueily ioraooit iiiui. a?y uuy, wj
noble boy! My darling son! how I have
prayed for the moment when I might claim
you ; when I could take you in ray arms and
call you child 1 Oh! God, this t? retribution
! I claim your clay and He claims your
soul!" and groaning in deepest anguish, the
old man, with trembling fingers, pressed the
clustering hair from the marble brow, caressed
the face so still in death, and again and
again kissing the cold lips, strove by every
eudearment, to arouse the sleeping (lead.
"What does he mean, Major? Is he mad ?"
whispered Sevier, who in mute astonishment
had witnessed this outbreak.
"Hush," replied Davie, in the same tone.
"His grief maddens him, but his words are
true and sober. We must get him away."
"What I Graham his son ?"
"Yes. I cannot tell you now. But it is
even so."
It was with the utmost difficulty they could
prevail upon Mr. Willoughby to leave the
dead to their care. But no inducement could
make hira part with Davie, and finding him
so intractable and withal so helpless. Davie
obtained permission to remain with .he old
man and see the last sad offices performed to
the friends so lately buoyant with life and
health. Indeed, his own condition needed
attention ; and weak from loss of blood, he
was compelled to see the duties performed by
other and stronger hands.
The troops were now all in commotion.
Morgan only waited to refresh his men, when
he pushed at once for Broad River. His
proximity to Cornwallis forbade anything
like security, and encumbered as he was with
his five hundred prisoners and captured baggage,
his movements were necessarily slow.
But pushing bravely on, ere a second even
iag passed, be had plaeed the swollen water
of the Catawba between him and bis foe.
Cornwallis hesitated as to the propriety of
following him, and only arrived on its banks
in time to witness the safety of the retreating
array ; but the thundering waters which had
barely suffered Morgan to pass, forbade him
to venture. Thus his delay of a momept was
the defeat of his host.
The Americans believed that nothing short
of a miracle had saved them, even as the
Hebrews of old were saved by the Red Sea;
and though the British commander was not
swallowed, his march was stayed, the pursuit
baffled, and Morgan, in triumph, joined his
commander. Thus was fought and gained
the glorious battle of the Cowpens, and was
the second link in a grand chain of causes
which finally drew down ruin on the royal
interest in the Carolinas.
The glory and importance of this action
resounded from one end of the continent to
the other. The battle of King's Mountain
had reanimated the desponding friends of
America. This made their hopes doubly ac*!no
TVio nno Vio/t Kun lilrA a rtoii ppppfrinn
UVOl AUW VUU UMV1 VVVU 4*MV M *VWM?*VV?w
from the dead of the Southern States; the
other was like arming those dead for conquest
and victory. The American militia
had taken their first lessons in warfare, and
hereafter, their audacity and bold daring
were to be their characteristics. Cornwallis
again complained that he was surrounded
by inveterate enemies and timid friends,
and to fight and conquer Green, was not
now a matter of choice, but one of absolute
necessity.
[to be continued.]
Why Mail Matter Goes Amiss.?In the
United States there are Brooklyns, 18 ; Baltimores,
5; Buffaloes, 16 ; Burlingtons, 17;
Bostons, 11; Charlestons, 17; Chicagoes, 4;
Cincinnatis, 8 ; Clevelands, 10 ; Columbuses,
19 ; Daytons, 25; Detroits, 5; Indianapolises,
2; Louisvilles, 15; Lowells, 15; Memphises,
8; Milwaukies, 3; Nashvilles, 14;
Omahas, 5; Pittsburgh 8; Philadelphias, 7 ;
Portlands, 14; Quincvs, 15; Richmonds, 22 ;
Springfields, 25; St. Josephs, 15; St. Louises,
4; St. Pauls, 12; Toledoes, 7; Washingtons,
30; Wilmingtons, 13; Williamsburgs, 28 ;
Yorkvilles, 12; one each in California, Colorado,
Georgia, Illinois, Indiana, Michigan,
North Carolina, Tennessee, Wisconsin, New
York, South Carolina and Arkansas.
*Sr A lady has been compelled to leave the
city a few days, leaving her mother very sick
at home.
Returning, she asks her husband anxiously:
"How is my dearest ma? Is she still alive?"
"She is, darling?she has just called me a
Nihilist and thrown a bowl of gruel at my
head."
"Thank heaven for that! She'll be spared
to us!"
fUMing.
Courage in Disease.?Many a life has
been saved by the moral courage of a sufferer.
It is not alone in bearing the pain of operations
or the misery of confinement in a sick
room this self help becomes of vital moment,
but in the monotouous tracking of a weary
path and the vigorous discharge of ordinary
duty. How many a victim of incurable
disease has lived on through years of suffering,
patiently and resolutely hoping against
hope, or, what ia better, living down despair,
until the virulence of a threatening malady
has died out, and it has ceased to be destructive,
although its physical characteristics remained.
The power of "good spirits" is a matter of
high moment to the sick and weakly. To
the former it may mean the ability to survive,
to the latter the possibility of out-living, or
living in spite of a disease. It is, therefore,
of the greatest importance to cultivate the
highest and most buoyant frame of mind
which the conditions will admit. The same
energy which takes the form of mental activity
is vital to the work of organism.
