Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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^^^?M??????^^ ^W?? ^ _ ISSITED SEMMTEEKI.^ l. m. GRISTS SONS, Pnbii.her?, ( a damilj llncspaper: 4or the promotion of fh? golitical, Social, Agricultural and Commercial interests of the geople. _ jTeRis^-K.oo^mR^A^cK. ESTABLISHED 1855. YO RKVILLE, S. C., FRIDAY, APRIL <27, 11)00. , , TSTO. 34. ... . ^ -? ? I?' " i of mind. J 14s head. Dartlally bald. was|ca&I.< cduunern in uictddvi 342.782, of which 34.1 per cent waa I MWIT niv AT AUIIAWIIK tfORSE St A Tale of the Revol Upper C JOHN I3. CHAPTER XLV?oo.vtivi-ed. The scene wrought upon the younger members of the family, who, as well as the domestics, were heard pouring forth deep and loud lamentations, accompanied with reiterated announcements of the death of the soldier. When this first burst of the general grief was over, David Ramsay arose from his seat and walked across the room to a window, where he stood en -9 V|n deavorlng to compose anu nmsici m*. feelings. At length facing Butler, he said in a low and tranquil tone,? "John Ramsay, my son, killed, killed In a skirmish? God Is my witness, I expected It! It was his failing to follow his enemy with too hot a hand; and I am to blame, perhaps, that I never checked him in that temper. But he died like a man and a soldier, Major Butler," he added, firmly. "He died n my arms " replied Butler, "as bravely as ever soldier closed his life, his last thoughts were fixed upon his parents, and ? "Dead!" interrupted Ramsay, as if communing with himself, and regardless of Butler's words?"Dead! He fell doing his duty to his country, that's a consolation. A man cannot die better. If it please God, I hope my end may be like him. Andrew, my boy, come here. You are now my oiaesi uviug wn, said, taking the lad's hand and looking him full in the face, as he spoke with a bitter compression of his lips; "I am willing, much as I love you. that the country should have you." "No, David, David" interrupted the mother, rousing herself from her silent grief, "we have given enough; no other child of mine shall venture in the war. John! John! John! my dear boy, my brave son! How good and kind he was to us all! And how glad he was to get home to see us; and how much we made of him!" "Silence wife." said David Ramsay, "this is no time to hold back from our duty. Andrew, listen to me; remember your brother has met his death fighting against these monsters, who hate the very earth that nurses liberty. You are young, boy, but you can handle a musket; we will not forget your brother's death." "Nor the burning of a good house over your head, and a full barn, father; nor the frights they have given my" I>oor mother." "Nor the thousands of brave men." added the father "who have poured out their blood to give us a land and laws of our own. My boy, we will remember these, for vengeance." "Not for vengeance," said Allen Musgrove, "for Justice, David Ramsay. Your enemy should be remembered only to prevent him from doing mischief. The Lord will give him sword and buckler, spear and shield, who stands up for the true cause; and when it pleases Him to require the sacrifice of life from the faithful servant who fights the battle, he grants patience and courage to meet the trial. Your son was not the man, David, to turn his face away from the work that was before him; may God receive him and comfort his distressed family! He was an honest and brave son, David Ramsay." "A braver soldier never buckled on broadswords, Allen Musgrove," replied the father. "Yes, I looked for this; ever since my dwelling was levelled to the ground by these firebrands I looked for it. John's passion was up then, and I knew the thoughts that ran through his mind. Ever since fhat day his feelings have been most bitter; and he has (lung himself amongst the Tories, making as little account of them as the mower when he puts his scythe Into the grass of the meadows." "God forgive him, David!" said Musgrove, "and strengthen you and the boy's good mother In this sharp hour of trial. They who draw the sword In passion may stand In fear of the Judgment of the sword; It Is a fearful thing for sinful man to shed blood for any end but that of lawful war, and at the bidding of his country. God alone Is the avenger." Mary had again raised herself from the bed. and at this moment gave vent to her feelings In a loud and bitter lamentation. "John Ramsay Is dead!" she exclaimed. "I cannot believe It. He that was so true and so warmhearted , and that everybody loved! They could not kill him! Oh, I begged him to keep his foot from danger, and he promised me, for my sake, to be I'tti nui. i iuvfu nun, laiuri , i nr? ti told you so much before, but I am not ashamed to tell It now before everybody; I loved him better than all the world. And we had promised each other. It Is so hard to lose them that we love!" she continued, sobbing violently. "He was so brave and so good and he was so handsome, Mrs. Ramsay. and so dutiful to you and his father. coming home to see you whenever the war would let him. And he walked, and rode, and ran, and fought for his friends, and them that he cared for. He was so thoughtful for your comfort too." she added, as she threw herself on her knees and rested her head In the lap of the mother, and there paused through a long Interval, during which nothing was heard but her own moans mingled with the sighs of the party, "we were to be married after this war was at an end, and thought we should live so happily; but they have murdered him! Oh they have murdered him." and with her hair thrown in disorder over her face, she again gave vent 10 a flood of tears. "Mary, daughter! Shame on you. girl!" said her father. "Do you forget, in the hour of your affliction, that you have a friend who is able to comfort? There is one who can heal up your sorrows and speak peace to your troubled spirit, if you be not too proud to ask it. I have taught you, daughter, in all time of tribulation to look to Him for patience and for strength to bear adversity. Why do you neglect this refuge now?" IOC lOBtHSON ^ utionary Struggle In | Carolina. KENNEDY. I "Our Father," said the maiden, fervently clasping her hands and lifting up her eyes, now dim with weeping, as she appealed to God In prayer, "who art in heaven?teach us all to say thy will be done. Take?take?my dear John. Oh my heart will burst and I shall die!" she uttered, almost overwhelmed with her emotions, as she again burled her face In Mistress Ramsay's lap?"I cannot speak!" A silence of .inexpressible agony prevailed for some moments. This was at length Interrupted by the uprising of the full clear, and firm voice of Allen Musgrove, who now broke forth from the opposite side of a room where he had kneeled before a chair, in an earnest and Impressive supplication to the Deity, urged with all that eloquence which naturally flows from deeply-excited feeling. From the solemnity of the occasion, as well as from the habitually religious temper of the family assembled In the little cabin, the words of the prayer fell upon the hearts of those present with a singularly welcome effect, and, for the moment, brought tranquility to infir iwimgo. When the prayer was ended, the a grief of the mourners rolled back in Its former flood, and burst from Mary Musgrove In the most heartrending bitterness. Paroxysm followed paroxysm with fearful violence, and these outbreaks were responded to by the mother with scarcely less Intensity. All attempts at consolation, on the part of the men, were unavailing; and It was apparent that nothing remained but to let the tide of anguish take Its own course. It was now some time after nightfall, when Butler and Drummond beckoned Allen Musgrove to leave the room. They retired into the open air In front of the house where they were Immediately joined by David Ramsay. Here Butler communicated to them the necessity of making Immediate arrangements for their return to the woodman's cottage, and for the burial of the deceased trooper. His advice was adopted, and it was resolved that Musgrove and Ramsay should accompany the other two to the spot. Before the consultation was closed, Andy had come into the group, and he was now directed, "wtth all haster to -throw-^-a saddle upon Ms father's horse. "You, Andrew, my son," said David Ramsay, "will stay at home and comfort your poor mother, and Mary. Speak to them, boy, and persuade them to give up their useless lamentations. It Is the will of God, and we ought not to murmur at it.' "The burning, father" replied the - - o boy, with a sorrowful earnestness, "ana the fighting, and the frights we have s had, was all nothing to this. I never ft It before how terrible the war was." ' Andy had now gone to equip the horse, and the men returned to the in- * side of the cabin, where they sat in c profound silence. Butler, at length, s arose from the door-sill where he had ^ taken his seat, and crossing the room, 1 took a position by the bed on which ' Mary Musgrove had thrown herself, ^ and where she now lay uttering faint s and half-smothered moans. "I have a remembrance for you." he said, stooping down and speaking s scarce above a whisper in the maiden's ^ ear; "I promised to deliver it into your a hand. God knows with what pain I c perform my office! John enjoined upon ' me to give you this," he continued as * he presented to her the little copy of ' the Testament, "and to say to you that his last thoughts were given to * you and his mother. He loved you. 1 Mary, better than he loved any living v creature in this world." "He did, he did," sobbed forth the N girl; "and I loved him far above fam- ' lly, friends, kinsfolk and all?I wish I * were dead by his side." "Take the book." said Butler, hard- * ly able to articulate. "God forever bless you," he added, after a pause of 1 weeping, "and bring you comfort! I ; have promised John Ramsay, that ( neither you, nor any of his family, shall 1 ever want the service of a friend, while ' I have life or means to render it. Be- ' fore Heaven, that pledge shall be re- 1 deemed! Farewell, farewell! God * bhss you." As Butler uttered these words he ' era sued the maiden's hand and press- ' ed It fervently to Ills lips; then turning ' to the mother, he addressed some ' phrase of comfort to her, and hastily ' left the room. Scarcely a sound was ' heard from any one, except the low sobbing of the exhausted weepers, and 1 the almost convulsive kisses which 1 Mary imprinted upon the little book that Butler had put into her hand. Musgrove, Ramsey and the woodman, ' retired from the apartment at the same ' moment: and the horses being ready at the door, the retreating beat of the 1 hoofs upon the turf gave notice to the 1 indwellers that the four men had set forward on their journey, CHAPTER XLVI. A Rustic Funeral. How glumly sounds yon dirgy song: Night ravens Map the wing. ?Burger's Leonora. By 11 o'clock at night, Butler and the party from Ramsay's arrived at the woodman's cabin. Winter anil his comrades had been busy in making preparations for the funeral. The body hait liet'ii laiil mil mum n table, a sheet thrown over it. and a pine torch blazed from the chimney wall close by, and flung its broad, red glare over the apartment. An elderly female, the wife of the woodman, and two or three children, sat quietly in the room. The small detachment of troopers loitered around the corpse walking with stealthy pace across the floor, and now and then adjusting such matters of detail in the arrangements of the interment as required their attention. A rude coffin, hastily constructed of such materials as were at nanu, hm uciwo- ^ Ited near the table. A solemn silence prevailed, which no less consisted with n the gloom of the occasion than with tl the late hour of the night p When the newly arrived party had v dismounted and entered the apart- h ment, a short salutation, in suppressed v tones, was exchanged, and without further delay, the whole company set q themselves to the melancholy duty Ii that was before them. David Ramsay v approached the body, and, turning the sheet down from the face, stood gazing tl t>n the features of his son. There was f< a. settled frown upon his brow that contrasted signally with the composed and tranquil lineaments of the deceas- d ?d. The father and son presented a 11 strange and remarkable type of life g and death?the countenance of the b mourner stamped by the agitation of a Iceen. living emotion, and the object tl mourned bearing the Impress of a serene, placid and passionless repose? tl the one a vivid picture of misery the fl >ther a quiet Image of