Mental influences affect the system, and a
joyous spirit not only relieves pain, put increases
the momentum of life in the body.
The victims of disease do not commonly
sufficiently appreciate the value and use of
"good spirits." They too often settle down
in despair when a professional judgment determines
the existence of some latent or
chronic malady. The fact that it is probable
they will die of a particular disease casts so
deep a gloom over their prospects that,
through fear of death, they are all their lifetime
subject to bondage.
The multitude of healthy persons who
wear out their strength by exhausting journeys
and perpetual anxieties for health is
very great, and the policy in which they indulge
is exceedingly short sighted. Most of
the sorrowful and worried cripples, who drag
out miserable lives in this way, would be
less wretched and live longer if they were
more hopeful. It is useless to expect that
any one can be reasoned into a lighter frame
of mind, but it is desirable that all should be
taught to understand the sustaining, and
often even curative, power of "good spirits."?
London Lancet.
"It is Not My Business."?A wealthy
man icTSt. Louis was asked to aid in a series
of temperance meetings, but he scornfully refused.
After being further pressed he said :
"Gentlemen, it is not ray business!"
A few days after, bis wife and two daughters
were coming home on the lightning express.
In his grand carriage, with liveried
attendants, he rode to the depot, thinking of
his splendid business and planning for the
morrow, Hark! did some one say "accident
?" There are twenty-five railroads centering
in St. L?uis. If there has been an accident
it is not likely it has happened on
the and Mississippi railroad. Yet it
x li ? L:_ ,iTI. L:- I?: >>
irouuira mm. it ia uio uuoiucso uun. iuo
horses stopped on the instant, and upon inquiry
he finds it has occurred twenty-five
miles distant on the and Mississippi. He
telegraphs to the superintendent: "I will give
you five hundred dollars for an extra engine."
The answer flashes back: "No!"
"I will give you one thousand dollars for
an engine."
"A train with surgeons and nurses has already
gone forward. We have no other."
With white face and anxious brow that
man paced the station to and fro. "It is his
business" now. In a half hour, perhaps,
which seemed to him a century, the train arrived.
He hurried towards it, and in the
tender, found the mangled and lifeless forms
of his wife and one of his daughters. In the
car following laj his other daughter with her
dainty ribs crusl sd in, and her precious life
oozing slowly aw.ay.
A quart of whiskey, which was drunk fifty
miles away by a railroad employee, was
the cause of the catastrophe.
Who dares say of this tremendous question,
"It is not my business ?"
? ? ?
A Lesson foe Young Men.?Young men,
if you contemplate a business career, you
cannot look after your habits too carefully.
Your aim in life is to be successful in all your
undertakings, and you can never be successful
with bad habits. Matters which seem of
small amount to you now, may become in fu
ture the turning point in your career, either
up or down, as they have that of any man
before you. In illustration of this, we print
the following anecdote, as related in one of
the most prominent dailies in New York:
Horace B. Claflin, the most prominent and
wealthy dry goods merchant of New York,
was alone in his office one afternoon when a
young man, pale and care-worn, timidly
knocked and entered. "Mr. Claflin," said
he, "I have been unable to meet certain pay
ments because parties failed to do by me as
they agreed to do, and I would like to have
$10,000. I come to you because you have
been a friend to my father; be a friend to
me.
"Come in," said Claflin; "come in and
have a glass of wine." "No," said the young
man, "I don't drink." "Have a cigar, then."
"No?I never smoke." "Well," said the joker,
"I would like to accommodate you, but I
don't think I can." "Very well," said the
young man, as he was about to leave the
room. "I thought perhaps you might. Good
day, sir. "Hold, on," said Mr. Claflin ; "you
don't drink ?" "No." "Nor smoke, nor gamble,
nor anything of the kind?" "No, sir."
"Well," said Mr. Claflin, with tears in his
eyes, "you shall have it, and three times the
amount if you wish. Your father let me
have $5,000 once, and asked me the same
questions. No thanks?I owe it to you for
your father's sake."
Newspaper Advertising.?Newspaper
advertising is now recognized by business
men, having faith in their own wares, as the
most effective means for securing for their
wares a wide recognition of their merits.
Newspaper advertising compels inquiry,
and when the article offered is of good quality
and at a fair price, the natural result is
increased sales.
Newspaper advertising is a permanent addition
to the reputation of the goods advertised,
because it is a permanent influence always
at work in their interest.
Newspaper advertising is the most energetic
and vigilant of salesmen, addressing
thousands each day, always in the advertiser's
interest, and ceaselessly at wo^k seeking
customers from all classes.
Newspaper advertising promotes trade,
for even in the dullest times advertisers secure
by far the largest share of what is being
done.
.While the advertiser eats and sleeps, printers,
steam engines, and printing presses are
at work for him, trains bearing his words to
thousands of towns and hundreds of thousands
of readers, all glancing with more or
less interest at the message prepared for them
in the solitude of his office. No preacher
ever snobe so lartre an audience, or with so
w ? ~r ~ o ? '
little effort, or so eloquently, as you may
with the newspaper man's assistance.
A cultured physician once said: "I
would not have a son who could not drink
wine with me without danger of becoming a
brute." When his eldest sob was expelled
from college for drunkenness, it made him a
temperance man, but it waq twenty years too
late. ..
.4