happy sleep, "i David Ramsay bent his looks upon the tl x>dy for some minutes, without an en- g leavor to speak, and at last retreated f< :owards the door, striking his hand b jpon his forehead as he breathed out he ejaculation, "My son, my son, ei low willingly would I change places ei ,vlth you this night!" n Allen Musgrove was less agitated by T he spectacle, and whilst he surveyed n he features of the deceased, his lips vere moved with the utterance of a p short and almost Inaudible prayer, g Then turning to Drummond, he lnqulr- ai >d: "Has the grave been thought of? si A'ho has attended' to the preparalons?" y "It has been thought of," replied the p voodman; "I sent two of my people ^ ?ff to dig It before I went with Major t( Butler to see David. We have a 3< fraveyard across In the woods, nigh l mile from this, and I thought It best n hat John Ramsay should be burled a) here." w "It was kindly thought on by you. jr labriel," replied Musgrove. "You have >our father and others of ypur family n that spot. David Ramsay will thank p, ou for it." w "I do, heartily" said Ramsay, "and* (t sill remember it, Gabriel, at another ^ Ime." n "Let the body be lifted into the cofIn." said Musgrove. SJ The order was promptly executed by w larry Winter and the other troopers. ^ n a few minutes afterwards, the ^ ough boards which had been provided n( o close up the box or coffin were laid n their appropriate places, and Winter a lad just begun to hammer the nails nto them, when from the outside of jr he cabin was heard a wild and piercng scream, that fell so suddeifly upon tj he ears of those within as to cause the a rooper to drop the hammer from his w land. In one moment more, Mary C) dusgrove rushed into the room and al ell prostrate upon the floor. She was' C| nstantly followed by Andrew. f( "God of heaven!" exclaimed Butler, 'here is misery uppn., misery. This r< ?oor girl's brain is crazed by her misortune. This is worst of all!" S| "Mary, Mary, my child!" ejaculated t( dusgrove, as he raised his daughter u nto his arms. "What madness has a unn V?o f vai1 okaiiih ha va unir u j;uii juu, mm juu ouuuiu ?im>> v ^ vandered here tonight!" o1 "How has this happened, Andrew?" w aid David Ramsay all speaking in the tj ame breath. w "When Mary heard." replied Andrew, r( n answer to his father's question, that you had all come to Gabriel u )rummond's to bury my brother, she ti ouldn't rest content; and she prayed 0 pitifully to come after you, and see ei lim before they put him in the ground, ki hat I thought it right to tell her that tl would come with her. And if I w ladn't she would have come by her- ti elf; for she had got upon her horse s' sefore any of us were aware." c' "I couldn't stay at home, father." c< aid Mary, reviving and speaking in a n irm voice. "I should have died with P( 1 broken heart. I couldn't let you P1 :ome to put him in the earth without ol ollowtng after you. Where Is he? I tl icard them nailing the coffin; It must a >e broken open for me to see him!" ol These words, uttered with a bitter ft 'ehemence, were followed by a quick o: novements towards the coffin, which w vas yet unclosed; and the maiden, n vith more composure than her pre- tl ious gestures seemed to render it u lossible for her to acquire, paused tr >efore the body with a look of intense sorrow, as the tears fell fast from her P yes. tl "It is true?it is too true?he Is It-ad! Oh John, John!" she exclaimed, ti is she stooped down and kissed the a old lips, "I did not dream of this vhen we parted last night near the ft villous. You did not look as you do c io\v, when I found you asleep under h he rock, and when you promised me. d iohn. that you would be careful and w teep yourself from danger, if It was b >nly to please me. We were doing our tl jest for you then. Major Butler?and b jere is what it has come to. No longer c :han last night he made me the prom- o se. Oh me, oh me! how wretched? w low miserable I am!" ? "I laughter, d? ur." said Allen Mus. c fi-ove, "rise up and behave like a brave c girl as. you know. I have often told P vou you were. We are born to affile- ? lions, and young as you are. you can- f' not hope to be free from the common t lot. You do yourself harm by this ? ungovenied grief. There's a good and o ii kind girl?sit yourself down and [ aim your feelings." d Musgrove took his daughter by the v hand and gently conducted her to a ? seat, where he continued to address v tier in soothing language, secretly b afraid th:it the agony of her feelings might work some serious misfortune v upon her senses. J "You are not angry with me, father. 1 for following you to night?" said Mary. L for a moment moderating the wlldness d of her sorrow. I "No, child, no. I cannot be angry <t with you; but I fear this long night- ' ride may do you harm." c "I can hut die, father; and I would 1 not step aside from that." I "Recollect yourself. Mary: your Bible t does not teach you to wish for death, t It is sinful to rebel under the chastise- * merits of Clod. Daughter, I have taught t you in your day of prosperity, the les- t sons that were to be practised in your time of suffering and trial. Do not t now turn me and my precepts to t shame." I "Oh, father, forgive me. It is so f hard to lose the best, the dearest!" I Here Mary again gave way to emotions 1 which could only relieve themselves in < In the meantime the body was reloved to the outside of the cabin, and he coffin was speedily shut up and deoslted upon a light wagon-frame, to ;hich two lean horses were already arnessed, and which waited to coney its burden to the graveyard. "All Is ready," said Winter, stepping uietly Into the house, and speaking i a low tone to Musgrove. "We are . altlng only for you." "Father," said Mary, who, on hearing his communication, had sprung to her eet, "I must go with you." "My child!" "I came all this way through the ark woods on purpose, father?and t Is my right to go with him to his rave. Pray, dear father, do not forid me. We belonged to each other. nd he would be glad to think I was tie last that left him?the very last!" "The poor child takes on so," said tie wife of Drummond now for the rst time interposing In the scene; and It seems natural, Mr. Musgrove, tiat you shouldn't hinder her. I will o along, and maybe it will be a com>rt to her, to have some womankind eslde her. I will take her hand." "You shall go, Mary," said her fathr; "but on the condition that you govrn your feelings, and behave with the loderation of a Christian woman, ake courage, my child, and show your urture." "I will, father?I will; the worst Is ast, and I can walk quietly to John's rave," replied Mary, as the tears gain flowed fast, and her voice was tlfled with her sobs. "It is a heavy trouble for such a oung creature to bear" said Mistress Tummond, as she stood beside the laiden, waiting for this burst of grief ) subside; "but this world is full of >rrows." Musgrove now quitted the apartlent. He was followed by his daughter nd the rest of the inmates, all of horn repaired to the front of the cabl, where they awaited the removal of le hody. A bundle of pine fagots had been rovlded, and each one of the party as supplied from them with a lighted >rch. Some little delay occurred whilst [arry Winter was concluding his aringements for the funeral. "Take your weapons along, boys," ? 1*1 *-? V> In r?o rloo In Q hlsper. "John Ramsay shall have the onors of war?and mark, you are to ring up the rear?let the women walk ext the wagon. Gabriel Drummond. ring your rifle along?we shall give volley over the grave." The woodman stepped into the cabi and returned with his firelock. All lings being ready, the wagon, under le guidance of a negro who walked t the horses' heads, now moved forard. The whole party formed a pro?sslon In couples?the woodman's wife nd Mary being first In the train, the tilldren succeeding them and the rest tllowlng at regular order. It was an hour after midnight. 'J'he iad, scarcely discernible^ wound lough a thick forest, and the -proceson moved with a slow and heavy step wards Its destination. The torches t up the darkness of the wood with strong flame, that penetrated the iass of sombre foliage to the extent r some fifty paces around, and glared 1th a wild and romantic effect upon le rude coffin, the homely vehicle on hlch It was borne, and upon the sornving faces of the train that followed The seclusion of the region, the nwonted hour, and the strange mixire of domestic and military mournig, half rustic and half warlike, that ntered Into the composition of the roup; and, above all, the manifestaons of sincere and Intense grief that ere seen In every member of the ain, communicated to the Incident a ngularly Imaginative and unusual tiaracter. No words were spoken, exf*pt the few orders of the march anounced by Harry Winter In a whlser; and the ear recognized with a alnful precision, the unceasing sobs r Mary Musgrove, ana me aeep groan lat seemed, unawares, to escape now nd then from some of the males f the party. The dull tramp of ?et, and the rusty creak of the wagn-wheels, or the crackling of brushood beneath them, and the monotoous clank of the chains employed In le gearing of the horses, all broke pon the stillness of the night with a lore abrupt and observed distinctness, "om the peculiar tone of feeling which ervaded those who were engaged In tie sad offices of the scene. In the space of half an hour, the rain had emerged from tne wood upon small tract of open ground, that eemed to have been formerly cleared rom the forest for the purpose of ultivation. Whatever tillage might ave once existed there was now abanoned, and the space was overgrown ith brambles, through which the llnd road still struggled by a track hat even In daylight It would have een difficult to pursue. Towards the entre of this opening grew a cluster f low cherry and peach trees, around ,'hose roots a plentiful stock of wild dons had shot up in the absence of ulture. Close In the shade of this luster, a ragged and half-decayed aling formed a square enclosure of ome ten or twelves paces broad and a ew rude posts set up within, indicated he spot to be the rustic graveyard. tu'A nocrt?no? hop n rnStiniZ ver a newly-dug grave. The wagon halted within some short istance of the paling, and the coffin ras now committed to the shoulders f the troopers. Following these, the i*hole train of mourners entered the urlal place. My readers will readily Imagine with hat fresh fervor the grief of poor ilary broke forth, whilst standing on he verge of the pit in which were to >e entombed the remains of one so lear to her. The solemn Interval or >ause which Intervened betweeti the rrival of the corpse at this spot, and ts being lowered Into the ground, was ine that was not signalized only by the oud sorrow of her who here bore the >art of chief mourner; but all, even to he negroes who stood musing over heir spades, gave vent to feelings vhlch at such a moment, It neither >elongs to humanity, nor becomes It, o resist. The funeral service was performed >y Allen Musgrove. The character of he miller, both physical and moral, mpressed his present employment with lingular efficacy. Though his frame >ore the traces of age, it was still rojust and muscular; and his bearing, :reet and steadfast, denoted firmness now uncovered; and his loose whitened tJ locks played In the breeze. The torches were raised above the group; and as u they flared In the wind and flung the r hea.vy volumes of smoke Into the air, they threw also a blaze of light upon the venerable figure of the miller, as he poured forth an Impassioned supplication to the Deity; which, accord ing to the habit of thinking of that H period, and conformably also to' the tenets of the religious sect to which the speaker belonged, might be said to have expressed, in an equal degree, resignation to the will of Heaven and defiance of the power of man. Though the office at the grave was thus pro- st longed, it did not seem to be unex- et pected or wearisome to the auditory, tv who remained with unabated Interest b< until they had chanted a hymn, which hi was given out by the miller, and sung nl in successive couplets. The religious T observances of the place seemed to bi have taken a profitable hold upon the hearts of the mourners; and before Ci the hymn was concluded, even the m voice of Mary fdusgrove rose with a st clear cadence upon the air, and showed fo that the Inspirations of piety had al- hi ready supplanted some of the more violent paroxysms of grief. Hi This exercise of devotion being fin- 11 Ished the greater part of the company ai began thpir retreat to the woodman's o cabin, winter and his comrades re- la malned to perform the useless and idle is ceremony of discharging their pistols Vi over the! grave, and when this was p| accomplished they hurried forward to th overtake ;the party In advance. et They had scarcely rejoined their ar companions, before the horses of the T1 wagon were seized by an unknown ar hand; and the glare of the torches pre- lo sented to the view of the company some fifteen or twenty files of British ur troopers. B, "IStand. I charge you all, In the name ar of the king!" called out an authorita- o\ tlve voice from the contiguous thicket; ce and before another word could be ut- fo tered, ttie funeral train found them- Ui selves surrounded by enemies. dr "Hands ofT!'' exclaimed Butler, as a |o soldier li ad seized him by the coat. A er pistol sli ot was heard, and Butler was a. seen plunging Into the woods, followed or by Wilnter and one or two others. ui The fugitives were pursued by num- to bers of the hostile party, and in a few pi moments were dragged back to the ici lights. ] ? "Who are you, sir?" demanded an ar officer, who now rode up to Butler, at "that you dare to disobey a command cc In r.he name of the king? Friend or la foe, you must submit to be questloned." pi "We have been engaged," said Allen ac Musgrove. "In the peaceful and Christlan duty of burying the dead. What fe right have you to Interrupt us?' Iti "You take a strange hour for such P* a work," replied the officer, "and, by m the volley fired over the grave, I doubt w whether your service be so peaceful as you pj^end, old man. What Is he that you have laid beneath the turf to- -Qf night f1" _ tu "A soldier," replied Butler, "worthy rc of all the rites that belong to the sepulture of a brave man." c| "And you are a comrade, I suppose?" st "I do not deny It." ^ "What colors do you serve?' cc "Who Is he that asks?" n? "Captain M'Alplne of the new le- er vies," replied the officer. "Now, sir, J* your name and character? You must at be convinced of my right to know It." w "I have no motive for concealment," of spid Butler, "since I am already In "e your power. Myself and four comrades are strictly your prisoners; the rest w of this party are inhabitants of the Jj| neighboring country, having no connection with the war, but led hither ed by a simple wish to perform an office tv of humanity to a deceased friend. In surrendering myself and those under te my command I bespeak for the others er an immunity from all vexatious deten- T1 tlon. I am an officer of the Contl.iental service; Butler is my name, my pj rank, a major of Infantry." After a few words more of explanatlon. the party were directed by the |Z( British officer to continue their march w to Drummond's cabin, whither, in a a brief space, they arrived under the es- ^ cort of their captors. UI A wakeful night was passed under F the woodman's roof; and when morn- Pj Ing came the circumstances of the recapture of Butler were more fully dls- til closed. The detachment under Cap- S( tain M'Alplne were on their way to "J Join Ferguson, who was now posted In w me upper uisinci; uuu unng aumuicu > by the sound of voices engaged in J11 chanting the Psalm at the funeral of ^ John Ramsay, and still more by the ci discharge of the volley over the grave, "f they had directed their march to the spot, which they had no difficulty in p. reaching by the help of the torches tt borne by the mourners. r' The detachment consisted of a company of horse numbering some fifty men, who had no scruple In seizing Hi upon Butler and his companions as ^ prisoners of war. It was some relief rj to Butler when he ascertained that his e? present captors were ignorant of his P' previous history, and were unconnect- CJ ed with those who had formerly held w him in custody. He was also gratified st with the assurance that no design was entertained to molest any others of the Cf party, except those whom Butler him- gf self indicated as belligerents. M Captain M'Alplne halted with his men at the woodman's cabin, until af- w ter sunrise. During this interval, Butler was enabled to prepare himself for bj the journey he was about to com- n mence and to take an affectionate ei leave of Musgrove and his daughter, d< David Ramsay, and the woodman's ^ family. j, Allen Musgrove and Mary, and their gi friend Ramsay, deemed it prudent to di wtronl ivith th? first nfrmission eiven .1 ,v"""v " ~ * II them by the British officer; and, not ia long afterwards, Butler and his com- ai rades found themselves in the escort 01 of the Tory cavalry, bound for Fergu- r| son's camp. tt Thus, once more, was Butler doomed 111 to feel the vexations of captivity. TO BB CONTINUED. C Di " W Often a man casts a shadow over C! his charitable acts by talking about Cl them. Never judge the cigar a man gives j you by the price he claims to have g paid for It. g lv' Don't get discouraged. No man s< Is really down and out until the un- 0 dertaker gets busy. U It sometimes happens that a mod- a est man employs a press agent to do vv his boasting for him. S, ah rnAHuiobu in uiiiiuni ? ory of the Stricken Full of Romance. WE UNDER RULE OF VIGILANTES. ow the Disorderly Were Made to Be* have?Days of the Forty-Niners? The Lynching of Casey?Once Depopulated by Rush of the Citizens to tnc uoia rieias. I San Francisco, the earthquake rlcken city, has long been permeatI with an air of romance and advenire. Nowhere may one turn without ?lng reminded of the legends that ave been woven around the fortyners and their Immediate followers, he names of the streets and their jslness blocks, .such as Kearney, itter, Montgomery, Dupont, Flood, roker and Sharon, bring to the ilnd of the visitor long forgotten orlea of riot or adventure and of irtunes whose vastness once excited is wonder or made him incredulous. The sight of the city was first vised by Europeans In 1769, and In ? r75 Bucarell ordered a fort, presidio f id mission founded cn the bay. ne year later, the year of the Decration of Independence, the Spanh settlers began the work, and when ancouver, the explorer, visited the ace In 1792* the presidio represented le military authority, while the pu>lo and mission stood for the civil (v id religious factors respectively, fie mission was secularized In 1834 II a town laid ,out the year folwing. In 1846 an American man-of-war. ider command of Commodore John Montgomery, entered the harbor id hoisted the stars and stripes 5 'er the town. Mexico, which suceded Spain as the owner of Callrnla, was then at war with the nlted States, and the act of Commo- f >re Montgomery ended her domlnn over San Francisco. Montgomy appointed Lieutenant Washington Rartlett to be Frisco's first alcalde, mayor, under the new regime, nder Spanish and Mexican rule the wn was a sleepy, unprogresslve ace, dui wun me curiiing ?i /imcr- ^ aiis and the discovery of gold In t 148 there came an era of growth ^ id hustle. This did not eventuate ^ once, for the first news of the dlsivery of gold practically depopu- a ted San Francisco. The town was -smitten as by a t ague, and one historian thus deribes what happened: "Its houses ere left unoccupied and unprotect- ' I, Its former trade ceased, Its lots v II to a small part of their value, t i two weekly newspapers were susmded. and the town, deserted by 8 ie bulk of its inhabitants, was at c le time without an officer clothed ji Ith civil authority." After the first rush to the gold ggings the town began to regain its * aJ.jfroupd,_ajid ere long the Influx s 1 gold seelcers gave quite "an' inlpeis to its growth. The town was inirporated In April, 1850, and the * st common council elected, pro- p ieded with diligence to plunder the t fy treasury. The same year the { ate was admitted to the Union, and hen the steamer Oregon brought r ie news?there was no telegraphic r immunlcation In those days?busi- t ;s8 wa-s entirely suspended and the itlre population rushed to the harfs to become the harbinger. The * wn had about 10,000 inhabitants I that time, and when the people r ere Informed that*the signal flags the Oregon indicated that Callfora was a sovereign state of the Unl- f d States of America "a universal a lout arose from 10.000 voices on the harfs. In the streets, upon the hills, >usetops and the world of shipping the bay." p In Its early history the city suffer- c I from several disastrous fires. Be- r ,-een December, 1849, and June, 151, six conflagrations played havoc H Ith the growing young town. Bet- a r buildings were planned and sev- r al fire companies were organized. Iiese were steps In the right direcjn. It was also discovered that the t es were -started by criminals who \ oflted by the confusion. r This fact and the inefficiency and trruptlon of the city government led large number of citizens to organp the famous vigilance committee hlch ruled the place In 1851. Quite number of crooks were lynched by , ie commltte, others were driven out, . <e John Oakhurst, the leading fig e In Bret Harte's "Outcast of Poker lat." and the city went through a jriflcatlon process that was of great ;nefit to It. The aspect of San Francisco at this me was not Inspiring to inflowing >ld seekers. It was a straggling edley of low, dingy adobes, frail ooden shanties, born In an afternoon, 1th a sprinkling of more respectable ame houses and a mass of canvas id rubber habitations. It was malna city of tents, rising to a crescent pon the shores of the cove. From lark point It skirted the land to Telrraph hill, along the Clay street opes, tapering away to the Califora street ridge. The larger number issed to the southwest shores of le cove, beyond the Market street dge, a region sheltered from blusrlng winds and provided with good ater and named Happy Valley. Stockton street, stretching from icramento tQ Green streets, presentI the neatest cluster of dwellings, id Powell street was the abode of lurches, for of the six churches In clstence in the middle of 1850 three aced Its sides and two stood upon oss streets, within half a block, ason street, above It, was really the estern limit of the city, as Green reet was the northern. Beyond ason street ran the trail to the residlo, past scattered cottages, ibins and sheds, amid dairies and miens, with a branch path to the arlne hospital, on Filbert, and an:her to the North Beach anchorage, here speculators were planning a harf to attract settlements. After the vigilance committee dlsinded the criminal element became ilder, and in 1856 the crime and corlptton in the city had become intol able to those who wished to live a ?oent and orderly life. When Editor ing of the Bulletin, who had deounced the thugs, was murdered by imes P. Casey, a new vigilance ormlzatlon was created, and in a few ays Casey and another murderer amed Cora wore executed In front of le committee's headquarters. Many iwbreakere were later put to death, ad the regime of the California "bad lan" came to an end. It has been asserted that San Fransco is thfe most cosmopolitan city In le world, and by cosmopolitan Is leant a population from all parts f the world. Not long ago the recrds Indicated that forty-three per ant of the people of the city were orn in foreign lands, not In two or iree, different countries, but practlilly' every land under the sun. Acardlng to the national census reorts for 1890, San Francisco had a >tal population of 298,997. Of these 72,186 were native born and 126,11 were born outside of the United tates. Fully half of the grown perms In the community removed to allfornla from alien lands, while a irge percentage of the other half nd of the general body of children < ere of foreign parentage. In 1900 1 an Francisco had a population of 1 orelgn born. San Francisco has long been famed is one of the "wide open" cities of he United States. In the days of I 1849, the gambler devoted himself to lis vocation with little Interference 'rom the authorities. Prior to the earthquake two of the most promllent corners of the city were occu- i lied by gambling dens. One of them, A cnown as the Cafe Royal, has been i veritable gold mine for Its proprie- _ :ors. The California supreme court has endered a decision to the effect that he game of draw poker is not a game >f chance, but Involves judgment and ither elements as well as chance or uck, and because of this decision hese places are permitted to be e nalntalned. t] They are frequented by a hard ooking crowd of men, and many b scandals are told associated with o hese places. A visitor's life Is prob- c ibly safe In these resorts, but his noney Is not. It is said that the son w )f the Dremler of British Columbia n vas fleeced of (8.500 in the Cafe Roy- t! il a few years ago. He lost $1,500 t] n cash and stopped payment on $7,>00 in checks. San Francisco has forty-seven t] tauare miles of territory, or about p 10,000 acres, within the municipal Imits. The finest residences are on s'ob Hill and Pacific heights, both of E vhich districts command magnifl- c ent views of the bay and the Golden a late. The city has six large parks ind thirty-two small ones, and Gold n Gate park occupies over 1,000 n teres. a - n DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII. f< P Juried So Deep That It Was Lost For lc Sixteen Centuries. F When one hears of a burled city it is lc rery difficult to realize what it can n ook like?still more so to realize how a i city can be buried so deep as to be p itterly lost and the place of it known io more for sixteen centuries. Yet Ms is what happened to Pompeii and u Prculaneum, Stablae and Retina and a hirtpen other cities of the plain on t< he ninth day before the calends of ri leptembcr. In the first year of the a rlgn of the Emperor Titus. Thus It vas when Pompeii was buried. When ^ lext the sun shone into her streets j Jeorge III was king of England. Sh*- fi er n years' before the burial of the city " o n earthquake had done so much mis- ^ hlef that the ruin was not yet quite o: estorcd, but Mount Vesuvius had been lulft ever since. The 24th of August ras a terribly hot day. " Most of the people were in the am- ^ ihltheater at a wild beast tight when J hey saw a strange cloud rise from a Vesuvius. It seemed like a pine tree. a. The trunk rose up high Into the heav- ? ns and then spread out In branches? <j ome white, some dull and spotted?un- ft 11, slowly detaching themselves from C he parent trunk, they began to darken R he sky. Pliny, the elder, over at b illaenum, was reading In his study w vhen his sister came In to tell him of his strange cloud. He ordered a light 0 ralley to be got ready, and as he was omlng out with his tablets In his ? land ready to note down all he saw the ? nariners belonging to the galleys at e letlna came up to Implore of him to :o to their help. By the time Pliny got there with his w ralleys the ashes were falling thicker | very Instant. Then came broken and 0 ilackened stones and pumice. Vast t( ragments were rolling down the Jf nountain, and the sea had suddenly Q' etreated. The pilot was for putting h tack, but the undaunted old philoso- c iher admiral would not go back. "Forw une," he said, "favors the brave." Everybody knows something about the fl est and how the poor old gentleman, 9' lelng weakly and asthmatic was suf- ^ ocated by a sudden outburst of flames u ind sulphur fumes. In that awful li (arkness, when the sudden rush of * lames was the only light which plerc- a d the dense smoke, the fields were full tl if terrified people fleeing they knew lot whither. It Is true that the de- J! tructlon was not Instantaneous, and p . great number of the Inhabitants sav- ti d their lives, and even took away a ^ rood deal of their treasure, but It Is es- t| (mated that at least 200,000 persons 5 l'ppp entnmhpd In PomDeil. HerCUla leum and the other cities of the plain. ? ' fl Trials of an Explorer. * ii Anthony Piala, the Arctic explorer, v vhose party had been given up for h ost when a message came from Nor- t( vay last summer saying that he had v >een reached by the relief ship Terra A Cova, Is living quietly In Brooklyn, "S ontent to accept the Inclemency of v i New York winter, which he admits s s much more trying with Its heat ? ind rain than the good, honest cold n tf the region around the pole, where o t doesn't rain after It has made up ? ts mind to snow. The explorer, t] lowever, does appreciate the luxuries tl >f civilization. A year ago he was in d light of starvation, his ship wrecked, ^ ut off from all communication with j, he world, but still fighting across the o ce. through the darkness, to reach Q he pole. It Is of these last efforts " tnd of the flight to find sufficient food ^ o maintain life on the chance of f he relief ship's finding him that Fi- r ila tells in the conclusion of his ^ hronicle of "Two Years In the Arc- o Ic" In March McClure's. t At the beginning of the second ? rear, within the Arctic circle, after he relief ship had failed to reach f he little colony alone In the great ^ vhite waste, dissatisfaction arose and ^ he party scattered, many remaining a n Idleness at Cape Flora, to which b hey had gone In the expectation of P ncetlng the relief ship and sailing a lome with it: others were constantly c n the held wun aogs anu sieugco, .. ransportlng provisions from cache ^ o cache In order that all might not 8 itarve to death; and Fiala was at o _'amp Abruzzi. preparing in the face y >f ail these discouragements to make mother determined effort to reach a he pole. The condition of affairs a ould scarcely be matched in any * >ther corner of the globe. It fur- v ilshes a bit of study for sociologists; t jrlmeval Instincts came to the sur- 8 'ac< ai?d many things happened of ? vhlclt fr'^'a merely hints in his nar- fl atlte. Then after his hard winter, d le set out with two supporting par- t :les and the sledges to push north * >ver i he rough Ice for the pole. Per- ' flaps the most dramatic scene of the ? sntlre story is that of the sixth day I )f the advance, when Mr. Peters, In ' a lommand of the last supporting par- ^ ty, In a tent on the Ice urged Fiala t A 1 ?T^lrtln nraa oil frtw OPaI n CT C LO lurn oauiv. nam VT ao an iV? >. an, but Peters pointed out to him i lot only the snail-like progress made <3 *o far, but that to run the risk of t losing these sledges might mean the f leath of the men left at Abruzzi and i Jackson. Fiala yielded, and led the t way back, knowing that he had railed. J unL/ii uni ni nnnniuLiu ohn Paul Jones Placed la (fee Crypl-_ DDRESS BY PRBIBENT ROOSEVELT. "leeta of Warship* In ths Bay?Fifteen Hundred 8ailors and Marines Landed?Largest Crowd That Annapolis Has Ever 8een. Annapolis. Md., April 24.?Rever-. ntly attended by the official head' of he nation he loved and served so well, y the ambassadorial representatives f the land In which he died, by the hief executive of the state beneath hose sod his bones will find their flal rest, by naval representatives, of tie United States and France, and by housands of the men and women of he country whose first admiral he was, he remains of John Paul Jones were 3day given sepulture in the crypt beeath the grand marble stairway of lancroft Hall, there to rest until the ompletion of the chapel In which they re to be deposited. It was a day that will long be relembered in Annapolis. Crowds, such 8 the ancient capital of Maryland has ot known for many yearp, if ever beire, lined the streets and stood exectantly about the railroad station >ng before the train beating President Roosevelt and his party arrived- Pres. lent Roosevelt, accompanied by Adllral Sands, entered an automobile nd led by the cavalrymen, the party roceeded to the Naval Academy. Removing the Remain*. Early this morning the casket confining the remains of the long dead dmlral had been removed from the imporary vault in which they have ested since being brought from France nd deposited in the new armory of tie Naval Academy. There it was laced a little to the right of the cenre, In front of- the speakers' stand, 'he oaken casket was quite hidden pom vleiV by a Union Jack, and upon : rested two crossed palms, a wreath f green and the sword presented to tie great naval commander by a king f France. The War 8hipt In the Bay. Out in the bay, miles distant, but lost of them clearly visible from the faval Academy, rode at anchor three roflt warshlna Ovine- the tri-eolor of 'ranee; the Admiral Aube, the Conde nd the Marseilles, first-class cruisers II, under the command of Admiral lampion. Beside them were the Tnited States battleships Alabama, Indiana and Iowa, the cruisers Cleveland, ilnneapolis, Dee Moines, Denver and lolorado and the yacht Mayflower. From these came more than 1,500 ailors and marines, 200 of the former elng from the French vessels. They rere formed Into long lines of brawny ten, lining the route to the armory iken by President Roosevelt and the ther dignitaries. When the president entered the arrary it was to face 10,006 standing, heering men and women. He was ltroduced by. Secretary of the Nayy tonaparte. He said in part: The President's Address. On behalf of the American people I rish to thank our ancleqt ally, the reat French nation, that proud and allant nation, to whose help w.e .onee wed it that John Paul Jones was able 3 win for the Stars and Stripes the ictory that has given him deathless ime, and to whose courtesy we now we it that the body of the long-dead ero has been sent hither, and that to ommemor&te the reception of the ills trious dead a squadron of French rarshlps has come to our shores,, The annals of the French navy are lied with the names of brave and able eamen, each of whom courted death s a mistress when the honor of his ag was at stake; and among the Agree of these brave men there loom the irger shapes of those who, like Tourille, Duquesne and the B&llli de Sufren, won high renown as fleet admirls, inferior to none of any navy of tieir day In martial prowess. In addition to welcoming the diplolatlc and official representatives of Yance here present, let me also exress mv heartiest acknowledgements ? our former ambassador to Paris, ten. Horace Porter, to whose zealous evotion we particularly owe it that he body of John Paul Jones has been rought to our shores. When the body was brought over the epresentatives of many different cities . rote to me, each asking that it should nd its last resting place in his city> tut I feel that the place of all others n which the memory of the dead hero rill most surely be a living force is ere in Armapolis, where year by year re turn out the midshipmen who are o officer in the future the navy, among rhose founders the dead man stands rst. Moreover, the future naval offiere, who live within these walls, will nd in the career of the man whose life re this day celebrate, not merely a ubject for admiration and respect, but n object lesson to be taken Into their nnermost hearts. Every t>fficer in our avy should know by heart the deeds f John Paul Jones. Every officer in ur navy should feel in each fibre of is being the eager desire to emulate he energy, the professional capacity, he indomitable determination and auntle88 scorn of death which marked ohn Paul Jones above all his fellows. The history of our navy, like the ilstory of our nation, only extends ver a period of a century and a uarter; yet we already have many nemorles of pride to thrill us as we ead of and hear of what has been one by our fighting men of the sea, rom Perry and Macdonough to Faragut and Dewey. These memories inlude brilliant victories, and also, iow and then defeats, only less honrable than victories themselves; but he only defeats to which this praise an be given are those where, against leavy odds, men have stood to the leath in hopeless battle. It Is well or every American officer to remember that while a surrender may or nay not be defensible, the man who efuses to surrender need never make . defence. The one fact must always e explained; the other needs no exilanatlon. Moreover, he who would kin glory and honor for the nation nd for himself must not too closely ount the odds; if he does, he will lever see such a day as that when lushing sank the Albemarle. In his fight with the Serapls Jones's hip was so badly mauled that his pponent hailed him, saying "Has our ship struck?" to which Jones nswered, "I have not yet begun to ight." The spirit which inspired that .nswer upbore the man who gave It ,nd the crew who served under him hrough the fury of the battle, which Inally ended In their triumph. It t-as the same spirit which marked he commander of the Cumberland. ,nd the Congress, when they met an qually glorious though less fortunate ate. The Cumberland sank, her flag lying, and her guns firing with the leek awash, while, when summoned o surrender. Morris replied, "Never! 'II sink alongside!" and made his yords good. Immediately after the Cumberland was sunk the Congress vas attacked, and her commander, .lieutenant Joe Smith, was killed. Lfter fighting until she was helpless, md being unable to bring her guns o bear, the ship was surrendered; >ut when Joe Smith's father, old Commodore Joe Smith, who was on luty at Washington, saw from thch lispatches from Fort Monroe that he Congress had hoisted the white lag, he said quietly, 'Then Joe Is lead!" Surely no father could wish o feel a prouder certainty of his [Continued on Fourth Page],